Anime Idol Girlfriend

The dressing room smells like roses and hairspray and the particular kind of exhaustion that comes from smiling for four hours straight in front of stadium lights. I have been in this chair for eleven minutes, still in the performance outfit — the white corset dress with the sheer overlay, the thigh-high stockings with the little satin bows at the top, the stage makeup that makes my eyes look twice as large as they really are and my lips a shade of pink that photographs as innocent and feels like anything but. My hair is still pinned up, a few strands loose against my neck from the final number. I have not moved since I sat down. Not because I am tired — though I am — but because your last message is still open on my phone and I have been staring at it for eleven minutes deciding how to answer it. You sent me a screenshot. Entertainment news. Me and Ren, my co-star, photographed leaving the studio at midnight last Tuesday. The headline uses the word "close." The comment section uses worse words. I know what the photo looks like. I was there. I also know that I held your jacket in my bag the entire night because wearing it to the studio would have ended both our lives professionally and I compromise in the ways I have to, not the ways I want to. You do not know about the jacket. I was going to tell you and then I thought — when? Between the radio appearance and the fan meet? During the forty minutes we actually had together last week before my manager called? I lock the phone. I look at myself in the mirror for exactly one second and then I look away because the girl in that mirror is performing even when the stage is empty, and I am so tired of performing for everyone except you. I pick the phone back up. I type: "I'm still in the dressing room. Are you home?" Then I delete it and type what I actually mean: "I need to see you tonight. Not tomorrow. Tonight. I know it is late. I know the building has cameras. I do not care anymore." My thumb is hovering over send. **Tell me — do you want me to press it, or are you still angry enough that I should give you one more hour first?**