24 Hours

"It's just complicated."

Everything is complicated according to Hannah. And whenever she uses this dismissal she rolls her big blue eyes in this way that makes me feel very small, like I don't even deserve to be in her company. It's frustrating, but at the same time the thought of being without her makes me feel quite sick.

We have always had this kind of relationship. Hannah Elizabeth Rose has always been the popular one, the pretty one, the funny one. Boys love Hannah because she's the type of girl who wears push-up bras and miniskirts whenever she leaves the house, and her hair and make-up is always immaculate, and she mastered the art of flirtation aged thirteen. Wherever we go, she strides ahead of me. I don't think she does it to be mean. It's just how it is. It's how it's always been.

I firmly believe that there are two types of girls: sexy girls, and nice girls. Hannah is obviously the former. I have always been the latter.

I am the quiet one. I live in Hannah's shadow and it suits me fine. While she's being hit on I'll just sit quietly on my own and sip on a drink or, if the occasion is appropriate, I'll chat timidly to her conquest's 'wingman'. But they never want me. It's not because I'm ugly, or fat. I know I have decent features and a fairly average body and I wear nice dresses. The problem is that I have no confidence. None whatsoever. I've spent so long being undermined by my best friend that I never really learnt how to talk to guys. I think Hannah likes that because she likes being in control. She likes being the sexy one and she likes me being the nice one.

And guys get bored of nice girls very quickly. In fact, they get bored as soon as another sexy Hannah-type girl walks past. I've seen it a hundred times before. It doesn't really bother me anymore.

Tonight we were sitting in The Roundhouse, which is really quite normal for a Wednesday night. Hannah wants to go out most evenings, and of course that means I have to go out too, because I'm always one step behind her. Or maybe two steps.

But anyway, we were in The Roundhouse and Hannah was telling me about the problems she'd been having with her new boyfriend, who also happened to be ten years older than us and also married with two kids. This did nothing to faze Hannah Elizabeth Rose, though. Such obstacles were viewed as minuscule challenges through her beautiful eyes. So she was telling me how it was complicated but she had this glint in her eyes which I have been trained to know means she was thriving on the drama and possibly planning something devious.

Before she could divulge to me her master plan, though, we needed drinks. It was just past midnight and the bar was busy so Hannah grabbed my hand and headed straight for the bar, pushing through the throng of bodies, letting her breasts lead the way as I shuffled along behind her, making quiet apologies to every single person I squeezed past. They all gave me dirty looks, but not Hannah, of course. Or her breasts.

By the time we had pushed our way to the front of the heaving masses, I was more than ready for a beverage. To start with I always drink whatever Hannah has, but as she starts to slowly unwind and take her attention away from me, I switch to flat water. Because somebody has to look after Hannah Elizabeth Rose when she's had too much to drink.

"What can I get you, ladies?"

I glanced up at the bartender. He was new. I knew that because, as I said, we were here most weeks and had gotten to know the staff. Also I could tell by the way he was smiling and being polite and enthusiastic. That wouldn't last. Another couple of weekends would break him. They always do. I felt almost sorry for him.

"Two Jack and Cokes, please," Hannah said, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the music playing in the bar but just soft enough to be considered as sultry. She was batting her false eyelashes at him and licking her lips like a lioness about to pounce.

He was a good-looking man. Tall, blonde, young. His teeth were very white and he got a dimple when he smiled but only on his left cheek. His voice was smooth and he winked at us as he picked up some glasses. Well, more like he winked at Hannah. As ever, it appeared I was invisible.

As he and Hannah were having eye-contact sex, I cast my eyes down on the shiny, sticky surface of the bar countertop, and chewed nervously on my lower lip and hummed oh-so-softly along with the song that was playing. I think the song is called Friday Night but I'm not very good with music. I only listen to whatever Hannah is listening to. The next time I looked up, the bartender was pushing a drink in front of me and smiling. I blushed and smiled very faintly back and picked my drink up and then we went back to find a table.



I leant back against the cool bricks of the wall with a long sigh. Once again, what a surprise, Hannah was being kept company by a group of men and I had managed to slink away for a cigarette.

Smoking is my one vice. Sometimes I think it's the only thing that separates my life from Hannah's. Hannah never smokes. She says it ruins your nails and always tsks at me and shoots me a judging glance when I pull out a cigarette from my handbag. But on nights like these, while she's occupied and I can sneak off, I take great pleasure in lighting up and taking my time enjoying a luxurious smoke. I probably take more pleasure in it than I'd care to admit.

