Page 58 of Bad Intentions

“Oh, here we go.”

“It’s FOMO, girl.”

“What?”

“Fear of missing out. It's bringing you down.”

“I don't have that.”

“Sure you do. It's all over your face. When was the last time you played your music or sang for others?”

I smirk bitterly. “Yeah, Carrigan’s is not really my crowd.”

“With your talent, you could make things happen from anywhere. Literally, your bedroom. Turn on your computer, log in to live stream, and go.”

“Hey!” A loud voice comes from the other side of the bar counter. A drunk guy stares at me with a smirk. “You are Karen’s girl, ain’t you?”

I don’t respond, already sensing what’s coming next.

“You are a superstar, ain’t you?” he slurs bitterly and chuckles drunkenly, then looks at the bartender. “Saw that video, yeah?”

I shrivel into myself. It’s an instant reflex, shame washing over me.

Rika straightens her shoulders. “You got any achievements you can boast of, buddy?” Her voice is loud and harsh. “Why don’t you tell us?”

His expression hardens as he glares at Rika. “Can’t compete with that mess.” He jerks his chin in my direction.

“Can’t compete, then shut your trap!” she snaps, then murmurs, “Moron,” and turns to me.

“They’ll eat me alive,” I say quietly, staring at the beer bottle in front of me.

“Who? The angry, bored clowns who thrive on shitting on others?” she asks, tilting her head in the drunk’s direction. “Ignore them. Play for those who love your stuff. Share what you are going through. On the other side of the screen, plenty of people are going through worse. Trust me, I’ve been there. They could use help. They cope through music. Sure, I love making art, but you know what’s extraordinary?”

I wait for her to continue, but Rika is being Rika. She likes engagement. So I finally roll my eyes and turn to meet her gaze. “What?”

“That there are hundreds, if not thousands, who are excited about my art a lot more than I am. They need it more than me. They use it as therapy. That is powerful, girl. That is fractal positivity.”

“Is that even a thing? Fractal positivity?”

Rika doesn’t respond to my joke and turns away.

We sit for some time without saying anything. The bar is emptying out. Rika watches a baseball game on TV for a minute, then chats with the bartender. I just enjoy being out with someone who doesn’t judge me for my messed-up past, twenty-plus years of it. Though I think I angered her with my negativity.

Soon, my beer is empty, and I’m staring at the completely destroyed label, the paper crumbs all over the counter.

Rika passes me her empty beer bottle. “Wanna do mine?”

We both laugh.

I’ve only ever had one person throughout my childhood who could cheer me up in the worst times—Grandma. I barely had any friends in school. In Pittsburgh, I didn’t have any bad times that required a shoulder to cry on. Until two months ago, that is. But the only responses I got from my friends were pretty much the same: “That’s messed up.”

Rika somehow turns bad days into okay ones, and that’s not an easy task with everything that’s going on.

“All right, I’m gonna head home,” I say. “Need to check on Grams.”

I could call her, but this morning’s conversation made me sappy. Friends and bars are great, but I need to spend as much time as possible with Grandma while I still can.

“See you, Boots. Drive safe,” Rika responds, and I feel a tinge of disappointment that she didn’t ask me to stay for another drink.