Urban

(Gym For Women) GFW - Wellness Center - Intro

Added 2025-05-29 16:06:26 +0000 UTC

So, it was supposed to be a chill afternoon. Just Derek and me getting ready for our cousin's parents' wedding anniversary. But ever since Mom and Dad died in that crash six months ago, nothing's been easy between us. Derek, he's 27, and just full of this simmering anger. He's turned into this weird mix of feeling special and being totally negative. He'd bark orders like the house was his kingdom, and I was just his unpaid maid. Ugh.

I'm 18, trying to juggle college, groceries, and all this grief, while he comes home from his office job acting like the world owes him. When I nicely asked him to wear something decent to the party, he scoffed! Called the whole thing "a waste of time," and laughed at my outfit like I was some little kid playing dress-up. Seriously?!

I didn't say anything right away. I just watched him walk off, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath about "wasting time with stupid family parties." I'd gotten used to his bitter mood, but today it just stung more. Maybe it was how he rolled his eyes at me, like I was a joke. Or maybe it was how easily he blew off the one chance we had to feel normal again—celebrating with family instead of drowning in sadness. Or maybe I was just plain tired. Tired of tiptoeing around his moods. Tired of feeling like the only adult in the house.

Back in my room, I closed the door and sat on the edge of my bed, gently touching the soft lilac dress I'd picked for the party. It wasn't fancy, just something I chose because it made me feel pretty and whole, like someone who still belonged in a world that actually celebrated things. I looked at myself in the mirror, and slowly, an idea started bubbling up.

I knew it wouldn't be easy. He'd fight it, obviously. But I also knew how to push his buttons, how to bait him just right. Derek was arrogant, stubborn, and had this super fragile ego that just shattered when challenged. I didn't need to overpower him; I just had to outsmart him. Heh.

By the time I walked back into the living room, I had a smile on my face and a plan in motion. He was sprawled on the couch, glued to his phone, wearing a ratty T-shirt and jeans, like he was getting ready for some casual backyard beer pong tournament.

"Oh," I said casually, "so you're not coming?"

He glanced up, not really interested. "Didn't say that. I just don't see the point in dressing up."

"Huh. That's weird," I said, tilting my head. "Because Aunt Melissa specifically said it's formal. Like, cocktail-attire formal. She's going all out!"

Derek groaned. "Seriously? You want me to wear a suit to a wedding anniversary?"

"Not just any wedding anniversary. It's our uncle and aunt's 25th wedding anniversary, and you know how she is—judgy, dramatic! If you show up looking like that, she'll throw a fit. Might even blame it on me!"

That got his attention. He sat up straighter. "So what do you want me to wear? I don't even know where my blazer is."

"Oh, don't worry," I said sweetly. "I already laid something out for you. It's in my room."

He raised an eyebrow. "Your room?"

"Yeah. Trust me, it'll fit. Just... go try it on."

And to my complete surprise, he actually did!

Derek didn't even question it at first. He trudged down the hallway toward my room, probably expecting to find a clean shirt and maybe one of Dad's old blazers. I followed close behind, heart pounding—not with fear, but with anticipation. This wasn't about revenge. Not entirely.

The clothes I'd laid out on the bed were chosen carefully: a soft ivory button-up blouse, light and smooth, just feminine enough to make him squirm if he looked too closely, paired with tailored black trousers that cinched slightly at the waist and fell neatly to the ankle. They weren't labeled for men or women. But in Derek's black-and-white world, they might as well have been a costume.

He stopped in the doorway, his brow furrowing. "What is this?"

"Your outfit," I said, as matter-of-factly as possible. "It's clean, it fits, and it's formal enough for Aunt Melissa's standards. You said you didn't have anything!"

"This blouse looks like something you'd wear," he said.

"It's gender-neutral," I countered, already pulling out my flat iron for my own hair. "Half the guys on Instagram wear stuff like that. Besides, the pants are yours. I just tailored the waist last year after you lost weight!"

