Hillary
I watch in the mirror as my eyelashes stand out, long and black, all brushed out. There’s a little blush on my heavy cheekbones—ones I have been accused of getting fillers in—and my plump lips are coated in pink gloss. My eyebrows are brushed out and neat as well. I don’t think I need to do anything more; I look great already. My hair is combed too, falling down my shoulders, all shiny and brown. I’m wearing a pink lounge set with a burgundy hoodie to chase the cold. I look down at my phone, back at the open chat, Bentley’s chat.
I still haven’t responded to his text.
Maybe I should have. Maybe I could have invited him over with his parents too. But I didn’t. I left him all alone. He is probably all alone at home, sprawled on his couch, watching some sci-fi movies or one of thos
