"...i've been reminiscin', sippin', missin' ya. can you tell me what's with all this distant love?"
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NIGHTS LIKE THIS START TO BLUR. There's a stale heat sifting through the bar that seems to stifle any sense of space and time. Sometimes, a drink takes the edge off, but sometimes, it just burns until she can't see or think—or be—straight.
Time doesn't stop for anyone, especially not her. As the minutes dwindle, inching closer and closer to midnight, she just can't stop. Mae can't stop thinking about her, drinking for her, missing her.
It's a convenient curse. Even after months, Mae can still stumble home with some slurring excuse and blame everything on the alcohol. It's only because she'd had a few too many drinks, not because she'd spent the entire night sulking in some bar in Prospect Heights with her finger hovering over an old photo.
A million little white lies never held her straight. The lines didn't start to blur; they tangled into knots. Somewhere, somehow, Mae had gotten lost in the lies.
Most nights, she can live with that—without her.
But nights like this, a little tipsy and a little lonely, Mae always ends up silent and still, just wishing that the liquid courage would help her delete that one contact that keeps her in a constant state of free fall.
Mae sighs, surrenders with a soft tap, and then sniffles when her contact photo fills the screen. It looms like an untouchable presence, somehow always beside her in the bar.
Above, the numbers blink. 12:00 AM.
It's now or never.
A half a heartbeat away, a millimeter from her fingertip. It would be too easy—a self-sabotaging backslide to what she found all those months ago.
Would she even answer? Like she did all those nights that Mae called, whispering faintly about missing her and wanting her and needing her?
A lump forms in the back of her throat. Her fingers curl tighter around her drink. No. Why would she answer now?
It's over.
She had probably found someone else, someone less confused, someone that would give her everything that Mae couldn't. Because Mae just couldn't give her what she wanted... what they both wanted.
Scoffing, she shakes her head. Of course she had found someone else. They were nothing but a casual summer fling that was always doomed to end—an exploration that Mae had selfishly stolen for herself.
So why does it still hurt? Why can't she delete that damn contact?
Mae grinds her teeth together, tips the glass to her lips, and then sinks into her seat, chasing the dizziness that will keep those feelings at bay. Why? Why does she always want to stop feeling like this?
As her gaze falls back to her phone, something in her chest tightens.
The numbers blink again. 12:02 AM.
Desperation deflates her. Is it really going to be just another night like this?