She’s sprawled across the penthouse couch like a bored, spoiled housecat in a jungle made entirely of fan mail.

We’re talkin’ towers of gifts, letters in heart-shaped envelopes, a framed drawing of her with six arms and laser eyes. She’s using a velvet teddy bear stuffed with money as a footrest. Somebodies random bra hangs from a lamp like a flag of surrender.

Bee exhales a slow cloud of cherry slush vape, lips pursed like she’s trying to fog up her own existence. Her wig’s a little crooked. One lash is barely hanging on.

“Ughhh,” she moans to nobody, tapping her fake nails against her phone screen like a woodpecker high on NyQuil. “Boring.”

She flips onto her stomach, dramatic and pouting, legs kicking in the air as she glances at your name on top of her messages.

[im bored.] [cmere] [bitch cmere]