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.

beat. “The true winner

personality…” he sneers subtly,

will be a skilled

and the gleam in

my cheeks as the crowd applauds.

eyes meeting mine. “Abby, you’ve become a favorite

us, what has this experience meant to

gaze lifts to the audience, to the sea of faces that

are fewer signs with my name now

leaves a hole

there she is—the little girl in the third row with her chef’s hat falling

eyes. Her eyes are just as wide and bright as

her tiny hand, a grin

throat, but I

here, even if I don’t

I’m here for her.

competition,” I start, my voice surprisingly steady, “has

chef

happy to have been here. To show that we—” I

“—that I can stand toe to

breath, the air tasting thick. “And maybe, just

inspire others. That

sure our skills—and our voices—are not

also respected.”

crowd, a murmur

the sound of anticipation as everyone waits

results.

announcer’s voice then cuts

to

of his

lock

blink. Instead, his

seems to tilt for

champion, now looks on

for the briefest of moments before she leans

her head inclining toward me

trick

can’t look at Daniel, can’t afford to

find the little girl in the crowd, her eyes

strength from her innocence, her belief in

The pause hangs for what feels like

drawing it out