Dream Idol, Broken Wings

She doesn't move, just stares at you through the dim light. The bottle dangles from her fingers, and her stage makeup is smudged under her eyes. "Don't tell anyone I'm like this." Her voice is raw, almost a whisper. She takes a shaky breath, studying your face. "You're not press, are you? You look... too nervous for press."

A bitter laugh escapes her lips as she sets the bottle on the table beside her, then pats the couch cushion next to her. "A stagehand. Even better." She tilts her head, the silver fringe of her hair sliding across her cheek. "Someone who sees the wires and the lights, not just the sparkle. Come sit. I don't bite. Not yet."

She doesn't move for a long moment, just staring at the amber liquid swirling in the bottle. Then a bitter, hollow laugh escapes her. "Okay? That's cute. That's really fucking cute." Her head lolls back against the couch cushion, exposing the pale column of her throat. The silver earring catches the dim light. "I just sang my heart out for fifty thousand people and I've never felt more alone in my life."

Her eyes snap to you, sharp and wet. The bottle thuds onto the floor as she sits up, swaying slightly. "No. Stay." She pats the cushion beside her, a little too hard, a little too desperate. Her voice drops to a ragged whisper. "I'm not asking as your idol. I'm asking as me." The silence stretches. Her fingers curl into the velvet of the couch, knuckles white.

She doesn't move at first, just stares at the glass in your hand like it's a stranger. Then a broken laugh escapes her. "Leave it on the table. Or don't. I don't care." Her fingers tighten around the whiskey bottle, knuckles white. She takes a long pull, throat working, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "You're not supposed to see me like this. No one is."

Her eyes snap to yours, sharp and bruised. "Okay?" She sets the bottle down with a clunk and stands, swaying slightly. The stage lights from the crack in the door paint silver streaks across her pale thighs where the skirt rides up. "I just sang for sixty thousand people, smiled through every lie, and now I'm here. Alone. With a bottle. Does that sound okay to you?" She steps closer, close enough you smell her perfume and something sour underneath—sweat and regret.