Macy was trying to run through the sweaty, claustrophobic crowd. There were too many people to be spotted or cared about. You could become anyone in this crowd—or no one at all.

There were people left and right, jumping and swaying to the beat. Strobe lights flickered, disco colors and dust in the air. Macy's glittery dress reflected the lights. It was hard to push through everyone and even harder to find direction in such cluttered scenery, but she was managing. Her hands were shoved and pressed into random people, all hot skin and smiles.

Finally, she reached the edge of the crowd. She gasped, thick air entering her lungs and sweat stinging at her eyes.

Dazed, she made her way down the narrow club hallway and headed to the bathroom. She pushed open the door and slammed it behind her, locking it without care that this was a public bathroom.

She was cautious as she stumbled further into the room. She crouched on the tiled floor, checking under every stall to ensure she was alone. She was seemingly alone, never to be found, minus the person blacked out in the dark corner of the room.

Macy swallowed her paranoia and went to the mirrors. Looking into them, she saw a woman's face. It was her own, she thought, but it was also someone else entirely. She was covered in glitter, eyeshadow, and microscopic flecks of red liquid. Eyes moving down to her attire and arms and neck, she saw more red covering her sequin dress, with more noticeable discoloration and ruin of the fabric.

She thought back to the man from a few minutes ago.

She remembered the feel of the wine glass in her hand, and the way his mouth was too loose and his neck too exposed. She remembered the way it felt to commit her first crime. Staring at this new, unrecognizable woman in the mirror—she expected it wouldn't be her last.