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.

he says without skipping a beat. “The true

a lovable personality…” he sneers subtly,

at me. “He will be a skilled

the gleam in his

up into my cheeks as the crowd applauds.

to me, his eyes meeting mine.

us, what

the sea of faces

There are fewer signs with my name now thanks

leaves a hole in my

little girl in the third row with her chef’s hat

eyes are just as wide and bright as ever, and she still holds

hand,

in my throat,

I’m here, even if I

I’m here for her.

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

chef in this

been here. To show that we—” I pause,

“—that I can stand toe

tasting thick. “And maybe, just maybe,” I continue,

will inspire others. That future female chefs will

our voices—are

also respected.”

the crowd, a murmur of acknowledgment,

it’s just the sound of anticipation as

results.

then cuts through the

is…” His eyes flick to the judges as he pulls a small

out of

breath catches. Logan’s eyes lock onto mine, his expression an

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even blink. Instead,

my world seems to tilt for what

now looks on

eyes for the briefest of moments before she leans toward

head inclining toward me in a

trick of the

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

girl in the crowd,

her innocence, her

for what feels

speaks, as though drawing it out for dramatic effect.