No more egomaniacs, I reminded myself.
New year, new me, new man.
Fine. I let go of him.
He flashed me an awkward, genuine smile. “Um, okay. Keep it classy.”
I shrugged. I would, I guessed.
As he left the apartment, I played with my phone. The clock ticked from 11:59 to midnight. Somewhere, the ball had dropped, and I was okay with it.
11
Don’t Drink and Post
The next morning, my throat burned with thirst and regrets. Maybe I shouldn’t have had a spicy chicken sandwich after so much tequila. I patted down my nightstand for my water bottle and accidentally knocked my phone. The rectangular glow illuminated my drink and seared my retinas.
I groaned and shielded my face. Why wasn’t partying more fun the day after? I struggled to sit up. My arms glistened with body glitter which meant it was everywhere: my sheets, pillow case, and underwear. So far, my year was a mess.
After a few seconds of gulping down water, I could open my eyes without pain. Rehydrating somehow prevented my phone’s brightness from stabbing my brain, so I thumbed through my notifications. Theo had texted. Again. He’d even called, which was pretty out of the ordinary unless he wanted company while walking somewhere, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with my former ‘babe’ again. At least not without breakfast.
I got up to make a hangover shake and squinted at the rest of my notifications.
My socials had abnormally high engagement. Hundreds of likes. They weren't from my usual followers either. Some were on my outfit selfie but most were actually on a video.
Oh, god, the video.
I played it in horror. A tipsy dumbass in a sparkly romper and oversized hoodie raised her pinky, then dripped chicken sandwich sauce all over her leg. A guy in the background laughed and mocked her ‘classiness.’
My chest tightened. In some ways, this was high school all over again. It was basically the opposite of my brand. And I had posted it. Why? The girl in that video wasn’t cool; she was a mess.
The comments section wasn’t any more reassuring:
Boyfriend? No. Zack was barely an acquaintance. Looking out for me last night was part of his moral code or something–he hadn’t even tried for a midnight kiss.
I sucked down the shake, then hopped in the shower to clear my head. This wasn’t my routine at all. The likes, comments, and shares kept rolling in. Did peoplelikemessy content? I couldn’t tell if I was a laughing stock or a hit.
Part of me wanted to delete the video and purge my drunken rambling out of existence. But it was getting engagement, more than anything else I’d ever posted. What if the fast-food chain saw it and hired me for a promotion? Or what if people clicked on my profile and liked my other pics? It was already happening a little bit. New follows. New interest.
It was the new year. A new me.
Maybe I reallydidneed some rebranding. But I didn’t want to be a mess.
I applied salve to my battered feet and sighed, flexing my tense toes. They’d be out of commission for the week. At least on the foot website, I knew what my audience wanted. Hopefully, my stash of backup pics would hold them over until I could heal and make new content.
At least I didn’t have to work today. I should probably go back to the bar for my car, though. Hopefully, it hadn’t been towed.
I texted a few friends to see if they’d drive me to the bar in exchange for drinks, but they were all fairly hungover and still had plans in the city. It’d be too weird to ask my parents for a lift. I doubted they’d want to grab dinner–and if they did, I’d have to pay for extra food to bring back for their other kids. Might as well invest in a taxi, instead.
