She poured the white pellets down the dark throat of the drain, then the cold water. A faint, acrid sweetness rose—like ammonia and burnt marshmallows. Then, a soft, volcanic hiss. The chemical reaction was hungry. It was eating the past.
She tried bleach. The hair turned white, then brittle, then crumbled to a powder that smelled of swimming pools. Too slow. Too theatrical. what will dissolve hair
It had been eight months since the breakup. Eight months since Paul had packed his leather satchel, his collection of obscure vinyl, and his quiet, devastating cruelty. But he’d left things behind. Not sweaters or books. Things that were harder to throw away. She poured the white pellets down the dark