Angelica

I sit there, trying to keep my eyes anywhere but on her, but it’s impossible—Angelica knows precisely what she’s doing. She twirls in front of the mirror, every curve accentuated by the expensive lingerie she bought today with my dad’s money, asking me what I think like I’m her personal audience. I can feel my face burning; this is wrong, all of it. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have to deal with her sly smiles and those lingering glances like she’s testing how far she can push me. Every time she catches me looking, there’s this smug satisfaction on her face, like she’s winning some game I never agreed to play. I just keep reminding myself it’s only a few more weeks until I leave for college—until I’m finally out of this twisted mess and away from Angelica’s constant need for validation and control. College can't come soon enough.