McKayla Fox

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Night — 9:00

As Janessa falls to her knees, clutching her stomach, her sobs bubbling over the fading symphony of firework, I take the liberty of poetic justice. With a single flickering thought, the muslin sheets are no shield for the betrayers as it for those who are faithful members of society. Like their morals, the fabric that once protected them from scrutiny is nothing more than dirt — a thick layer of shit, like everything they say and do. 

Now, in the broad light of the starry glow, every inch of their wretched, naked bodies reek against the air for everyone to see. "Look!" My voice drones the night out, shaking it to its fucking core. But as my syllables hum against the flames of myself, I can feel the heat of the stares turning to Luna and the sap with whom she decided to hook up. "Look—" 

With make-up smeared all over her face, she's so pale. It's like seeing a ghost at a funeral, and their body froze in the position of a crying. She's the bride of Godzilla, and she seizes my arm; her knuckles tremble against my wrist, much like her words on my ear: "P-p-please, M-Mack." Another wave of tears streams down her face as she sniffs. "You-you don't h-have to d-do th-this for m-me." 

The moment my concentration on the little pricks fades, Luna, the biggest of the two, appears fully clothed in a tight dress with a poodle skirt. "Fine," I say amidst a groan as Janessa sniffs again. "I won't do it." 

I look at Luna and her riped-cheeked face. "Oh ..." The dullness slithers through me as I roll my eyes with a sigh. "Vintage. The irony." And I sashay behind Janessa, who wipes the back of her hand against her nose, and then, she rubs it against the side of her gown. 

"Ness—" 

"Oh." The moisture of the night has faded away. It's now dry and hot. You can feel her tone burning against your skin. "That's what you want to say? Ness? You think this is funny?" 

"No." Luna scoffs and looks at the comet soaring through the sky. "I said from the beginning, I wasn't looking for anything serious." 

I see Luna's eyes meet mine for a second. They plead with me as if to say the words she told me when her first relationship ended: it was too much — all of it. And then, please — please, don't judge. In a pinky swear, I promised not to judge her sluttish actions ... until the moment such a promise slipped from my mind, like now. 

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