San Francisco, 1:37am

It was Friday night and all Bee wanted to do was scream.

In the city, bars are preparing for last call. Drunken twenty and thirty somethings lock eyes across dark spaces, toss back shots, sip cocktails, grind sweaty bodies together on the dance floor, breaking loose from the 40, 50, 60+ hour workweeks.

Last call, last call.

It’s 2am and she still hadn’t seen Darren.

Where are you, I need to see you, I’m on my way.

His string of text messages at midnight after two weeks of silence sliced through her core.

She couldn’t play hard to get. She couldn’t ignore him, even though Meredith kept trying to take her phone and Mere’s boyfriend John told her she was worth more than that. But she snatched back her iPhone and stepped outside to text him back anyway.

The street lamps glowed orange and the sounds of others having more fun than her wound through open windows and bar doors.

Back inside, pressed against the bar, Julie was making out with her friend-ish. (She refused to label things lest they become that much more official — not until we’ve been together for six months — she had said.) Bee rolled her eyes. She had almost forgiven Julie for her photo with J — at least it didn’t matter to her as much anymore. But that didn’t mean she wanted to put up with her bullshit, either.

Meredith and John were in the corner, foreheads pressed together and talking with their eyes and facial expressions in a way only couples can.

Usually Bee didn’t mind being the fifth wheel. But tonight — tonight she did.

It was San Francisco, 1:59pm, and she was tired — she was tired of waiting for tattooed arms and whiskey kisses.

I’m going home.

—

Sometimes you give up the lights. Sometimes you pass up the last call. Sometimes you say no and instead be OK with going home alone.

You call yourself an Uber. You make Kraft Mac n’ Cheese and eat it in bed. You brush your teeth, chug a glass of water. You turn off your phone.

You spread out — arms to one corner, legs to another. You take up space. You say goodnight.

—

Day No. 17 of my #100DayProject. 100 days of fiction, 100 days of story. Watch the story unfold here, day by day.