𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊!! // 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐍

005 Pretty isn't pretty

IRL X TEXT

The next day the image of Alexa Hart had stayed with her, every time Isla closed her eyes, that photo flashed behind her lids—Alexa on the beach, the sunlight catching the golden waves of her hair, her effortless glow, the way she seemed to belong in every moment captured. Jack's smile in the picture wasn't directed at the camera; it was for her.

Isla stood in front of her bedroom mirror, absentmindedly tugging at a strand of her dark, uncooperative waves. They didn't fall perfectly, not like Alexa's. Her oversized T-shirt hung limply on her frame, and the pale morning light seemed to accentuate every sharp angle she didn't like. She leaned closer, tracing the faint dark circles under her eyes.

Why couldn't she look... softer? Prettier? More like someone who belonged in a photo like that?

Grabbing her phone, Isla flopped onto her bed, scrolling through her own photos. She was searching for something—anything—to prove herself wrong. Her thumb paused over a picture she'd posted months ago, one she remembered liking at the time. Now, though, the critiques came rushing in.

Why does my nose look like that here?
My jawline is too sharp in this one.
Why can't I smile like her?

Her chest tightened, and her phone slipped from her grasp, landing with a dull thud on the comforter.

These thoughts weren't new. They'd been there for years, whispering in the back of her mind since her face became a topic of public discussion. She didn't even have to scroll far to hear echoes of those insecurities in the comments under her posts:

She looks tired—does she even eat?
She'd look better with more makeup.
Ugh, too much makeup now.

The pressure had always been there, but Alexa's presence—this specter from Jack's past—made it impossible to ignore today. Isla couldn't help but wonder if she even stood a chance. If Alexa was his type, what could Isla offer?

Her stomach twisted as the thought settled. She wasn't sure if it was jealousy or just the crushing realization that Jack might see her the way she saw herself—lacking.

With a frustrated exhale, Isla pulled her notebook from her nightstand and flipped to a blank page. Her pen hovered above it, hesitating. She tried to write about something else, anything else, but the words refused to come.

Finally, she let the pen move freely. The jagged, unpolished lines spilled onto the paper

The feelings came faster than she could stop them. Her handwriting grew messier as the words flowed.

She set the pen down and reached for her guitar. The familiar weight of it grounded her as her fingers found a soft, melancholy melody. It began tentatively, her voice trembling as she sang the first lines aloud

"Brought a bunch of makeup, tryna cover up my face"

Her voice cracked, but she kept going. The chords deepened as she leaned into the chorus:

"When pretty isn't pretty enough"

-

"I could change up my body and change up my face."

Her emotions poured out as she tweaked the lyrics, pulling every hidden insecurity into the open. The words weren't just about today—they were years in the making, a raw confrontation with every expectation she'd ever felt crushed under.

"You can win the battle but you'll never win the war"

"You fix the things you hated, and yet you still feel so insecure"