I don't.
My body is just frustrated.
It's been too long.
It's not because of Eamon.
"Cool," is the single syllable I let escape my body because I fear if I don't, someone will ask for more of a response from me, and I don't think I'm capable of that right now.
When the spread appears before us, the tequila looks like poison. Itismy favorite, and I'm not sure how he knows it, but just for that reason, I refuse to touch it. Instead, I swiftly grip the vodka and pour myself and Bel a shot, needing the liquid courage to explore this cesspool of wandering hands. Any of their grimy, sweaty limbs would be better than giving into the one draped behind me.
The drink warms me all the way down, and I stand, silently gesturing for my best friend to join me on the dance floor. I get less than 12 more hours with her, and I'm not willing to waste them on any man, hers or mine. No offense to hers; I'm sure they're wonderful. I mean, they'd have to be to be worthy of her attention.
The part of me with no self-preservation wants to flip the party crasher the bird as we slip into the crowd, but he's not worth the extra effort it would take to lift my middle finger in his direction. So I drag my favorite person on earth into the fray, losing myself to the music and the madness surrounding me and pretending the mess of my life won't be there when the smog clears.
The stench of sweat, stale cigarettes, and alcohol surrounds me, the sourness of it all something I should find repulsive, but swimming in a sea of tequila and vodka and whatever else I could reach, it feels like the closest thing I have to home.
I know the countdown is coming soon and I just can't bring myself to give a fuck to make it memorable like I've tried in the past. I'll make out with whoever's close enough when the time comes and hope I'm drunk enough the memory disappears completely.
Awareness scratches on the edge of my mind, the first signal that my last drink is starting to wear off. As long as I keep the liquor flowing, my stupid hunter senses can forget that he's here, watching me like a sentry no one asked for. I can go in search of another shot to drown out the prickling sensation on my skin, or I can stay here sandwiched between the bodies of men who don'tdare touch me with the giant stormcloud threatening them with bodily harm if they do.
Voices around me raise to a roar30. 29. 28…
When the numbers suddenly jump to 9, I close my eyes and make the executive decision not to kiss anyone. Every New Year's kiss I've ever had has ended disastrously; none of them have been worth my first moments of a new beginning.
So, my new beginning for this year is to be okay with being alone.Reallyalone, withno temporary or almost lovers to fill the aching void.
5
My heart hurts at the prospect, but what kind of future could I give someone anyway? Every piece of me is broken, and no one needs a puzzle of a person to spend the rest of their life putting together.
4
Eyes closed, arms in the air, I let the music sweep me away, the only caress or touch I need tonight.
3
A small smile pulls at my lips as I join the chorus of voices around me, shouting the numbers as they count down.
2
Goosebumps break across my skin, leaving me no time to react.
1
A hot paw of a hand grips the back of my neck, and I know who I'll see even before my eyes shoot open in surprise.
As confetti falls and a siren blares around us, I gasp, leaving the perfect opening for Eamon to forcefully plant his mouth on mine. His soft lips part minefurther, sobriety suddenly hitting me like a train as the taste of whiskey and something so unique, so undeniablyhim,glides against my tongue.
Gripping his shirt with every intention of pushing him away, I can't stop the desperate whimper that escapes my throat as his tongue wrestles mine, forcing a submission I have no power to fight against. I feel more than hear the rumbling, growling groan in his chest, and his other hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against him and nearly bending me backward with the force of the kiss.
Everything about this moment makes my head spin, dizzy with need. I can't remember a time that I wanted to fuck someone so badly.
I feel his lips lift in a smile, unable to stop even while he continues kissing and biting me into a puddle. But that arrogant fucking smirk stops that thought in its tracks, reminding me exactlywhois the person behind the best kiss I've ever had.
Fury fills my veins, burning hot and cold along my arms. With all my might, I shove him away from me, keeping one hand fisted in his shirt while the other moves of its own accord. Every ounce of strength goes into the slap, not holding back at all to wipe that stupid fucking self-satisfied grin off his face.
If anything, it has the opposite effect. My hand feels like all the skin has been ripped off of it, andhiseyes sparkle with challenge and a fire that I feel echoed in my bones. Whether I give in or not, this stupid man wins. Hatred or lust, both are a reaction that he's craving. This face-off can only end if I choose not to engage, and I've never been good at backing down from a fight.
