Disconnected

CW: mild language

Have we met before?

Such a simple phrase. Four words that ask a question and entice an answer. Yet, the words won’t leave my tongue. They’re glue. Sticky and acrid little bombs lodged in my throat. Why can’t I say them? Just say them. Say them, you idiot.

I stay silent. A ghost in the corner. Unseen. Unwanted.

How can anyone want you if you hide in the shadows? Shut up logic. You’re not wrong. Staring at Killer Smile all night isn’t doing any good. Just go up to him and say, “I’m Riley. Have we met before? No? Oh, we’ve met many times: on the street, at a café, standing in the grocery line…don’t worry, I’m not a stalker. You don’t remember me because no one remembers the chubby geek with the stick-straight hair.”

Okay, I can’t say…any of that…absolutely none of it. If I say any of that, he’ll think I’m weird and creepy. Yup, I’ll definitely give off creeper vibes. Like, clingy—I’ll never let you go just for smiling at me—vibes.

Ugh.

#failing at life

Okay, you can talk to this guy like a normal person. You can talk to him like that curvy blonde…is talking to him right now…crap.

Abort! Abort! Abort!

You can’t compete with rockin' bod—legs for days—Bombshell. No girl can. Why do I need to abort, anyway? I never left this damn corner. I never emerged from the shadows shrouding me in their comforting embrace. Me and the shadows are one. Obscure and gloomy. I’m the uncomfortable awkwardness normal people avoid.

It’s not like you attempt to talk to them…

Stupid logic. Again.

Silence is easier. Safer. I can’t be disappointed. Rejected.

You also can’t be loved…or liked…or even noticed.

#life sucks

Why the hell am I here? I hate bars. Hate them. My phone vibrates and the screen glows as a text from Kate pops up. Oh, yeah. I was forced against my will. I ignore the message. There’s no guilt. Only justification. I came tonight to hang with her, and she ditched me to make moon eyes at her new boy toy.

My phone buzzes, doing its little dance on the table. Another text from Kate. I do nothing. I won’t jump at her beck and call like I’m some sniveling lapdog desperate and eager to scarf up whatever crumbs of attention she deigns to give me. Ten seconds later, more buzzing. Kate. Again. Oh, now she wants to chat.

K-Kat: U alright

Watcha doing?

U playing that game, again!!!

Annoyance strikes a chord in me. A sour note. A note Kate has played one too many times. 

Riles: No

K-Kat: Good. U spend too much time on it. Vic wants to play darts. U ok over there for awhile?

Who the hell is Vic? That stupid guy you ditched me for?

Riles: Sure

K-Kat: You’re the best!!!

Go ahead. Ditch me, Kate. Me and the corner are great pals over here. Who needs you, anyway? This was supposed to be our night. Girls’ night, woo-hoo! It’s not like we see each other that much anymore. So, yeah, it’s totally cool if you want to play grab-ass with Vic all night. So, so, so cool.

My friend, the ditcher, is already by the dartboard. I can spot those flame-red curls anywhere. Quirky and adorable, personality bursts out of her like confetti, Kate. She’s the girl who has no problem talking to guys. Exactly the girl I’m not. Now she's draped all over Vic, clinging onto him like a wet suit. Geez, Kate, get a room.

Vic whispers in her ear, and she giggles. Even though music is blaring and people are chattering, I hear that mouse-squeak of a giggle all the way over here because I’ve heard it since we were kids. Usually, I think it’s cute. That little mouse-squeak is all Kate. Tonight, I hate it. She ditched me to giggle and flirt with Vic. I’m feeling like the loser in the shadows because Vic flashed his pearly whites at my best friend.

My fingers drum across the tabletop as boredom sets in, and I’m staring at Killer Smile. Again. God, I’m a creepy stalker. Who stares at someone all night? Me. That’s who. I tear my gaze away and swipe a finger across my phone.

All my favorite icons are at my fingertips. RealChat is loaded with pings: thirty-six, and that’s only one server. I smile. Boy, the Sentinels are chatty tonight. My finger hovers over the chat log. I should catch up and see what I’ve missed. I need to log, too. My rankings will drop if I don’t give QG a few clicks.

A text flashes across my screen.

K-Kat: Get off that game! I see you! 

I jerk my head up, and my gaze slams into Kate’s. She’s still draped over "what's his face," shooting daggers at me over his shoulder. Anger simmers. What do you care, Kate? I’ll play my damn game if I want to!

Riles: I’m not on QG. Don’t you have an ass to drool over?

K-Kat: U were on RealChat, weren’t u? God, Riles. Stop talking to your alliance buddies and talk to a real person

The Sentinels are real people. They get me. They get escaping into a game is therapeutic. It’s mindless. It’s fun. Exactly what my life is not. I can be anyone in QG. Cool. Sexy. Confident. Everything I’ll never be. All the GIFs and DMs are little bursts of sunshine brightening my day. And I’m good at this stupid game. Like, kick-ass good.

It’s not like you’re over here, Kate, keeping me company. No, you’re over there with the boy toy getting your freak on.

