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No. I need to find my friends. Where have they gone?
The bass keeps beating through me, so loudly I can barely think, let alone find my voice to shout for them.
What did I do to push my sister away?
No. My friends, why aren’t they here? Someone pushes into me, hard, but when I turn around, they’re already gone. The lights dim again and someone begins to stroke up my thigh…
We were meant to be here together. We were meant to be young, free, and single in New York City. We were meant to be whoever we want to be. Together. Roisin and Aimee.
“Roisin!”
My head snaps to the side. Everyone around me disappears.
There she is, waving at me. My sister looks the exact same as the last time I saw her. She’d dyed her red hair darker in some stupid attempt to deter my brother from finding us, but it had almost faded back to normal. Her huge chocolate eyes crinkle as she smiles at me.
“Aimee…” I breathe back.
People suddenly start surging around me, and I stagger forward. I push through the crowds, my desperation growing with every footstep. She’s here. She came back! I’m not broken; I didn’t push her away.
But when I finally reached the place she had stood just moments before… she was gone.
It’s just a figment of my delirious imagination.
I need another fucking drink.
The bar is only a few yards away now, still packed with people trying to vie for the bartender’s attention. I stagger to the back of the cue, reaching for my purse to count how much cash I have left.
Huh. There’s still fifty dollars in here.
How did I get this wasted without spending a dime?
“Excuse me, miss?” I look up to see a handsome-looking blond gesturing me over. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Oh yeah. That’s why.
I throw on my best dazzling smile as I snake my way to his side. “Vodka, lime, and soda,” I say as I brush a hand down his arm.
“What can I call you?” the man asks with a grin in return after he is about to flag down a bartender
“Roisin,” I reply a little flirtatiously. “Roisin Maguire.”
I might be a little drunk, but I swear his eyebrow shoots up. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I’m an actress.”
The man seems to relax a little. “Oh! Have you been in anything I might have seen?”
“Probably not.”
The bartender places our drinks in front of us, and the man hands over a sleek black card in payment. I try not to ogle it too much—but Jesus Christ, how loaded is this guy?
“Don’t be modest,” he says, putting his card away and taking a sip from his own glass.
“Tonight was my last show as ‘Marie’ in the ‘My Hero Macro-Man,’” I say, wincing at how childish that sounds.
“Like the superhero?”
“Yeah…” I cringe at the confession. Why couldn’t I just lie about it?
