Becoming anybody other than who I am so I can finally be noticed.
I’d finally be important to someone.
Last December, as the year came to an end and a new one was starting, I promised myself I’d go out of my comfort zone. I’d try new things by throwing out my old wardrobe, switching up my hair, even getting my first tattoo.
But none of it’s been enough. None of it has made me feel…seen.
Except maybe I tried a little too hard to be—at least when I wasn’t putting myself out there, I wasn’t waking up confused in guy’s beds.
The shame and embarrassment of it all presses down on me ’til I feel like I might sink through the floor.
I rush down the stairs to the ground floor where I find Spencer and some other guy I don’t know passed out on the couches in the living room. Neither wake when I try to nudge them. It’s more of what happened with Kel as I pull at their arms or shake their shoulders and they merely roll over or mumble at me to stop touching them.
“Pick up. Pick up,” I mutter, phone pressed to my ear. I’ve given up on them and moved into the entryway hall, hoping I can call someone else for a ride.
Yvette’s number goes to voice mail. The second the beep goes off, I’m blurting out my panicked thoughts all at once.
“Where are you guys?” I ask, on the verge of tears. “Why did you let me leave with Kel? I need a ride. Please call me back!”
But she doesn’t call me back. She doesn’t even send me a text message.
Shay answers when I call, though it’s almost worse that she does.
“Shay,” I gasp. “Where the hell did you and Yvette go?”
“Girl, my feet were killing me! And Yvette was hungry so we dipped and grabbed some food.”
“You left me with Kel? I’m at his house!”
“So?” she answers in her snappy tone. “What d’you want me to do about it? You’re a big girl, right?”
“Shay, I can’t remember last night. I don’t even know how I got here. I… I need a ride and no one will wake up.”
I can practicallyhearher rolling her eyes from the other end of the phone line. “Just go back to sleep. Kel will probably drop you off later. It’s barely five in the morning, Lana. Damn.”
Our call doesn’t last much longer than that. I’m sniffling, holding in the sudden onslaught of tears, and Shay sounds more agitated by the second.
I hang up with more panic and dread swelling up inside me than ever. I’m so upset, I can barely bring up the Uber app and order a car.
…or try to ’til my card’s run and the transaction is declined.
“No,” I groan, then stomp my foot. “No!”
But it makes perfect sense.
I’m a broke college student who still receives an occasional allowance from Uncle Eddie. I do gig work sometimes, like babysitting and dog walking, but the income from that is so infrequent and low I’m often left with negatives in my bank account.
We hadn’t bought our own drinks last night for a reason; we couldn’t even afford to if we had wanted to.
I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, then notice the club stamp inked on my skin.
Just a few hours ago I had smirked down at the stamp with excitement and pride. I was finally living it up and doing exciting things.
Little did I know I was getting in over my head.
I stumble out the front door and into the freezing early morning. I’m barefoot, my heels still in one hand and my phone in the other.
There’re only a few options left.
