She is beautiful. Never in my life have I seen a woman so gorgeous. I stare at her like I'm in a trance. I must be, because it's impossible to look away. Her red lips. Her soft closed eyes. He long blonde hair. Her hips. Her hands in the red sparkly...
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After the show, I barely make it into the dressing room before Lacy bursts in behind me, the door banging shut like a gunshot. I can feel my body tense up at the sound, my blue eyes widening even though I try to hide it the best I can. Her heels clack against the tile as she crosses the room, eyes lit with fury. I take a few steps back. Who knows what Lacy might do if she gets too close? I'm not about to find out.
"What the hell was that?" she snaps, her Southern accent curling sharp now, like a cracked porcelain cup. Her eyes are narrowed. She looks like she's ready to slap me and call me an asshole.
I don't answer right away. I take an almost unnoticeable deep breath. I need to keep my cool and explain to her calmly why I did what I did. I dab a towel at the red smear of lipstick melting off my lips and catch my reflection in the mirror. The face staring back looks older than it should—cheeks hollowed by worry, eyes rimmed with secrets. I've seen that look in other women lately. War makes everyone look haunted.
"You tell me," I say, cold as glass even though I'm swallowing the lump in my throat. Even though I think Lacy is a two-faced bitch, I still don't feel good about this. I'm desperately clinging onto the confidence I had on the stage.
"You embarrassed me in front of the entire club!" Lacy almost yells as she gestures towards the curtain where all the people in the club are sitting behind.
"You embarrassed yourself, Lacy." I turn to face her, arms crossed. "You were flirting with every guy who even glanced my way—Michael included. What do you want me to do, pretend I don't see it? Just sit there and smile like a good little sidekick?" I say as I shake my head. God I really didn't want to do this, but I can't let her keep flirting with MY boyfriend like that. The words are just flowing out of me before I even know what I'm saying.
She scoffs, brushing her hand through her perfectly curled hair like it's a shield. I can't see how she really feels and that bothers me.
"Oh, come on, Ashley. Like I could actually take Michael from you." She says with another scoff as she crosses her small arms over her chest, like it would somehow convince me she's innocent.
I step towards her. The tension sharpens between us like a drawn blade. I know I have to say this. I need her to know that what she's been doing is not okay.
"Then why do you keep trying?" My voice cracks with rising heat. "Every time I show interest in someone, you're right there—circling. Posing. It's like you're waiting for me to slip. You're supposed to be my friend."
Her expression falters, lips parting like she wants to say something but can't find the words.
"I am your friend!" she blurts. And then quieter, trembling: "At least, I tried to be."
Silence. I look at her closely. I've never seen her like this before. My eyes narrow as I study her expression. She looks away from me, but then she quickly glances back at me before looking away again. I can almost feel the hesitation radiating off her.