"Hey, got a light?"

I spun around and squinted in the bright spotlight of the smoking area, illuminating and shaming those of us who have no self control. I'd thought I was the only one out there. When my eyes finally adjusted I realised it was the bartender from earlier. The new one.

"Sure," I nodded, first lighting my own cigarette and then passing my cheap ass purple plastic lighter onto him. Once he was lit up, he passed it back. "Thanks," I mumbled, dropping my lighter back into my handbag.

I heard him chuckle and he leant back on the wall beside me, placing one foot flat against the bricks. I wanted to know why he was laughing but I didn't want to ask. So I stayed quiet and took a slow, wonderful drag of my poison.

"I'm Tom, by the way," said Tom, with his cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm Callie," I replied, because I guessed this was what I was supposed to do in this situation, though to be honest I had no idea because I didn't normally exchange names with anybody I met in a bar.

"It's nice to meet you, Callie," Tom smiled, and I made a small attempt to smile back.

We stood side-by-side in awkward silence for a while, both savouring our cigarettes and blowing lines of smoke into the midnight air. I really enjoyed watching the smoke as it danced and swirled around, before completely disappearing. I know that it is bad for me and so on, but it really does look quite beautiful if you really think about it.

"You're very quiet, aren't you Callie?" Tom said suddenly, shooting me a sideways glance and blowing smoke out of the other side of his mouth.

I shrugged. "I suppose I am."

He nodded and scratched the back of his head. "I think your friend talks enough for the both of you though, right?"

I gave a nervous laugh. This was not the first time somebody had said something of this nature to me. But usually it was somebody I vaguely knew, and not a barman I had met all of half an hour ago. "I guess," was my wary response. I had a feeling he was not yet done with me.

And I was right. "Do you never get sick of it, Callie?" The way he said my name made my stomach churn just a little bit. But in a good way. An exciting way. He drew out the A sound and his lips looked so soft as he articulated each phoneme.

I shook my head slowly. "Not really," I lied, flicking ash from the end of my cigarette onto the floor. I watched as the embers floated down to the tips of my shoes, and when I looked up Tom was looking right at me.

This time he shook his head. "Come on, Callie," he said quietly. "You're not convincing me."

I took a final drag of my cigarette, taking it almost right down to the nub before dropping it to the ground and gently stubbing it out with my toes. "She's a little high-maintenance," I admitted with a shrug, still looking downwards. "But she's my best friend."

"Why?" asked Tom.

I wasn't prepared for this question. I guess I never really considered it. Hannah Elizabeth Rose had always been my best friend, since before I could remember. That's just the way things were. I never questioned it before now.

"Because, she just is," I replied, hating myself for sounding a little defensive. He raised his eyebrows at me and extinguished his own cigarette. I noticed then that his eyes were bluer than anything I had ever seen before. I tucked my hair behind my ears and pulled my grey cardigan tighter around my body. I suddenly felt very exposed out here, both literally and metaphorically.

But still Tom was staring at me. Defiantly, I glanced up and held his gaze. A smile crept across his face and my heart started to pound. Why was he even paying me any attention anyway? Surely he had other things he could be doing, more interesting people to talk to? I chewed on my lower lip again.

"I'm just finishing my shift," he told me, running a hand through his hair. "I'm headed out to a party if you want to come."

I was about to tell him he was completely insane but he silenced me by placing a finger on my lips. I nearly stumbled backwards with shock at his audacity.

"Don't give me some bullshit story about having to stay with your friend, Callie," he said firmly, casting a glance towards the windows at Hannah, sat inside surrounded by guys and apparently paying no mind to my absence. Tom looked back at me and took his hand away from my mouth. "She's fine. You should come."

I opened my mouth but no noise came out so I closed it and tried again. "I can't," I said softly, hating myself even as I was saying the words.

He sighed and took my hand in his. His hand was very warm and mine was very cold but he didn't mention it and I could barely even breathe or concentrate on anything because a boy was touching me and it was all very strange and exciting but in a terrifying way and part of me wanted Hannah Elizabeth Rose to come rescue me but a bigger part of me wanted to run away with Tom and never come back.

"Do you ever do anything without her, Callie?" he asked gently. He wasn't being judgey or critical. He looked almost sorry for me, maybe.

I blushed and shrugged again. "Not really," I replied, feeling quite pathetic.

"Well, you should start living your own life," Tom smiled, tugging on my hand and pulling me towards the street. "Tonight."

Tonight tonight tonight. Tonight is the night.