𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 ⋆ 𝕶𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖞

𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

          The reflection staring back at Daisy Cohen is not one that's she's proud of.

          The little bruise-coloured half moons below her eyes seem to get darker every day. Her eyes are puffy, bloodshot, dull. The skin around them isn't much better; her old self would have considered it a cardinal sin to go a day without moisturiser. Now her skin flakes, the radiant shine she once prided herself on has disappeared in lieu of redness, little scabs where spots once were, dryness that covers her whole face. Her brows haven't been waxed in almost six months and anybody could tell from a mile away. Her lashes are sparse where she pulls at them, and her hair sits limp around her face. Her split ends reach to her elbows.

          The bright fluorescents in the bathroom do nothing to hide her transgressions against beauty standards.

          So, hot on the tails of their win last weekend, she decides to make a change.

          "I'm going to the mall," Daisy announces to the lounge full of girls. Jaws drop, eyes widen, a glass of water overflows in the sink.

          "You owe Matt twenty dollars," Renee says to Dan. Daisy's brow drops. "She bet you wouldn't go unless we made you. He knew you'd come around sooner."

          "I need a haircut," is what Daisy says. What she really means is: if I don't make a change in my life right now, I'm going to hit my drug dealer on speed dial. The game on Friday reminded her of what she's alive for and, as stupid as it sounds, she really, really wants to do better. It's hard, but she's got a point to prove to herself.

          "I'll drive," Allison says, and it's the cue Daisy needs. They both slip into their shoes (Daisy a pair of worn sneakers, Allison a conservative two-inch heel) and leave before the other girls can question. There's a soft agreement between the pair, grief and sorrow and a fire nobody else can understand bonding them. Allison's bouncy outfit and styled curls seem to mock Daisy's bedraggled appearance, but that's okay. Daisy needs a boot to the ass, and Allison needs somebody to kick.

          They talk about everything and nothing, mostly because Allison will start crying if she's not distracted. They make it to the mall in good time, and then Daisy finds herself standing outside of a shiny salon.

          "What are you getting done?" Allison asks. She pinches a strand of Daisy's hair and lets it fall again. She doesn't hide her disgust very well.

          "It's a surprise," Daisy replies. It'll probably even be a surprise to herself, because most of her decisions are made on a whim with no forethought. "Meet me in the food court after?"

          "Text me," Allison says, then abandons ship. Daisy takes a deep breath in, blows it out through pursed lips.

          Time to start something new.

═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══

          Allison's face should be framed, the portrait painted exactly when her eyes lay upon Daisy approaching with her new style. Her pretty mouth drops into a silent scream, plucked brows curling down over her manicured lashes. She dashes towards Daisy, heels snapping like gunshots on her approach. Her arms are thrown out towards Daisy's face, and the first thing she does is bury her fingers into Daisy's scalp.

          "Oh," Allison begins, putting a heavy pause between her words, "my God! What the fuck, Cohen!"

          "Does it suck that bad?" Daisy asks, staring Allison right in the eyes.