Page 5 of Roughing It

UR such a spoiled little rich girl who can’t do anything

Sliding my thumb along the lock screen, I pull up the full message.

UR such a spoiled little rich girl who can’t do anything. Getting by on your looks. It’s not like you have any actual talent. Must be nice to be a drain on society.

I waste no timing in deleting it. This one is mild. Worse comments come in on a regular basis. While I definitely give too much power to the way others view me, there are some comments I’m numb to. Being called spoiled and talentless are two of them.

When I first started, the comments from nameless, faceless trolls telling me how wretched and awful I am hurt. I took them personally. Cried.

A lot.

Now, I manage to ignore all but the worst. I like to say I’m coping by forcing myself to grow thicker skin. My therapist disagrees with me. She says I have a negativity bias and a tendency towards rumination. I say coping is coping.

Though it’s possible the paid professional is right.

Hours later, I slip past the line and enter the crowded club. All I want is a night of dancing and drinking. If I happen to flirt with a gorgeous specimen, so be it. I’m not taking anyone home, but it’s always nice to be appreciated.

Mia sidles up to me, her glossy black hair piled in messy ringlets on her head, a gold dress clinging to her curves. Her phone is already out, one platform open and livestreaming. She pulls me into the frame, and immediately, I’m on.

I curl the tail of my ponytail around my finger and grin into the camera, tilting my chin to let the overhead disco lights bring out the blue in my eyes. I do a little shimmy, the sparkles in my wide-leg jumpsuit setting off my tan. Squishing my face to Mia’s, I giggle. “Hey, y’all! My girl, Moments With Mia, and I are painting the town red tonight! Hit us up if you’re out and about.”

Giving the camera my signature wink and kiss, I slip out of the frame and visibly relax, my posture dropping, no longer worried about playing up my angles for the camera.

Flagging down the bartender, I bat my lashes. “Margarita on the rocks, no salt.” The heady combination of lime, tequila, and triple sec burns so good. Each sip mixes with the heavy pulse of the electronic music. Together, they drum out any lingering negative thoughts, and I fall into the steady beat until my worries and loneliness fade away.

I’m not lonely. I’m surrounded by people.

Right. Me and my two hundred closest friends.

No, brain, we are not going there tonight. Fresh drink in hand, I make my way onto the dance floor and let the music drive my body. It doesn’t take long for a handsome college-age boy to slink up next to me. Oh, the confidence of youth. Whatever. He can dance, and that’s what I’m looking for tonight.

Several songs and another margarita later, I wriggle a finger at College Boy. “Any chance you’re headed to the bar? I’d love a bottle of water.” My vowels are getting long. My West Texas slips out when I’ve had a couple of drinks.

College Boy doesn’t seem to mind my accent. He nods eagerly and races to the bar.

See? Totally not alone. Or lonely. I’ve got College Boy. Though I’d prefer it if he took two steps back.

Mia nudges me, dancing into my space. “Find a puppy to do your bidding?”

I shrug. “He’s sweet. I figure he’s probably thirsty, anyway.”

“Oh, he’s thirsty.” She pops her hip. “Taking him home?”

“No, he’s too young. Have to throw him back.”

Mia’s loud laugh draws attention to us. As if on cue, we both smile. You never know when your picture could end up online.

Leaning in, I raise my voice enough to be heard over the music. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

“What?”

“This. The attention and having to always be picture ready when you’re out, even though we really aren’t anyone worth mentioning. Being alone when you’re surrounded by people.”

Her sour look throws me. “Speak for yourself. I am absolutely worth mentioning. Don’t drag me down just because you have self-esteem issues now that you’re firmly in your thirties.”

Before I can reply to her catty remarks, she glances behind me with a smug grin. “Your puppy is back.”

Well, hell.

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