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I took a long sip of my dirty martini and leaned into the bar, staring resentfully down towards the end of it. My boyfriend of three years, Ryan, was still engaged in conversation, feeding his ego with clever banter. I noticed the familiar animated expressions, grand gestures, and overly enthused laughter that captivated the small crowd of people he was talking to. I sighed heavily, and settled back onto my bar stool and played with the spear of olives in my drink. It was New Year’s Eve, but all it really amounted to was just another night of pretending I was happy. It was something that I had become good at, thanks to several years of practice at trying to be his girlfriend.

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