The Devil wears Red Lipstick
“She used to be... alive. Wild. Funny. Before.”
I stiffen. He is still talking about me.
He shifts again, arm tightening around my waist, as if his body’s remembering something even if his mind’s already floating.
“She’s all alone now,” he sighs. “I feel bad for her.”
Then, silence.
A breath.
A soft snore.
He’s gone.
I stare at the ceiling, blinking fast, trying to hold it in, but the tears slip free.
He’s right.
I am alone.
Once hailed, now forgotten. Once brilliant, now broken.
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