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When Billy first meets Joe Dick she has hair down to her waist and goes by the name of Josephine Mulgrew. She does not look like a Josephine.
She hands Billy a pair of scissors and a packet of disposable razors.
“Cut it.”
“All of it?”
“No, I want a Mohawk.”
“You’re gonna get expelled.”
Joe just looks at her in the mirror for a couple of seconds, blue eyes almost covered by long brown bangs.
“I don’t care.”
Billy shrugs and start cutting with neat precise movements. Billy’s sister is a hairdresser, she keeps nagging at Billy to learn, she wants them to open a beauty salon together.
Shaving the hair on the sides of Joe's head isn't all that complicated, the Mohawk is trickier; it takes a long time to get it mostly even and straight.
Billy rests her hand on the nape of Joe’s neck, the hair looks short and bristly but is surprisingly soft under her fingers. Joe lets her head fall forward a little bit, her eyes follows the movement of Billy’s hand.
“You like it?”
The inside of the club is weirdly quiet at 4 am, the drummer in the last band is packing up and the screeching sound of metal on stone floor travels trough the room. Someone has turned on the overhead lights and everything looks shabby and worn in the cold fluorescent light.
Joe’s on the heels of her feet rocking back and forth in quick impatient movements. Billy watches her. There are days when it feels like that’s all she ever does.
“Relax, he’s gonna be here.”
He does show up at last, 30 minutes late. He smiles at them and takes a long drag from his cigarette.
“What can I do for you girls?”
Billy smiles back.
“We'd like to play here.”
The man blows out a cloud of smoke and lets his eyes travel over her body long enough to be impolite.
“We’re not booking any more girl-bands. Sorry.”
Joe doesn’t actually spit in his face or punch him but it’s only because Billy is already dragging her outside before he’s even finished speaking.
Outside the club it’s raining softly and the black asphalt is gleaming in the light from the street-lamps. The air smells like rotting grass and car-exhaust. Billy offers Joe a smoke and lights one for herself.
“Asshole. Fucking asshole. And the way he was looking at you. Like he’d ever have a chance.”
She turns to Billy and stubs out the cigarette against the railing.
“You’re mine. Got that?”
Later that night she repeats it with that strangely intent look that always makes Billy think of predatory animals. They are back at the apartment and Joe has taken advantage of a moment’s distraction to get Billy on the floor.
“Swear.”
“Alright. Fuck, let me go.”
“Swear.”
“I’m yours, I swear.”
“Always?”
Billy doesn’t know how Joe can make her face so open. It’s not like she can’t lie with the best of them when she wants to but at times like this it’s like there isn’t one millimetre of protective coating between Joe and the world, just raw bleeding meat of emotions exposed to the elements. It scares Billy. And maybe it makes some small part of her want to hurt Joe until she learns better.
She hesitates for a moment and Joe tightens her grip. She can’t breathe, can’t focus on anything but the feel of those two hands around her neck and the sensation of not getting enough air. She looks up at Joe.
She nods frantically which isn’t easy with her neck pressed to the floor.
The pressure eases.
“Say it.”
When she has gasped in enough air that she’s able to speak her voice sounds unfamiliar to her; soft and kind of broken.
“Okay, I’m yours, forever and fucking ever. I swear.”
Joe lets go of her neck immediately and gives her one of those slow smiles. She sits back up and her thighs press into Billy’s.
Billy glares at her.
“Fucker.”
Joe doesn’t say anything, just pulls back a little and uses one hand to pop open the buttons of Billy’s jeans. Lets it slide down inside her panties, coming to rest in wetness and pubic hair.
Joe looks her in the eyes; serious now.
“It goes both ways you know.”