Peep Show? Ugh, No.

The screen flashed a message in the bottom right hand corner. It was her own fault. What sort of self-respecting woman left the Facebook chat on, she groaned to herself. Without looking at the name she re-filled her glass, certain it was going to be the very person she was ignoring. She took a sip, followed it up with a deep breath, squared her shoulders and clicked on the bottom right hand corner.

'Oh Christ.' The dogs looked up at the unfamiliar noise. Bonnie was as useless with small-talk with them as she was with people. The sound had them both pricking their ears up.

Hey, sweetie. How's things?

Bonnie shook her head.

Mother, it's weird when you message me on here.

It was going to be a three-glass night, Bonnie could just feel it.

It's weird that I have to message you on here. Don't you answer your phone anymore? It's also weird that you haven't found a man. Are you a lesbian? I only ask because your father is worried about you.

Twirling her long, brunette ponytail in her fingers, Bonnie considered which level of hell you went to for lying to your parents about your sexuality and how many levels down she would be prepared to go if it made them stop asking for grandchildren. With so little say in the outcome it was too risky though and she went with a more pragmatic response.

A woman can be single by choice without being a lesbian, mother. We've talked about this. FFS, Ellen is married. And if I were a lesbian, would this really be the best medium of communication in which to relay that message?

Nodding to herself she was proud of her self-control.

What does FFS mean? I worry about you.

Her face dropped into her hands and more groans and profanities filled the air.

I'll call you tomorrow, mum.

Turning the chat off she drained her glass and considered getting a hobby. As quickly as the idea came it was gone (most likely due to being drowned out by alcohol) so she went back to staring at the Facebook newsfeed and debating whether or not to post something contentious just for the sake of being contentious.

The last week she'd posted a political article that she hadn't even bothered to read but which had stirred a lot of debate amongst the introverts of Tumblr, which had automatically made it good Facebook fodder. Pouting her lips like a centrefold she tried to remember just what it had been but it escaped her. She'd lost seven friends over that status update though. It was hard to care when she had yet work out who a single one of those seven were. At any time Bonnie could tell you exactly how many people were in her friends list. Make no mistake though, it was more her interest in seeing what she could and couldn't get away with than any need to feel wanted that kept her checking the numbers.

Also because she was bored and wanted attention. The laptop made another annoying noise.

'Ugh.' Someone else messaging her.

DTF?

Chivalry was indeed dead. She was sure of it.

No. Go away you disgusting creep.

If he'd been in front of her she definitely would've contemplated stabbing him.

You didn't say that when I was screwing your brains out.

Bonnie's eyebrows hit the ceiling.

It was 1998, you were my first boyfriend, the sex was crap, and you spent eleven months stalking me after we broke-up. You do not now get to message me ON FACEBOOK nearly fifteen years later to ask me to have sex with you like we just saw each other. You were vile then, you're clearly still vile now. Die.

She opened his profile and with a feeling of power, calmly hit block, indicating that he was someone she didn't know. Triumphant, she smiled and poured another glass.

Yes, it was indeed a riveting life that Bonnie Martin was leading and it was nice to know her prediction had been right. It was indeed a three glass night.

Meet Bonnie.

It was too sticky to even contemplate moving. The heat was the main reason she'd been dreaming about leaving this place for the last eight years. The lack of a plan or any sort of clear desire or even something vaguely described as motivation was the reason she hadn't bothered. Wiping away the sweat beads that formed everywhere - and it really was everywhere. The backs of her legs, in her armpits, her neck, and that line on her upper lip that disgusted her so much - kept her busy enough.

The view couldn't be complained about though. A grey sky was trapping in the heat but even with the storm clouds rolling in over the ocean she was happy enough staring out at the murky coloured water. There were days it was pretty, serene, telling her this was a perfect place to really grow some roots and dig in for another eight years, but no view was ever going to make up for the perpetual drip of sweat and paranoia about her body odour.

Why would anyone live somewhere that jeans weren't an option for at least three months a year, she regularly asked herself, but here she was, hanging on because it really was just easier to think that she'd already met him and should wait around for him to realise it was her that he'd been dreaming about.

It was pathetic. She wasn't in denial about that. Worse though was that she wasn't entirely sure who 'him' was. It could've been her brother's best friend, the recently divorced man she'd been fantasising about since she was sixteen and who always dirty danced with her at weddings, clubs, and the like. Or maybe it was the man she'd briefly dated nearly two years before and who had managed to keep her infatuated for a period much longer than the length of time he stuck around for (six weeks had bought him two years of wondering what could've been, to be exact).

Look, the thing was, it didn't really matter who 'him' was, the main thing was that she had an excuse to stay and didn't need to metaphorically grab that bull by the horns and take a flying leap into uncertainty.

Thirty-two, singled five years ago and living in the past, athletic, not career focused but in a job that allowed her some comforts, it seemed silly to throw it all out the window just because of her eternal and passionate distaste for humidity.

Tourists, though. They were everywhere. Coupled with the humidity that was definitely enough reason to move somewhere that was dominated more by locals. Scowling at a loved-up couple sitting at the table beside hers, she took another sip of her wine. She drank too much. She knew that, yet she didn't care. It was the reason her once athletic frame now had a softer feel to it and she regularly reminded herself that there were some men out there who preferred this look. It made it okay in her mind, acceptable even, which allowed her to continue what she was doing without any guilt.

A tropical pizza sat in front of her and as much as the cliche of eating a tropical pizza in the tropics annoyed her to the point of considering ordering something different, it was the very same dish that she ate in this exact restaurant every single Sunday afternoon. Always alone. It wasn't that she didn't have friends as such, it was just more that making plans also annoyed her. Her inner control freak struggled with the idea of not being able to change her mind just because she felt like it, and so each Sunday she ate alone. Picking off the pineapple, then the topping, and then the base. Always ignoring the curious looks from whichever annoying tourist was sat beside her; she was a creature of habit.

The couple beside her now were no exception. They continued canoodling and it was as perfect a reason as any to continue drinking. The thing was - and she had this on good authority from a recently widowed woman she worked with - that loneliness tends to fuel drinking. The woman had practically okayed her continuing to drink with her lunchtime and evening meals, and without children, a partner or any real responsibility other than putting food in the dogs bowls daily and remembering to be at work by 7am, what reason did she have to not drink?

So it was settled. She would drink as much as she was legally allowed to whilst still being able to drive, and then she would remind herself that moving somewhere with an apartment in the city - thus negating the need to limit her alcohol consumption - was a perfect reason to finally move out of this seaside, tourist town that was so far removed from the real world and all the places she would rather be.

That was exactly how Bonnie Martin spent her Sunday afternoon.