Love Like She Does

Slowly I pull my fingers through the strands, fighting against the tangles and knots. The sticky red reminds me suddenly of blood, but I quickly remove it from my thoughts. The red goo fights through my bleached hair as I wait for the timer to release. Scrolling through my phone I see her face plastered to my story. She has pretty friends, pretty siblings, heck, pretty parents. I tell people to love themselves, and they should. I love myself. I just want to love myself more. I want to love myself like she loves herself. This should help. Her hair looks similar. With her red strands reaching down to her elbows.

Later that night I unwrap the towel, sitting crisscrossed in front of the glass mirror on the bathroom counter. Slowly I unwrap the lime green towel she bought for me at the beach two summers ago. It drips of red goo, smelling of dangerous chemicals no one ever questions anymore. My hair looks….okay. The red strands are luminous, but damaged. The smell is unnatural, but calming. I am pretty, like her, but I feel stained.