Girls are gonna flirt.
The pretty kind. The confident kind.
And you?You’re gonna stand there and pretend it doesn’t gut you.
Because you fucking asked for this.
And you don’t get to cry over your own rules.
Not after running your mouth about how you don’t get jealous.
You’re not his. He’s definitely not yours.
He’s just a man.
With eyes.
A mouth.
Hipbones.
Hands.
And a dick.
You are unbreakable. Unfuckwithable.
You win, then exit like the place is lucky you came.
Now go.
No giving two fucks, sweet child of mine?—
The bathroom door flings open,
banging against the wall,
and two girls tumble in.
One’s crying,
lipstick bleeding, lashes sliding.
Another’s gripping her hand.
But her eyes are locked on the mirror,
wide and panicked,
staring at a monster zit that ruptured through a layer of foundation.
“Just breathe, babe,”
Zit Girl says into the mirror.
“You didn’t do shit wrong, okay?
“He’s a dirtbag.”
