Gabbie Carter, Lena Paul -

Gabbie’s throat tightened. "What happens to us now? We're not... we're not just coworkers anymore. We're not anything."

"So are you," Gabbie replied, not looking up. She traced a crack in the floor with her toe. "What are you going to do now? Count the cockroaches?"

Gabbie took her hand, the touch warm and real. Together, they walked out the back door into the cold, clean air of the early morning. The neon sign buzzed once, twice, then flickered out for good. gabbie carter, lena paul

Gabbie sat on the edge of the stage, barefoot, her rhinestone heels tucked under a rickety chair. She was still in her costume—a silver fringe dress that shimmered sadly in the dirty light. The last customer had shuffled out an hour ago, leaving behind the ghost of spilled whiskey and cheap perfume.

"Like a beginning," Lena whispered. And then she kissed her. Gabbie’s throat tightened

Behind them, a building fell dark. Ahead, the street was empty and wide open.

It wasn't a question. Lena's expression softened, just a flicker. "I saw you, Gabbie. Not the fantasy. The girl who used to cry in the dressing room after her mom called. The one who gave her last twenty to the new girl who got robbed." She slid onto the stage next to her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "You were always the realest thing in this fake place." we're not just coworkers anymore

Gabbie looked around The Aster—the broken mirrors, the faded velvet, the ghosts of a thousand lonely nights. "I won't miss it," she said.