*Chapter 3: The Glow-Up Contract.*
941 Words
*DAY 1 OF 90*
I signed my name and declared war on my old self.
The contract was taped to Tasha’s fridge in sharpie and desperation.
`NO ETHAN. GYM 4X. THERAPY. NEW HAIR. WE GLOW.`
Tasha slid a green smoothie across the counter at 7am.
“Drink.”
“It’s green.”
“It’s revenge. Drink.”
It tasted like grass and bad choices.
“Feels insane,” I said.
“Insane is what gets results,” Tasha said, already in gym clothes. “Come on. We’re not crying today. We’re lifting.”
I looked at the girl in the reflection of the microwave.
Puffy eyes from yesterday. Ethan’s ghost in the corners.
Not her anymore.
---
*DAY 3*
“Cut it all off.”
The words came out before I could panic.
The stylist froze, scissors halfway to my hair.
“Babe, are you sure? This is like, two years of growth.”
“I’m sure.”
Tasha was in the chair next to me getting her nails done blood-red.
“Do it,” she said. “He doesn’t get to keep the version of you he liked.”
Snip.
Brown hair hit the floor.
Snip.
Two years of “Ethan likes it long” hit the floor.
Snip.
The girl in the mirror stopped looking like someone’s girlfriend and started looking like herself.
Shoulder length. Darker. Glossy. Sharp.
I didn’t recognize me.
And that was the point.
I took a selfie in the salon chair. Same hoodie-less me, but different eyes.
I didn’t post it.
I saved it.
For later. For when he’d see it and it would be too late.
Tasha paid and squeezed my shoulder.
“Step one: complete.”
---
*DAY 5: THERAPY*
Dr. Reed’s office smelled like lavender and uncomfortable truths.
“So,” she said. “Why are we here?”
“Because my ex dumped me by text and I threw his hoodie in the trash,” I said.
“Good start.” She smiled. “What else?”
I picked at my nails.
“I keep thinking... if I was less. Less loud. Less emotional. Less me. Then maybe he’d have stayed.”
“And do you believe that?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you think you have to be small to be loved?”
The question hit me in the chest.
I didn’t have an answer.
So I cried. Not ugly crying. The clean kind.
And for the first time, nobody told me to be quiet about it.
On the way out, Tasha was waiting with bubble tea.
“How’d it go?”
“I think I have to stop hating myself for loving big.”
“Good,” Tasha said. “Now let’s go hate the treadmill instead.”
---
*DAY 7: GYM*
Minute 1: I wanted to die.
Minute 10: I wanted to quit.
Minute 20: I was still running.
Tasha: “Faster.”
Me: “I hate you.”
Tasha: “Good. Use it.”
That night I almost texted Ethan.
My thumb hovered over a new number I’d memorized.
_Are you seeing this?_
I deleted it.
Did 10 pushups instead.
Fell on my face on rep 8.
Got up and did 2 more.
Tasha found me on the floor, sweating.
“Progress,” she said.
---
*DAY 8*
Tasha raided my closet.
“This is Ethan’s taste,” she said, throwing a baggy tee.
“This is Ethan’s taste,” she said, throwing sweats.
“This is—”
“I get it,” I said, laughing for the first time in a week.
She came back with bags. Red. Fitted. Things that fit. Things that weren’t to make him comfortable.
“Try this,” she said, holding up a cream dress.
I put it on.
I looked like me. Not his me. Me.
We burned his old t-shirts in her sink.
It smelled like closure.
---
*DAY 9*
Ethan was at a bar with his boys.
His phone buzzed.
Group chat. Someone posted pics from Tasha’s kickback.
He scrolled past food. Past people.
Then he stopped.
Zoomed in.
Chloe.
In the back.
New hair.
Cream dress.
Laughing.
Not looking at the camera. Not looking for him.
“Who’s that?” his friend asked.
“That’s Chloe.”
“Since when does Chloe look like that?”
Ethan’s drink stopped halfway to his mouth.
His chest did something weird. Tight.
He pulled out his phone. New number.
_Can we talk?_
Delivered.
Seen.
No reply.
He tried again.
_Please._
Seen.
Nothing.
He put the phone down. Picked up his drink.
It tasted like regret.
---
*DAY 10*
Campus was loud.
I was louder. In my head.
Head up. Back straight. New boots. New hair. New me.
People stared.
Whispered.
“Is that—”
“That’s Ethan’s—”
“Was Ethan’s—”
I didn’t care.
I walked into Lecture Hall B.
Slid into my seat.
Pulled out my notebook.
Two rows back, Lucas dropped his pen.
He’d been sitting there since day one. Quiet. Always in a hoodie. Always early.
But today he looked up when I walked in.
Really looked.
The hair.
The way she didn’t check her phone every 30 seconds.
The way she didn’t look around the room for someone.
His pen hit the floor.
He didn’t pick it up.
Across the quad, Ethan was walking to his class.
He stopped.
Because there she was.
Crossing the path.
Cream sweater.
Hair swinging.
Not his.
He opened his mouth.
She walked past him.
Didn’t look back.
Not at Lucas.
Not at Ethan.
Straight ahead.
Like the sidewalk at 2am had never happened.
- Writer
