𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐬 | pete davidson

one: the video

30 Rockefeller Plaza was where Dahlia was meeting her. In the studio where they film Saturday Night Live.

It didn't take her long to rush out of the house, somewhat frazzled and still somewhat hazy of the events of last night. She felt thankful; keeping a spare change of clothes was so worth the headache, she thought.

The amount of time she had to freshen up was pretty nonexistent, but she did everything in lightning speed to smell as sweet as possible.

Like she hadn't just drowned in liquor.

The cab she called had already been waiting by the door when she stepped outside. Popping the collar of her black double drap Valentino coat, Dahlia quickly shuffled into the car and gave the driver the address.

They had left Manhattan and reached Times Square when Dahlia first saw it. She felt her jaw drop and the pit in her stomach flip.

She motioned for the driver to stop momentarily.

When she stepped out of the cab, surrounded by the plethora of jumbo screens and advertisements, Dahlia watched in both amazement and disbelief.

The video taken of her last night.

She watched herself complete forty-two pirouettes in a row.

Balanced on one foot, only the tip of her toes supporting all of her body weight, as her body spun in rapid motion. Her head cocked in response to keep her from going dizzy.

Muscle memory was one hell of a blessing.

In that moment, she was surrounded by a crowd of partygoers drunkenly cheering her on as she kept going. The video was filmed by someone from the lower level, looking up at a zoomed in figure of herself. She watched as she leapt off of the table, dancing over to the railing.

Pushing herself off.
She watched herself plummet down onto the main level.
She could imagine the gasps partygoers made in reaction to her drop, she could just hear it.

Dahlia fell into an effortless split, continuing to bop as if nothing happened.

It had been replaying over and over again, played on multiple news outlets. They said it was approximately a 15 ft drop. They labelled her the Splits Girl. Some outlets just called her Catwoman.

Her hand slapped her mouth shut. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Dahlia couldn't understand just what this meant for her going forward.

She started getting recognized by strangers on the street. Freaked out, she rushed back into the cab and continued to Rockefeller Plaza.

*

Tipping the man, Dahlia wasted no time sprinting into the building. Her pumps clicked very loudly on the tiled floor of the lobby as she rushed through the open doors of an elevator.

Pulling out the rouge from her purse, she quickly checked herself in the mirror as she fixed any imperfections in her makeup.

She didn't know why she was so nervous to be here. But after the realization of everything hitting her all at once, she just became so hyper focused on her appearance.

The overhead light made the Vivienne Westwood charm on her pearl choker twinkle. It had caught her eye in the mirror.

That's when she noticed the man with her in the elevator.