SERENA
"What is there to cry about?" Arielle kept insisting, her voice breaking in a way I'd never heard before. And then—almost unbelievably—I saw her cry. Actual tears shimmered down her flushed cheeks, catching the light like fragile glass beads.
For a second, I almost believed her.
Did she really think she could win them over with this act? Please. Nobody plays the victim better than I do.
"I don't understand, Arielle—" I began, carefully adjusting my tone to sound appropriately confused, soft and trembling, just enough to gain sympathy. I was halfway through perfecting the pitch of distress when she cut straight through my performance.
"Did you really have to draw everyone's attention to my looks?" Her voice trembled. "Look at your life, and then look at mine… Don't you think I've suffered enough?"
The words hit like a slap—not because of what she said, but because I couldn't tell where the act ended and the truth began.
