The bartender shrugs. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take long before I’m wonderfully, pleasantly drunk.

I have my arms folded on the bar top and rest my cheek on them. “I haven’t been this drunk in forever,” I say dreamily. “It’s so nice. I’ve drunk so much stupid wine the last year. Did you know that it’s all fake?”

“What’s all fake?” the bartender asks amicably. He doesn’t really have any other customers so he seems happy to let me talk at him.

“Wine,” I insist. “I mean, sure, a fifty dollar bottle is going to taste better than a ten dollar bottle. Maybe even a hundred dollar bottle. But after that? So not worth it. It literally all tastes the same.”

“Uh huh.”

“I love cocktails,” I confess. “I like the fruity flavors. But I couldn’t have more than one. Maybe two? My boyfriend didn’t want me to make a scene and I’m small so I’m, like, a huuuuuuge lightweight.”

“I couldn’t tell,” the bartender says, deadpan.

I laugh. “You’re an asshole. But that’s okay. I’m gonna leave you a big tip anyway for putting up with me.”

“Thanks.”

I look around the bar. It’s getting pretty late, and there are some other people here now, some rough-looking types, but they’re all keeping to themselves. That’s nice. That’s all I need: to be left alone.

“You, uh, don’t mind me asking,” the bartender says, “but is there a reason you’re here getting drunk as a skunk? Someone break your heart?”

“Oh, god, I wish it was that. That’d be so much easier, you know? I did have my boyfriend cheat on me but that was like, I mean I was angry but it was so not a problem once I had a minute to think about it. He was an ass. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s fine. He’s gone. Whatever.” I wave my hand blearily. “It’s just me. I’m the problem.”

“Uh, I don’t think it’s ever your problem if someone cheats on you.”

“No I mean like I don’t know who I am anymore.” Tears well up in my eyes and the bartender looks a little alarmed, poor guy. “I feel… so lost… I knew who I was! I had a five-year plan and everything! I had a great job… now I’m all… this. And I don’t even know what this is! And nobody wants me like this!”

“Right.” The bartender still looks confused. “I’m going to go serve those guys and I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Sure, fine. Leave me just like everyone else,” I mutter, waving a hand.

“Uh huh. Don’t fall off that barstool.”

My phone buzzes and I frown down at the screen. Cade.

Why is Cade texting me? Ugh.

I open up the text. It’s pretty simple.

CADE: Are you okay? It’s getting late.

ME: I’m fine. Not like you care anyway. I’m a bigggggg girrrrl. You don’t gotta worry bout me.

Not my most articulate text, but it’s fine. I send it anyway. I’m not going to try to retype it when my thumbs feel so clumsy.

CADE: Well, now I’m even more worried.

I snort and peer down at the screen as I tap out another text.

ME: What are you, my dad? Don’t worry about it. I got a new friend and he’s taking care of me sooooooo much better than you guys.

Sure, I mean that emotionally, not sexually, but Cade doesn’t need to know that. Let him suffer and worry a little. It’s good for the soul. It’s probably the alcohol talking but I’m feeling hurt, and alone, and petty, and I want revenge for the humiliation and rejection.