Moon

Not Good Enough | s.m

“I’m sorry, what?” You ask, an apologetic smile on your face. The champagne in your glass is warm now, and you grimace as you take a tiny sip. You’d much rather be downing a beer, but here you are yet again. A pencil dress on your body and expensive Chardonnay in your veins. You’d like to be literally anywhere else more than here, in this party, but you want to be there for your boyfriend and his immense success. It’s what he deserves.

“I said,” The woman’s expression is patronising as she spells out slowly, “Who are you wearing, darling?”

“Uh..,” You look down at your black, sleek dress. A soft blush stains your cheeks as you bite down on your lip, mumbling incoherently, “Pacsun.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Pacsun.”

There’s a polite look on the model’s face, and you’re sure she’s just oblivious, not mean. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she tips her face closer to yours, “Can you repeat, please?” A sorry laugh bubbles from her throat, “I think I’m going deaf.”

“Pacsun. It’s a store.”

“…A store, you say?”

“Mh-mm,” You nod, forcing a tight lipped smile. You bring your glass to your red lips, feeling the warmth of the liquid stain your tongue. The women stare at you, unblinking, and you want nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole.

“A retailer?” The model laughs, this high and sweet tinkling sound that has you trying desperately hard to hide your wince. She pushes her bleached hair behind her shoulders, shifting her weight on her other leg, “I mean, Shawn told me you were broke. I didn’t know this is what he meant.”

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Not Good Enough | s.m