I hold up my phone and shoot her a pointed glower before shoving it into my pants pocket. Kate smiles, all smug and approving, like she just saved me from being the creepy weirdo in the corner. Too late, Kate. That’s me, and I’ll never change. I want to slap the smile right off her face, but she’s already turned back to Vic.

Me and the shadows are still here. Alone.

A buzz rattles my hip. Damn it. Why did I put my phone away? My fingers itch to grab it. Just a quick log into QG. If I don’t use my mobility, Enigma will pass me in rankings and gloat about it all day tomorrow. Three seconds later, my baby is back in my hands. I curse at the text smack-dab in the center of my display.

K-Kat: Ditch the phone and TALK to someone!

I slip my phone in my pocket, regretting it already. Ugh, I hate you, Kate! You and your perfect, stupid face. I’m not like you, okay. It isn’t easy for me to chat up some stranger. But a part of me knows she’s right. A part of me knows I hide in the digital world because it’s safe.

Everyone I chat with is hundreds of miles away. They’ve never seen my face, and there’s no judgement on the chat channels. Just fun and silliness and people escaping to a mindless game that makes them feel good. Talking isn’t stressful on RealChat. Yeah, there’s drama sometimes, but it’s easy to ignore, and I don’t have to answer immediately. I can craft the cool and smart words my brain fails to when I’m face-to-face with the socially gifted elite that is everyone else except me.

Try. Try to be social.

Killer Smile is by the bar, and so is the gorgeous blonde with the thousand-watt smile. Right. Plan B: Pine over what you can’t have. Wait, isn’t that Plan A? Aren’t you doing that right now? Get a grip. Do something. Anything. Doing nothing gets you zilch.

Here goes. A little social torture won’t hurt. You’re already weird and pathetic. You’ll just be weirder and even more pathetic. Great pep talk, Riles. Anxiety kicking in, I grab my drink and take a sip of the sugary concoction, cause why the hell not? I’ll need some kind of buffer for the awkward bouts of silence I’m about to dole out to Killer Smile.

A few side steps through the crowd, one near-collision, and I’m within Killer Smile’s radar. I sit two stools away. Okay, three. Three stools away. I’m working on this socializing thing that comes so naturally to everyone else.

Bombshell is talking to Killer Smile, and he’s hanging on every word. Hook, line, and sinker, that boy is caught. Smitten. Entranced. Enticed. Which means I’m dead in the water.

Techno pop blasts a thunderous beat as I set my drink on the bar, and the synthesized “oooh babies” are blaring at a decibel level even dogs can hear. Apparently, my ears are the only ones dying. All the other souls mingling in my circle of hell are chatting away as if the music isn’t an assault on their eardrums. Much more of these booming beats, and I’ll go deaf. This joint must have speakers everywhere. I swear there’s one under my stool.

“Look at you, slummin’ at the bar!” Kate shouts as she strolls up, signaling the bartender. “Long Island and a vodka tonic.” She nudges her elbow into my side. “Want anything, Riles?”

“I’m good.” I point to my glass.

Kate takes a swig of my drink before slamming it down. “God, it’s a sugar bomb! You and your kiddie cocktails. Come on, I’ll get you a grown-up drink.”

“I’ll take my sugar bomb over your turpentine, thanks.” Alcohol is disgusting. Why anyone drinks the crap, I’ll never know. The shit tastes like chemicals and not the kind that gets you high.

Kate sways to the music. “Wanna play darts with me and Vic? You can be thirdsies.”

Yeah, no. “Maybe later.” Riles the “thirdsie” isn’t exactly how I want to spend my Saturday night, and I'd have to watch them paw each other like horny monkeys at a zoo. No thanks.

“Okay, when you’re done here, come meet Vic. You’ll love him.”

And be a thirdsie, yay. “Yeah, sure.”

Kate slides a twenty across the bar, grabbing her drinks before sauntering back to Vic. And I’m still here, alone, wishing I was anywhere else.

A new song plays soft and slow. Thank God, my ears can stop bleeding now. The love ballad is some schmaltzy number, full of the heartache and longing of every sad sap in this room. I suppose I’m one of those saps, longing for a connection in a world I’m so disconnected from, longing to be noticed by a guy who is noticing someone else.

The two lovebirds are chattering away as if they’re the only two people in the room. They make it look easy, like being smart and funny and charming is effortless. What the hell are they even talking about? Psychology?

I'm so out of my league. Bombshell is confident. And smart. Like Natalie Portman smart. She’s got it all. Beauty and brains with a—come into the bedroom—attitude that must drive guys wild. She's the trifecta of Hot Girl Syndrome. Cool. Sexy. Confident. Everything I wish I could be.

I want to be Bombshell, the type of girl guys notice, but I don't know how to be that girl. Every time I try, all my imperfections become huge boulders weighing me down.

Time to leave before those boulders crush me, but as I hop off the stool, Killer Smile turns, and he’s talking…talking to me.

What! Am I dreaming? Shit! Shit! Shit! Panic soars and I jolt back. My elbow crashes into my drink and soda rushes down the bar, straight toward some guy’s sleeve. I try to warn him, but it’s too late.

