*Chapter 2:Rock Bottom Selfie.*
1143 Words
*7:13 AM*
I woke up with a hangover, a broken phone, and a broken heart.
The light coming through Tasha’s blinds felt personal. Like it was attacking me.
My mouth tasted like cheap wine and bad decisions. My head felt like someone had used it as a drum.
And then I remembered.
_I can’t do this anymore. We’re done._
Oh.
It really happened.
I sat up too fast on Tasha’s couch. The blanket fell off me. I was still wearing Ethan’s hoodie. The gray one. It smelled like him and last night and failure.
My phone was on the coffee table. Cracked right down the middle.
14 missed calls from Mom.
3 texts from people I didn’t care about.
0 from Ethan.
Of course.
And then I saw it.
A photo. My own face.
Puffy eyes. Smeared mascara that had traveled to my jaw. Hair in knots. Wearing his hoodie like a security blanket.
Caption underneath: _project glow up: day 1._
Posted to our private story at 2:47am by Tasha.
I made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.
“This is bad,” I whispered.
“This is rock bottom,” a voice said from the kitchen.
Tasha.
She walked in holding two iced coffees and a gym bag like she was going to war. Bonnet gone. Braids in. Lashes on. Fury in her eyes.
“Morning, sunshine,” she said. “How’s the corpse?”
“Dead,” I said. “Very dead.”
She shoved a coffee into my hands. Cold. Sweet. Exactly what I needed.
“Drink. Then we talk. Then we move.”
I took a sip. It burned and woke me up at the same time.
“Tash,” I said. “What if I just—”
“No,” she cut me off. “Option one: we cry in bed for two weeks and stalk his i********:. Option two: we become the girl he’s gonna cry about at 3am.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair. Ethan wasn’t fair. Drink your coffee.”
She sat next to me and grabbed my phone. Scrolled.
“Blocked his number. Blocked his Insta. Blocked his Spotify. You’re welcome.”
“You did what?”
“You’d thank me tomorrow. Today you’re gonna hate me.”
I stared at the selfie again. At the girl in the photo.
She looked small.
She looked like someone who let a boy decide her worth at 2am on a sidewalk.
“I look awful,” I said.
“You looked like grief,” Tasha said, honest. “But grief is temporary. We’re about to be permanent.”
She pulled out a yellow post-it note. Slapped it on the table.
It said:
`TASHA’S RULES`
`1. GYM`
`2. WATER`
`3. NO ETHAN`
`4. NEW HAIR`
`5. WE GLOW`
“That’s five rules,” I said.
“I’m mad. I get extra.”
---
*8:30 AM*
The bathroom mirror was cruel.
I stared at myself. Really stared.
The girl looking back had dark circles and chapped lips and Ethan’s hoodie swallowing her whole.
He said I was too much.
Too loud. Too needy. Too in love.
The memory hit me like a slap.
I doubled over and cried. Not pretty crying. The ugly kind. The kind that makes your ribs hurt.
Tasha didn’t come in. She just knocked.
“Two minutes,” she said through the door. “Then you pull it together.”
I let it out. All of it. The humiliation. The anger. The _why wasn’t I enough_.
When the two minutes were up, I wiped my face.
And then I did the thing.
I grabbed the sleeves of Ethan’s hoodie. The one he’d left at my place three weeks ago. The one I’d been wearing like armor.
And I threw it in the trash.
It landed on top of pizza boxes and coffee grounds.
It looked small in there.
“Okay,” I said out loud. “Okay. I’m done.”
---
*10:05 AM*
The gym smelled like sweat and rubber and motivation I did not have.
Tasha marched me straight to the treadmill.
“Ten minutes,” she said. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“I hate this,” I panted after minute three.
“Good,” Tasha said, running next to me like it was nothing. “Every step is one step further from him.”
Minute seven, my legs were jelly.
Minute nine, I wanted to quit.
And then I heard it.
“Is that Ethan’s girl?”
Two girls on the elliptical. Whispering. Looking at me.
My face burned.
I was Ethan’s girl. Past tense.
Tasha heard it too. She turned, looked them dead in the eye, and said, “Was. Key word: was.”
Then she looked at me. “One more minute.”
So I ran one more minute.
When we got out, my shirt was soaked and my lungs hurt and I felt... different.
Not better. Not yet.
But like I’d done something he couldn’t take from me.
---
*1:22 PM*
Shower. Clean clothes. Tasha had gone shopping while I was dying on the treadmill.
She laid out jeans that actually fit, a cream sweater, and boots.
“Put it on,” she said. “We’re not hiding today.”
I did.
I looked in the mirror again.
Still tired. Still sad.
But not the girl from the photo. Not anymore.
Tasha was on the phone when I came out. She hung up fast.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “Just my mom.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
_Can we talk? - E_
My stomach dropped.
Ethan. New number.
My thumb hovered over it. Part of me wanted to answer. To yell. To ask why.
Tasha snatched it out of my hand.
“Nope.”
She blocked the number in three seconds flat.
“Rule three,” she said. “No Ethan.”
She disappeared into her room and came back with paper.
Actual paper. With a title at the top in sharpie:
`THE GLOW-UP CONTRACT`
`PARTIES: CHLOE & TASHA`
`DURATION: 90 DAYS`
`CLAUSE 1: NO CONTACT WITH ETHAN`
`CLAUSE 2: GYM 4X A WEEK`
`CLAUSE 3: THERAPY STARTS NEXT WEEK`
`CLAUSE 4: NEW HAIR BY FRIDAY`
`CLAUSE 5: WE BECOME UNRECOGNIZABLE`
`SIGNATURE: *_**_*_`
Tasha held out a pen.
“Sign it,” she said. “90 days. No contact. No going back. By the end of this, he’s gonna regret that text with every bone in his body.”
I looked at the paper.
At the rules.
At Tasha who was looking at me like I was worth fighting for.
My hand was shaking.
But I picked up the pen.
Because the girl in the selfie didn’t get to decide anything.
And I was done being her.
The pen touched paper.
- Writer
