Social Glass

Dakota and Zazie crash through the door of that fancy apartment like two women who definitely do not want to share space tonight. The place looks expensive but dead. Perfect marble floors, zero personality. Dakota's phone keeps buzzing in her hand. Zazie notices the blue glow across her face and snorts. Tension snaps between them like a rubber band pulled too tight. Dakota keeps adjusting her hair, her lashes, the angle of her jaw, like the camera might materialize at any second. Zazie stands still and watches every move. She knows how many people want those lips, that hair, the whole package Dakota hawks online. Their voices get sharp about followers and filters and the way Dakota's smile freezes when nobody's watching. The walls pick up every petty dig, every snarl. Dakota wants Zazie to back off; Zazie wants her to admit the perfect life is fake. Neither gives. They keep orbiting closer while they fight. Dakota's robe slips, showing skin the rest of the world pays to imagine. Zazie's eyes crawl down every inch, angry and hungry. The fight flips fast into something else - hands grabbing wrists, teeth catching lips, heat flaring between hips before either of them can think. The phone hits the floor screen-down. Then the apartment betrays them. A shadow script appears on the laptop across the room, erasing posts, wiping comments, wiping Dakota's face from her own feed. Someone in the apartment started it hours ago. The panic turns nasty. Zazie spits out years of being invisible next to the girl everyone swipes for. Dakota flinches like every word is a hit. The accusations tumble out crude and hot until resentment meets mouths again, clothes peeled away, slick skin sliding, moans loud enough to swallow the alarm pinging in the next room. They grind against each other with the lights on and phones off, their names repeated like a secret the internet will never get to hear.