Nodding, she took the bottle and motioned him back into the bathroom. “Sit backwards on the toilet for now, you can lean against it. I’m going to cut your hair, but I warn you, I’m no barber.” She waited until he was sitting, eyeing him critically, but trying not to look at the same time. It wasn’t her place. Not to judge him, and not to care. Not her place, but she couldn’t help but notice the changes, none of which were for the better, that plagued him.
Slowly, she draped another towel across his shoulders, this one damp from his shower. Might as well reuse it, since she wanted the clean one to clean up after and this was mostly to catch the hair. She wasn’t gentle as she hacked into the weedy mess that covered his head like a tangled lion mane, occasionally pulling on his scalp in order to fit the scissors she’d brought under the tangle. Once the hair was mostly gone, she trimmed it as best she could to neaten it. He could go to a real barber once he was clean of the drugs. Assuming he got clean of the drugs. Assuming she didn’t kill him.
Once his hair was gone, or mostly gone at least, she tilted his head back against her belly and started on his beard. Still using the scissors, she trimmed it down so that a razor would actually do something for it, and then using the razor and a can of creme, working to get rid of even the stubble. She wondered how much of the crawling feeling was drugs, and how much were the actual bugs he’d had in his hair and beard. Unsurprisingly, she’d seen evidence of lice and fleas, and even a spider and gnats. Really attractive, that.