He jerks his arm up. Red liquid saturates his shirt.

“Uh, I’m sorry.” The words tumble from my mouth as I gawk, dumbfounded, at my victim.

Geez, he’s tall. Even though he’s sitting, I have to crane my head up to look at him. He’s a big bear of a man with a scruffy beard. Oh, shit, I just drenched Big Bear. I cringe, waiting for the smackdown.

Big Bear flicks his hand, and sticky red drops fly from his sleeve. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He grabs some napkins from the bar.

I snatch some, too, and mop up the soda river pooling toward him.

“Hey man,” someone chuckles from behind, “what happened?”

I turn to the voice and shrink back. Crap on a stick! It’s him. Killer Smile and all his sexiness are here…witnessing my dorkiness on full display.

“Nothing, just an accident,” Big Bear says.

“Stace wants to shoot pool.” Killer Smile waves his hand, beckoning the bartender before he turns to the man whose sleeve is dripping with my drink. “You coming?”

Big Bear shakes his head. “Nah, Trent, maybe later.”

Trent. My head swivels between the two men and realization clicks. Killer Smile…no…Trent hadn’t been talking to me before. Nope, he’d been talking to his friend, and I was the insignificant piece of furniture in his way.

Trent smiles. “All right, man. Bartender, a rum and coke for my buddy,” he slides his gaze to me, “and your friend? What’ll she have?”

Glue coats my tongue. “Oh, uh, we’re not—”

Big Bear crumples the drenched napkin in his hand and tosses it on the bar. “Kiddie cocktail.”

Trent smirks. “Kiddie cocktail. That’s cute.” The way he says that he doesn’t mean the sexy kind of cute. His tone drips with ‘that’s cute’ like my sister kind of cute. “A kiddie cocktail for the lady and send two Manhattans to the pool table. Put it on my tab.” He slaps Big Bear on the shoulder and struts away.

Mortification swallows me like a tidal wave, and I’m drowning. Tears prick my eyes. I’m an idiot. A stupid idiot.

#epic fail

I set myself up for this misery. Why would someone like Trent ever notice a girl like me? I knew better, but I hoped anyway. Hoped like a desperate fool. I’m so done here. Before the tears come, I dart to the exit. Screw Kate and Vic and Trent. Screw everyone.

Halfway to the parking lot, realization dawns. I came with Kate. In her car. Shit. Pivoting on my heel, I trudge back and halt at the bar entrance. Humiliation sinks deep, and my hand hovers on the doorknob. Nope, I’m not going in. I’ll wait here…in the cold until Kate and Vic are done giving each other tongue baths. God, that could take all night. All right, Kate, sexy time with Vic is over. You’re taking me home or giving me your car keys. I don’t care which. You owe me.

I whip out my phone and freeze. Notifications clutter my lock screen: RealChat pings, QG alerts, messages from Kate and Mom. But those aren’t what I’m staring at. It’s the last notification I can’t take my eyes off.

(873) 518-3450: Hi, you don’t know me. We met at th…

Damn it. I’m intrigued and a little freaked out, but mostly intrigued. I tap the message.

(873) 518-3450: Hi, you don’t know me. We met at the bar. I’m not some creepy stalker guy, I swear. Kate gave me your number. I’m with her and Vic. I’ve wanted to chat with you all night. Any chance you’ll come back?

My heart pounds so fast, it’s about to punch a hole right out of my chest.

Riles: Who is this? Trent?

(873) 518-3450: No. I’m the guy you spilled soda on.

Wait. What? Big Bear is texting me? And what did he mean by ‘all night?’ How long had he been watching me? This is a joke, right? Guys don’t chase girls like me. But he is. Big Bear is chasing you. He twisted Kate’s arm for your number. Don’t just stand there, Riles, do something about it.

I rush back into the bar and nearly spill some girl's drink. Okay, Riles, be cool.

I spot Kate’s fire-red hair first. Then I see him. He’s sitting beside her, chatting like they’re old friends, glancing at his phone every few seconds. There’s an easy-going nature about him. This guy isn’t the type of guy girls notice, but I’m noticing him now. He’s cute in that big, cuddly bear sort of way. I tap out a text.

Riles: I’m here. 

Big Bear’s head jerks up. As I approach, he stands, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “I’m glad you came back.”

Heat flushes my cheeks, and the words locked in my throat all evening break free. “Uh, yeah, hi, sorry about your sleeve.” Smooth, Riles, smooth.

Big Bear chuckles, his gaze holding mine like he never wants to let me go, and something strange happens. For once, in a crowd of sexy women, I’m the gorgeous one in the room. Me.

#winning

For the first time, I look at him. Really look at him.

His eyes are blue…no…green…hazel eyes, ever-changing, full of possibilities, like he’s making me feel right now.

“I’m Steve.” Tiny dimples pop out in the corners of his mouth when he speaks. They’re visible even through the beard. A little surprise I hadn’t noticed before.

I have a feeling this guy is full of surprises.

#connected