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REALITY WAS A SCARY THING to come to terms with. Few people saw the world for what it truly was — a hopeless place where people fought and ravaged for the slightest slither of success. They would pound others to the ground for the sake of themselves, rarely facing repercussions. Because that was just the way of life.
Everyone was shitty, no matter where you went. Some were simply better at lying about their shittiness.
It was those sort of people who made it big in the world.
Luckily for Juno Leon, she was a good — screw that — an impeccable liar. She would tell half-truths dressed up with pretty smiles and twinkling eyes and no one could tell she was fabricating some of her words. It was alarming, how charming she was. But that was all a part of the of the Hollywood star's spectacle.
She belonged to the praise of onlookers. She was a thing of admiration to be fawned over, fought for.
That was what made Juno perfect. She wasn't one of those ravenous people. Because she wasn't even seen as a person, not in the eyes of the world.
And yet, she didn't mind. If she was the main act in a show someone else created, it was their responsibility to depict her as they pleased. Her lies only acted as bubble wrap, protecting her picturesque life from breaking. Stopping the glass from shattering around her. She had everything under control.
Or so she thought.
Juno Leon was good at her job, sure. She'd made the world fall in love with her every move. She was enchanting to watch. But the person at her window found her most endearing when she was alone. Her only companionship being the same sitcom she played repeatedly on her TV. She was sweet, innocent, naive, stupid.
Did she really think they'd just forgive and forget?
They knew everything about her by now. They could see through her little white lies that she offered up on a silver platter. For starters, she didn't like LA, her favourite food was pozole ( although in interviews she claimed it was mac'n'cheese). But most importantly, her favourite colour was red.
It was so fucking ironic.
Red.
Everything was red.
Shit, she had no idea.
Juno was a sheep in headlights. She thought she was safe? Her head thrown back laughing at that stupid fucking show. The noise ricocheted in their mind.
And then, everything was red again.
Juno Leon had dug her own grave. It was her fucking fault if she wasn't ready to lie in it.
authors note. why are first chapters so difficult to write
