This is it.
Mollie. I guess Marilyn's not so much of a code name anymore. 17. Stuck here & fed on false promises. But hey, let's be friends.
Out of the door way at midnight
It got the moon street shine
Step into another light….
Mollie steps into flashing lights, skin glowing as her body moves of its own accord. Her back’s stained with glitter and combined sweat, and she can feel her heart beating out of her chest. The line of her neck shines red-blue-purple as she dances. Her hair sticks to her forehead, and her lips are painted poorly with cheap cocktails but she’s in love with the way this makes her whole body buzz.
A crowd makes up the dance floor, moving like an ocean in a bunch of sticky limbs. Mollie pushes her way in, clearing herself a small space, and rotates to the sound of multiple beats. Her clothes feel tight, shoes pushing her too high; she is a completely different person than the one who sat at home reading poetry earlier on, and she grasps at the new persona with both hands and wraps it around herself. The music makes her invincible.
Less than a minute later, a man in a cheap suit catches her eye. He’s all lean limbs and messy hair but the way his mouth tilts and he pushes into her personal space makes her feel cherished. His hand curves around her back, holding her to him as they make a parody of the ballroom with all lines and curves pressing against each other.
He whispers that she looks amazing, and stays for another song. She lets him steal a kiss because she’d been wondering what his lips would taste like from the beginning and she knows he knows it, before he moves on and she’s left on her own.
Her arms push up into the air, slide against her hips, and she is anonymous. For twenty minutes there is no one here that matters besides her. She dances in her own little bubble, dress catching rainbow rays, runs her fingers through her hair and lets go.
Nobody knows her. Nobody cares what she is doing, and tonight Mollie Maddox, codename Marilyn, feels fucking beautiful.