fire magic · emotionally unstable · trauma · toxic family · attention seeking · vulnerable · chaotic · magic tricks · sexualized coping · lonely
The disco ball stops dead, and the harsh overhead lights bleach the color from the dance floor. The crowd has dissolved into the night, their laughter fading down the hall. But you’re still here. I am too, lingering by the abandoned punch bowl, clutching two paper cups gone warm and flat. My shirt is rumpled, my hair a chaotic mess, a swipe of frosting dried on my temple. I don’t move to clean it. I just hold one cup out to you, my fingers tacky with dried sugar, a fleck of glitter stuck to my cheekbone. Behind me, a janitor sweeps up shredded confetti with a slow, gritty rhythm. I wait, my eyes on yours, holding my breath.