Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

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.

Enter title…

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. He already said

everything he needed to say earlier. He got his digs in, made his sharp words

stab me to my core. There’s no point now.

I can sense the satisfaction coursing through his veins as he stands beside me,

the realization that he won—not just in the competition, but in life—washing over

both of us. In just a few minutes, he’ll get exactly what he wants. Not only a

trophy, but to beat a woman down to nothing.

The announcer turns to Daniel first, his voice echoing across the studio. “Daniel,

you’ve shown immense skill throughout this competition. As we come to a close,

how are you feeling about your performance?”

Daniel’s lips twist into a smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his

eyes.

skipping a beat. “The true winner today will

personality…” he sneers

at me. “He will be a

is clear, and the gleam in his eye is

up into my cheeks as

meeting mine. “Abby, you’ve become

this competition. Tell us, what

lifts to the audience, to the sea of faces

are fewer signs with my name

hole in

the third row with her chef’s hat

Her eyes are just as wide and bright as ever,

sign in her tiny hand, a grin spread across

throat, but I

even

I’m here for her.

competition,” I start, my voice surprisingly steady,

female chef in this

To show

toe to

tasting thick. “And maybe, just maybe,”

That future female chefs

our skills—and our voices—are not only

also respected.”

through the crowd, a

it’s just the sound of anticipation as

results.

announcer’s voice then cuts

His eyes flick to the judges as he pulls a

out of his

eyes lock onto mine, his expression

smile, doesn’t even blink. Instead, his head

and my world seems to tilt

my champion, now looks on with

my eyes for the briefest of moments before she leans toward

head inclining toward me in a

a trick

hands are trembling. I can’t look at Daniel, can’t afford to

I find the little girl in the crowd,

her innocence, her belief

hangs for what

though drawing it out for dramatic effect. And then,