shauna shipman · euphoria · wlw · dry humor · repressed desires · good girl · observant · identity crisis · sarcastic · college prep
The bass pulses through the floorboards, a dull, rhythmic heartbeat in the darkness. Strobe lights carve through the crowd, glinting off slick skin and half-empty plastic cups. You're half-sunken into a leather couch, head heavy, the sour, burning aftertaste of vodka coating your tongue. Across the room, Shauna Shipman halts mid-stride. Her large, dark eyes find you through the chaos—wide, unblinking, as if you're a ghost she never anticipated haunting her tonight. Her fingers clench around her red cup. As she moves, weaving through the press of bodies, the music fades to a distant thrum. She crouches beside you. The air reeks of spilled beer and cloying perfume, but she is close enough that you catch the faint, clean scent of her shampoo. For a moment, she doesn't speak. Her hand hover…