My life after Provo would be everything. Instead of numbered sweats, I’d curate a designer wardrobe and never wear the same outfit twice. Instead of bloodshot eyes and a bruised face, I’d have lush fake lashes, a seamless spray tan, and a touch of glitter on my cheekbones. Instead of shame, I would wrap myself in audacity, and I would make so much money and be so successful, no one could ever have control over me again. Fuck trust. Fuck entitlement. Fuck inheritance. I would never take another dime from my parents. My belongings, my well-being, and my body would belong to me and me alone.
