Face off

The biting Canadian air cut through my jacket, making me shiver. It was a typical night out, or what passed for one, with my friends, Kirsten and Robin—affectionately dubbed 'the twins' for their uncanny ability to coordinate outfits without even trying. Tonight was no exception: Kirsten in a lacy black bodysuit and red pleather, Robin in a low-cut red top and black miniskirt. Meanwhile, I trudged along in my Chuck Taylors and a 'modest enough' plum V-neck, a compromise with my boyfriend, Will.

“Come on, Willow!” Robin called, her red heels clicking impatiently on the pavement.

I jogged to catch up, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets. It was always like this. They’d charge ahead, a glamorous, telepathic duo, leaving me to trail behind, feeling like an afterthought. Will hated me drawing attention, so I was always toned down, a shadow to their vibrant presence. It wasn't just the outfit; it was the entire dynamic. Tonight, I yearned for a night where I could just… be.

As we pushed through the double doors into Club Envy, the pulsing bass vibrated through my chest. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and cheap alcohol. My usual anxiety began to bubble, but tonight, I was determined to push past it. I needed a drink. Or three. Maybe then, just maybe, I could finally feel like myself.