𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍 • ᵉ ʲᵃᵉᵍᵉʳ

"sex tape"

𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟻𝚝𝚑

𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, I find myself lounging on my bed, mindlessly scrolling through social media as I half-heartedly listen to a podcast in the background. "Can you believe this crap?" I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes at yet another influencer promoting some detox tea that promises to "melt away your insecurities" while they sit in their million-dollar mansion.

"Yeah, sure, because nothing screams self-love like drinking grass juice and pretending it's a magic potion." I chuckle at the thought, popping another piece of polar ice gum into my mouth and blowing a bubble that bursts with a satisfying pop.

I toss my phone aside, letting it land on the pile of clothes I've deemed "too cute to put away." Who needs organization when you can have a fashion statement?

"I swear, if I had a dollar for every time someone told me I should be more 'natural,' I could buy myself a whole new wardrobe. Newsflash, honey: pink lipstick and chaos are the perfect blend." I sit up, tossing my hair over one shoulder.

I wiggle around on my bed, tugging at the hem of my pink tank top, trying to find that sweet spot of comfort. My matching sweatpants are a baby pink that practically screams "I'm cute and I know it." The cream-colored walls surround me like some bland, polite embrace, while the TV mumbles on with some half-baked drama. Probably another fight about who's sleeping with who or who ruined the vacation—like I care. It's just background noise, something to drown out the ticking of the clock.

The air smells faintly of vanilla from the candle I blew out ages ago, clinging to the room as if trying to make itself at home. I glance down at the flecks of lint on my sweatpants, idly flicking them away with a painted nail. The cool breeze slips through the cracked window, reminding me how much I'd rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, instead of waiting for DoorDash to finally show up. I tap my foot against the wooden bed frame, rolling my eyes as I think about how the delivery is probably taking its sweet time, just like everything else in this dull, beige room.

Just then, there's a sharp knock at the door, jolting me from my thoughts. I spring up from the bed, practically leaping across the room in a couple of steps. When I yank open the door, a girl stands there, looking half-bored and half-annoyed, holding a greasy plastic bag with the Wingstop logo emblazoned on the front. The smell of hot wings hits me instantly, making my stomach growl like I haven't eaten in weeks.

"Delivery for...Y/N?" she drones, peeking at the receipt like she couldn't care less if it was my name or someone else's.

"Yup, that's me," I reply, reaching for the bag eagerly. "Took you long enough, I was starting to think I'd starve to death."

She gives me a half-smirk, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, well, traffic's a nightmare. You're lucky you're even getting this," she says, handing over the bag.

"Trust me, if I didn't need these wings to survive, I wouldn't have waited," I shoot back with a grin, taking the bag and glancing down at the warm, greasy bundle inside.

"Enjoy," she says flatly before turning on her heel and heading back down the hallway.

"Believe me, I will," I mumble to myself as I close the door and make my way back to the bed, already tearing into the bag to grab a fry.