Emma talked about him like he was tattooed into her eyelids and he would not allow her to scrub him away. I swear, he thinks everything is funny when it makes me mad. But she still answered his texts like it was the package she had been waiting for months now, and she still loved him like it was an antidote for some lovesick disease. I could see the way he ate up her affection like it was some sort of sugar high, before he crashed into another girl's bed that had been waiting all evening for him. Last night I watched as Emma and him kissed for the hundredth time under a dozen stars, her hands pressed around him, before a dozen of those stars came falling down to the ground, and he disappeared with a different girl. Last night her tears over watered the lilies I keep in my bedroom and leaked through the floor. Last night he called and said Baby, I wouldn't mind choosing you and I could hear a female voice in the background like a bullet shot through the line. It traveled through her eardrums and followed the path down to her heart. Last night I told Emma she was worth more than this. Last night Emma stopped responding to his texts. Last night Emma and I went out and she kissed another boy who danced with her like they were the only ones in the room, and touched her like she was something better than his own existence. And last night, Emma decided to not go home with anyone because she had an evening booked with a new prince charming who knew how to wait for her.