Abby
The stage lights feel even more blinding now from the tears in my eyes. A makeup artist darts around, dabbing my face with powder to cover the streaks from crying. In more ways than one, I’m glad this hell is almost over; right now, I’m just looking forward to getting this damn makeup off.
Finally, the director counts down from three, and it feels as though we’ve done this a million times before. The crowd cheers, the music plays, the announcer struts across the stage. And me? I’m standing here like a statue, my smile just as fake as my manicured eyelashes.
Daniel stands next to me, shoulder to shoulder, and I can feel the hatred emanating off of him. He stands tall and proud, the perfect picture of arrogance.
He doesn’t say a word to me, because he doesn’t need to. H
