Page 9 of Scattered Glitter

My fingers drift over my purse where I stashed the Rolex earlier. It’s been sitting there all night, a subtlereminder of the thrill, the tiny rush of power I felt when I slid it off that sleazy guy’s wrist without him noticing.

Leaving it there any longer feels wrong. Like it doesn’t belong to me yet, not fully—not until it’s nestled with the others, where it becomes more than just a watch, it becomes part of the story, part ofhim.

Because it’s not just about the ritual but about preserving the moment while it’s still fresh before the adrenaline has fully faded. If I wait too long, the memory and connection will dull.

That can’t happen.

I push off the door and kneel beside my bed, my heart still buzzing faintly from the memory. Reaching underneath, I feel for the velvet box, and the soft fabric brushes my fingertips like an old friend’s as I slide it into the light.

The box is a deep, rich purple, and I open the lid slowly to savor the moment as my collection is revealed. A sea of watches. At least fifty of them scattered in organized chaos. They range from modern designs to vintage timepieces, each a trophy from nights like tonight.

I could sell them. God knows they’re worth more than I’d make in a lifetime at Euphoria. Each would fetch a small fortune, even under the table. But that’s not why I take them.

Even if they could be my ticket out of here.

Selling them would feel… cheap. Dirty.

Like I’d be betraying something. Or rather someone. The someone who taught me all I know.

But it’s more than that. It would be risky. Too risky. The moment I tried to sell one, even in some back-alley deal, I’d be exposing myself, and although I could use the money, I don’t need that kind of heat. No, I’d rather keep them hidden, where they’re safe.

I retrieve the Rolex from my purse and carefully place itwith the others. Then, with a click, I close the box and slide it back under the bed, hiding it where it belongs.

Every watch tells a story—his story, their story, mine. They’re reminders of who I’ve been, where I’ve been. Each one marks a moment, a night, a person who looked at Glitter and saw only what I wanted them to see.

But the watches, they see me. They keep the time I’ll never get back.

When I rejoin Annabelle in the living room, she’s already sprawled on the couch, a Twinkie in hand. “What took you so long?” she teases, tossing the pack toward me.

“Nothing,” I reply with a shrug, catching the pack and grabbing one for myself before collapsing beside her.

The adrenaline from the car ride has already sobered me up from drunk to tipsy, which I hate.

Annabelle reaches over to the side table and picks up the picture frame that’s been sitting there since we moved in. “We got old, Nova.” Her voice tinges with that bittersweet tone that only comes after too many drinks.

It’s a photo of us from six years ago—bright-eyed, with no idea what the hell we were getting ourselves into.

“Oh, shut up, we’re only twenty-four,” I retort, rolling my eyes even as I smile.

“And we were eighteen when we started all of this,” she murmurs, a wistful look in her eyes as she gazes at the photo.

“True,” I agree, the memories flashing through my mind.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Arriving in Las Vegas with nothing but maybe fifty bucks in my pocket and the weight of everything I’d left behind. It was me and the dream I’d shared withhim. Except once here, I realized dreams don’t mean shit when you don’t have a place to stay or a plan to survive.

Or the person you dreamed them with next to you.

I ended up in a bubble tea café, of all places, satisfying the craving for my favorite drink before facing the reality of being broke and alone in a city that couldn’t care less. If my time in Vegas was going to be short-lived, I figured I might as well enjoy something I loved.

That’s when Annabelle walked in, looking flustered and a little desperate. She was trying to shake off a guy and asked me to pretend to be her friend. She’d just moved into this apartment, and her previous roommate had left out of nowhere days before, so she needed a new one to help her pay the rent. She offered me a place to stay, and the rest—as they say—is history.

We’re still here, still friends, and still drinking bubble tea.

Only now, she’s moving on, ready to start the next chapter of her life. And as much as I’m going to miss her, I’m happy for her. She deserves all the happiness in the world, even if it means I’ll be left behind in this place that always feels empty without her.

Annabelle sighs and leans her head on my still-glittery shoulder, holding the picture frame in front of my face. “I’m gonna miss this, you know? Just us, hanging out like this.”

“Yeah.” I reach over to brush a stray piece of blue wig from her face. “Me too.”

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