And To All A Good Night [h.s. one shots]

Have We Met? by ThousandYearsOfHope

Have We Met?

The very notion of New Year's Eve always seemed so cliché to me. The expectations of it, the anticipation, and the busyness. Placing all your worth on the start of a new year when a drunken evening in a room with people you don't know is hardly an indication of what you'll achieve in 12 months or who you'll be by the end of it.

Saying goodbye to something and hello to another immediately after, as if that completely eradicates everything you've been through until that evening. All that pain you're desperate to shake away, all that exhaustion and all that sadness; gone. Poof. Vanished. Like magic, I suppose.

You call out the countdown, you raise your glasses in the air, and you kiss someone to your right, and suddenly, everything is better again. The ticking of a clock marking life before and after.

But then you wake up the next day, probably enduring a crushing hangover that makes you promise you won't drink again any time soon, and you begin to realise how utterly wrong you were, and how arbitrary it was to believe such a thing. It all comes back to you in that moment; everything you thought you'd waved goodbye to with an air of finality, only to be hit in the face with it as your head pounds and you want to vomit.

Booze blues. One of the worst parts of a hangover. Especially when it's cold and you wake up alone and you know no one will answer your texts if you send any. Wallowing in sadness and silence and realising that you can't run from your problems or how they make you feel because life isn't that easy, and it was never supposed to be that easy for a person like you.

Maybe you draw yourself a bath, equipped with bubbles and candles, you tell yourself that an afternoon of pampering will help you feel better, but the minute you're in the water it starts scorching your skin and you start questioning the decision you've made. Then when you decide to get out, the cold clings to the moisture of your skin and you end up feeling even worse than you did before. So, instead, you wrap yourself up in a dressing gown, pour a glass of wine even if you can still taste the sick you brought up after waking, and you curl up on the sofa while flicking through boring holiday specials on the telly.

That's how the new year begins. That's what defines the year you'll end up having.

Perhaps I'm a pessimist. A lot of people have told me I am, but I never used to be. I don't like looking so negatively at things people should celebrate, but I also know that this is what happens when you decide to be rational and reject the outdated belief that every slate can be wiped clean with the touch of a stranger's lips on the final night of the year.

Besides, why would I want to kiss a random person while we're stuffed into a tightly packed room? It only leads to awkward small talk, wanderings hands that I constantly have to move away from my arse, and ultimately hiding in a corner when he tries to convince me that I should go back to their place. Hardly an ideal way to spend the evening. No, I'd rather hold onto the final ounces of self-respect that I have and avoid it altogether.

I've done the whole dating thing. A few one night stands in between with mediocre sex and faked orgasms. Kissing people I'll never see again in a dimly lit club or bar. Holding hands with someone that sweats too much. Nodding along to conversations that could send me to sleep. Convincing myself that their personalities will grow on me. Agreeing to a second or third date but never responding to their texts again.

Really, I've tried it all.

At first, I dipped my toes in with trepidation, questioning if I was even ready to put myself out there after suffering perhaps the worst heartbreak of my life. Then I got comfortable, and that's when it went downhill.