He grumbled but didn't walk away. Instead, he stood there, shifting his weight like a teenager trying to dodge a chore.

"People are going to look at me."

"No one's going to care," I said, glancing at him in the mirror. "Besides, if you walk in there looking confident, they'll assume it's some sleek European fashion thing. Just own it!"

He hesitated, clearly debating whether his pride or his laziness would win.

"Fine," he muttered. "But only because I don't want to listen to Aunt Melissa for two hours."

"Good choice," I said with a small smile. "And hey—maybe you'll even get a compliment!"

Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in the outfit. He looked unsure, tugging at the sleeves and shifting uncomfortably in the dress pants. The blouse fell softly against his frame, highlighting his lean build.

"You don't think this is too much?" he asked, voice low.

"No," I said simply. "You actually look good, Derek."

He didn't answer. He just grabbed his keys and waited for me at the door.

As we left for the party, I couldn't help but wonder—what would our cousins say when they saw him like this?!

The party was already in full swing by the time we arrived. Aunt Melissa's suburban home was decked out with balloons, fairy lights, and a whole buffet of fancy appetizers no one under thirty would touch.

Derek stood beside me on the porch, adjusting his collar for the fourth time. Even though we were the same height—both 5'7"—he somehow seemed smaller at that moment. His shoulders weren't squared like usual. His chin wasn't lifted in that self-satisfied way.

"You'll be fine," I said quietly, offering a small smile. "Just walk in with me. No one's going to say anything."

"I look like a joke," he muttered, brushing his hair behind his ears. His long, soft brown strands fluttered in the breeze, falling right back into his eyes.

"You don't," I said. "You look... neutral. Maybe even stylish, if you stopped fidgeting."

He didn't respond, but he didn't run either.

Inside, the warm lighting didn't do him any favors. The smoothness of his skin caught the glow, making his cheeks shine slightly. Combined with the blouse and the delicate shape of the outfit, he didn't just pass for gender-neutral—he looked striking! Not feminine exactly, but not traditionally masculine either.

There were a few blinks and a couple of double takes. One of our cousins, Paige, did a slow once-over and raised a brow in curious amusement. But no one laughed. No one mocked him. Phew.

Aunt Melissa swept toward us with a glass of wine in one hand and her classic air-kiss greeting locked and loaded. "There's my beautiful niece!" she said, smothering me in a hug. Then she turned to Derek. Her painted-on smile faltered for half a second—but only for half.

"And... oh, you're looking sharp too, Derek."

He managed a tight smile. "Thanks."

"You really do pull that look off," she continued, almost to herself now. "Could've sworn you were one of your sister's friends for a second."

I waited for the blow-up. The eye-roll. The dry, sarcastic comeback.

But Derek just nodded and said, "Yeah, I get that a lot."

I blinked.

That wasn't the Derek I knew.

I kept glancing at him. He was quieter than usual, less reactive. Something in him had shifted. It wasn't humiliation—it was introspection. Like he was watching himself from the outside for the first time, unsure of what he was becoming but too curious to stop it. Wow.

The ride home was quiet. Derek stared out the window, his expression unreadable, fingers still brushing through his hair every few minutes like he hadn't realized he was doing it. I didn't press him. Something had clearly shifted, and whatever it was, he needed to process it alone.

By the time we got home, most of the adrenaline had worn off. I kicked off my heels and went straight to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Derek wandered in a few minutes later and started picking at the leftover takeout from the fridge—cold lo mein in a plastic container, easy to eat.

"You were different tonight," I said softly, breaking the silence.

He didn't look up, just shrugged as he leaned against the counter. "Yeah, well... people change."

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. If that was his version of self-reflection, I'd take it.

But then, mid-bite, his hand paused. His expression went slack.

"Derek?" I asked, watching the container slip from his hand.

He wobbled, knees buckling—then collapsed to the floor.