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When I was younger, all of my friends had fallen in love. I felt completely behind, I thought I was a broken creature who did not deserve love. I thought I was fundementally unlovable and unloving. A vicious beast, fundamentally impure. Alone. I know better now. I know how to love. But she doesn't. She only knows how to be loved. She has always been adored, she doesn't understand the way my stomach burns every time I think about her. She's never felt that. Why would she? She's always gotten everything she ever wanted. When she stands there, emerald dress clashing with scarlet carpet. She holds her hands out to the hundreds of cameras flashing. I know she only thinks of them as cameras. Not as people. She thinks of them as scraps of newspaper, of printed scandalous headlines. She has never been one to care about money, but she cares about their opinions. She gets drunk on their praise and admiration, and sometimes, she will feel safe, coddled and secure in their love, she will stumble into my room. By morning though, the hangover hits and regret sinks into her eyes. But she still comes to my club. I watch her and her husband, ******* that he is, sit in the vip section. Shadows can't hide her smile, I know those red lips anywhere. I hate her. I ******* hate her. She knows how I feel. She knows what she's done to me. She can't leave me alone though, I might be the other woman but I am the only one who understands her. She may not label it, might pretend to not see the way she skins me alive. She acts like she doesn't turn me inside out and sew me back together. She's not a person, she's an event. A cataclysmic one. She's danger with sugarcoated skin. I feel her eyes on me, they feel like bullets ripping into my back. "Ladies, gentlemen, and other distinguished guests." I begin, throwing a wink at my cousin in the front, who suggested the addition of the last line, "We seem to have a star in our midst." Evelyn looks frozen to her seat. She recovers quickly though, turning on her charm, standing and giving a little wave and a dazzling smile "Two time Grammy winner." I whistle. She shakes her head in false modesty, smiling a fake little smile that's supposed to look imperceivable. What a ******* fake. "Oh come on my dear, don't be shy. Everyone, give Ms. Hugo and her darling a hand. Evelyn, this song is dedicated to you." Right on cue, we begin. The lights dim and the music starts. Evelyn is going to **** me. She's not supposed to be photographed here. A club known for its members leading a .....alternative lifestyle. But I don't care. I'm angry with her as well. I could ruin her life if I wanted too. But I can't. Not now. Not with little Carmen sitting beside her. So I sing. I sing the song I've written about her. Slow and sultry. I watch her face splinter for a moment as I turn to another woman in the front row, acting as if I'm singing to her instead. I don't even register the shape of that womams face. I can't. Not with Evelyn right there. Evelyn. Her bleached hair and her eyes that pierce right through my soul. I'm convinced she showed up just to hurt me. Just to waste my time. Evelyn hugo stand up and leaves quietly, all that dazzle turned off. I end the show early.
0
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 3:37 PM UTC
Punklovergirl3
Sin and her muse
When I was younger, all of my friends had fallen in love. I felt completely behind, I thought I was a broken creature who did not deserve love. I thought I was fundementally unlovable and unloving. A vicious beast, fundamentally impure. Alone. I know better now. I know how to love. But she doesn't. She only knows how to be loved. She has always been adored, she doesn't understand the way my stomach burns every time I think about her. She's never felt that. Why would she? She's always gotten everything she ever wanted. When she stands there, emerald dress clashing with scarlet carpet. She holds her hands out to the hundreds of cameras flashing. I know she only thinks of them as cameras. Not as people. She thinks of them as scraps of newspaper, of printed scandalous headlines. She has never been one to care about money, but she cares about their opinions. She gets drunk on their praise and admiration, and sometimes, she will feel safe, coddled and secure in their love, she will stumble into my room. By morning though, the hangover hits and regret sinks into her eyes. But she still comes to my club. I watch her and her husband, ******* that he is, sit in the vip section. Shadows can't hide her smile, I know those red lips anywhere. I hate her. I ******* hate her. She knows how I feel. She knows what she's done to me. She can't leave me alone though, I might be the other woman but I am the only one who understands her. She may not label it, might pretend to not see the way she skins me alive. She acts like she doesn't turn me inside out and sew me back together. She's not a person, she's an event. A cataclysmic one. She's danger with sugarcoated skin. I feel her eyes on me, they feel like bullets ripping into my back. "Ladies, gentlemen, and other distinguished guests." I begin, throwing a wink at my cousin in the front, who suggested the addition of the last line, "We seem to have a star in our midst." Evelyn looks frozen to her seat. She recovers quickly though, turning on her charm, standing and giving a little wave and a dazzling smile "Two time Grammy winner." I whistle. She shakes her head in false modesty, smiling a fake little smile that's supposed to look imperceivable. What a ******* fake. "Oh come on my dear, don't be shy. Everyone, give Ms. Hugo and her darling a hand. Evelyn, this song is dedicated to you." Right on cue, we begin. The lights dim and the music starts. Evelyn is going to **** me. She's not supposed to be photographed here. A club known for its members leading a .....alternative lifestyle. But I don't care. I'm angry with her as well. I could ruin her life if I wanted too. But I can't. Not now. Not with little Carmen sitting beside her. So I sing. I sing the song I've written about her. Slow and sultry. I watch her face splinter for a moment as I turn to another woman in the front row, acting as if I'm singing to her instead. I don't even register the shape of that womams face. I can't. Not with Evelyn right there. Evelyn. Her bleached hair and her eyes that pierce right through my soul. I'm convinced she showed up just to hurt me. Just to waste my time. Evelyn hugo stand up and leaves quietly, all that dazzle turned off. I end the show early.
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12
He looks her in the eye. “You’re so beautiful, so lovely,” he whispers. He reaches out to touch her hair. She laughs, her voice filling up the bar. “Oh, honey, I am so much more than that.” And she disappears, leaving a trail of stardust and perfume in her place.
0
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
poshishi
So Much More
He looks her in the eye. “You’re so beautiful, so lovely,” he whispers. He reaches out to touch her hair. She laughs, her voice filling up the bar. “Oh, honey, I am so much more than that.” And she disappears, leaving a trail of stardust and perfume in her place.
Continue reading...
14