Tonight Amanda went dancing. Grieving, in her own way.
She scored some pills from a pierced boy near the speakers.
Then she danced, a wisp of black silk drifting from denim to leather. The flashing lights glinted off her platinum hair, fell into her pupils, blown alien-wide. Her hips ground out a seductive rhythm, strangely innocent of pounding dance beats and faceless partners. She left traces of lipstick on their skin, a bright smile contradicting her tears.
Amanda hasn't tried to shake me since Nick left. She won't be going home alone. I'll be Watching over her.