Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection.
But Renna knows her life is nothing but a golden prison coated in pretty lies that keep her muted and small.
Her day...
"What is love, if not the ache of needing someone when they're already beside you?"
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The Hive was already throbbing.
Neon purples flickering like lightning against its brick skin, electric blues rolling over the crowd like ocean waves in a storm. From across the street, it looked less like a club and more like a living, breathing animal about to swallow us whole.
Near the barrier, two girls in cropped uni hoodies were manning a wristband booth, yelling, "RED FOR DRINKERS, BLUE FOR SOBER BABIES!"
"I'd rather die than be blue," Freya muttered, already eyeing the wristband booth with murder in her eyes.
I swapped my clutch from one hand to the other. The gold chain left a faint red mark across my wrist, but I wasn't about to let anyone see me wince. Not tonight.
Pain is hot girl tax. I'll pay it in full.
Isla clutched my hand tighter, her icy rings pressing into my skin as she raised her phone. "Cam, it's psychotic out here. I'm sweating already and no one's even touched me yet."
Freya spun toward me, pulling out her phone. "Renna, look here. Slightly left. Yes. Yes. Hold it. You look like luxury."
Because I am, duh.
I tilted my head, smirked, let the light hit. Flash.
Another angle.
Another flash.
A pout. A bite of my bottom lip.
God, is this what it feels like to be watched? No wonder these girls eat this up. It's addictive.
Isla hung up. "Alright. Plan B. The entry crew know Cam. He told us to in through the back like the royalty we are."
And just like that, she dragged us into the thick of the crowd.
We passed a boy wearing angel wings and nothing else-literal arse cheeks out-and a girl in a fishnet catsuit sucking on a lollipop like she was being paid for it. The air was loud and sticky and a cloud of vape cloud smacked me straight in the face.
I choked.
Is that bubblegum? Or poison? Do people actually enjoy this or are we just pretending we do?
We walked past the mass of bodies toward a side gate that had a big "STAFF ONLY" sign, which was guarded by two girls in black T-shirts.
Isla stepped forward. "Hiya! Isla Kerr. These are my girls. We're with Cam. He said you'd have us?"
The taller girl chewed her gum as she scanned a crumpled paper list, and finally popped a bubble. "You're in. Welcome to the freakshow, ladies."
She snapped three glittering bands onto our wrists that literally sparkled like restraints.
