I cut him down with a cold, flat stare,
then shake my head?—
not mad at him for trying, just disappointed.
He stops. Turns. Disappears.
Then I notice the rest of them watching,
the whole floor,
with eyes holding secrets and stories.
Like I’m the girl no one invited,
and they all want me gone.
Like I showed up on the wrong night,
at the wrong time,
with the wrong guy.
Every glance scrapes.
Every gaze drags.
Every eye judges.
Their mouths don’t move,
but I hear them anyway.
My mind fills in the blanks with all the things they might've done with him,
the places he could've touched,
the sounds he could've made.
I’m imagining it all, trying to dance through it,
the music pulsing through me,
fuzz and friction and sin-soaked synths.
My arms overhead. My fingers in my hair.
The lights keep strobing?—
on me
off me
on me
off.
Sweat slips down my throat as I spin slow,
