Prologue
December 31st 2003
"Come out."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
She crossed the room and threw herself down on the couch beside me. "You'll have a good time."
"No I won't, and I'm not coming, so just give it up, Di."
I knew my monosyllabic answers were pissing her off greatly, but I really didn't see the point in going if all I would end up doing was standing in the corner, tentatively sipping some crap beer as I bitterly watch others have the time of their lives. And plus, I don't have anything to wear apart from a Paula Abdul-inspired dress my mom gave me for Christmas which actually had bells on it. I might have considered it, but as my sister kindly told me, the peachy color made me look like a giant blimp, so I guess not.
Diane threw her hands up beside me and groaned in annoyance. "So you're making me go on my own?"
"No," I said, getting up and heading towards the kitchen to refill my cup of hot chocolate. "I'm making you go with your boyfriend."
She followed me into the kitchen and hopped up onto the island, sighing. "But I can't stand the thought of you being on your own at New Years, Cat."
I shrugged and reached for the packet of cookies in the cupboard. "Just go with Joe...the hillbilly," I added quietly, snorting slightly.
Diane shot me a stern look. "His name is JOSEPH, and he is not a hillbilly."
"Sure, and I'm not Catherine Saunders."
She raised an eyebrow. "Well, at the moment, you're just a plain bitch."
I sighed and put down the milk I was holding. "Look, I'm sorry. But I was up 'til like, three, with that pissy article, I'm really tired."
"So you're not coming?" she asked, sighing again.
I shook my head. "No."
Her face softened and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. "Look, I'm sorry. But you can go on your own, you'll have a great time. I'm probably just gonna hit the sack."
She nods and eyes me I can practically see the battle going on inside her head. "Well, as long as you're sure..."
I snort. "Trust me, I am."
"Okay," she makes a hesitant move towards the door. "But you know where we are if you change your mind."
I nodded and sipped my drink. She leaned in to give me a quick hug, wafting her gorgeous scent of some expensive perfume Joseph bought for her Christmas over my dejected form. I hugged her back as best I could with a cup in my hands and felt a twinge of jealousy pass through me, noticing how wonderful she looked. Not that that was anything new of course, Diane always looked great. Bitch.
"I'll see you next year!" I called out as I watched her slender figure walk down the hall.
She turned around and flashed me a grin. "Happy New Year, Cat!"
I smiled and her and gave her a wave before turning back into the apartment, my smile leaving my face instantly. New Years. What a shitty holiday. It's merely a time to reflect on how little I've done, how little I do, and how little I'm going to do in my life.
I know what you're thinking. A tad pessimistic? I know, I know. But I've always hated New Years and, more often than not, I'll end up in my room, watching Friends, snuggled up in my bunny slippers with a box of chocolates as my only companion. This is painfully sad, I'm fully aware of that, but that's the way I live my life. Put me in a party situation and I'm lost. Socializing? Right, there's more chance of the Beatles getting back together. So what do I do? I do the smart thing of picking a best friend who's gorgeous, funny, kind and could make friends with a pair of socks, that's what I do.
I wish I could hate Diane, I really do. If it was anyone else, I probably would. She's just about perfect and I pale in comparison. We're so different, people wonder how on earth we can be such great friends. When we go to parties, I'm the boring one whilst she flirts her way through the crowd, looking magnificent as she does so. I, on the other hand, look like the ugly duckling that never turned into a swan and my idea of conversation is discussing whether Ross and Rachel really will get together.
Of course, if I even hinted at my feelings of inadequacy around her, she'd go crazy and probably do something really sweet like make a list of all my good points. I've tried to do that before and let's just say, I got stuck on number one.
See what New Years do to me? They make me all depressed and pessimistic and stuff. Not a huge difference from my usual less than cheery self, but I find it intesifies around these joyful holiday seasons. I just don't do joyful. I do dry, sarcastic, bitter. That's my game.
Maybe it will be the start to something new for me. Maybe I'll lose those 15 pounds that have somehow nestled on my hips over the holidays. Okay, okay, they were there before, but I would not be surprised if I really had gained another 15 pounds. Maybe this year will be different.
Nah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another day another dollar. Another day another party. Another day another girl.
God, no wonder the papers call me a prick. Trust me, I wasn't always like this. I wasn't always so...male. But I guess after, what is it, eight years of partying? Yeah, eight years. Well, I guess after eight years of partying, it gets a little old. The past year has just all meshed into one collective memory, and that memory is of me with a pounding headache from the night before trying to understand the German reporter who's asking me questions in terrible english.
I glance over to where Trace is sitting. He's scanning the group of girls that have magically decided to dance right in front of us. He's got a slightly bored look on his face and he keeps on looking at his watch. Shit, did I even ask him if he wanted to come with me tonight? No, but this is Trace, right? He never turns down a party.
Actually, I'm not so sure anymore. Wasn't it just the other day he sort of muttered how old this whole club scene was getting? Can't say I disagree with him. It is a bit tiresome. I've gotten so used to girls spilling out of their dresses, nothing they do surprises me anymore. I've gotten so used to drinking myself into an oblivion every night, I can't wake up without taking a pain killer. I've gotten so used to seeing people conspiculously snort something in the corner of my eye and if they're not, I wonder why. This is screwed up. Really screwed up. Shit, what the hell happened to me?
It's probably just New Year. Doesn't everyone get depressed around New Year? Well, technically, no. I mean, last year I was celebrating the release of my album and I was deliriously happy. This year, I'm bitching about what a crap life I have.
Before I can dwell on the sudden change, I hear a high-pitched squeal behind me. "Justin!"
I mentally cursed God for making voices like screeching tyres and turned to the direction the sound is coming from. "Hey girls," I said, sending them a little cocky grin that I hate doing, but everyone else seems to like. "Havin' a good time?"
They giggle for reasons unknown to me. "Great Justin, just great. You?"
I shrug and smile again. Do I even know these girls? I vaguely recognize one from a photo shoot, but the other one is just standing there, looking excited as she tugs on the other girl's bare arm.
"Well, Happy New Year, Justy!"
I assume they're trying to be funny by using the name, 'Justy', and turn away from them, scowling as I hear the sound of their heels become fainter as they walk away. I shouldn't have anything against those girls, they haven't done anything wrong to me. But for some reason, just seeing them pisses me off. Why did I even come tonight? All these stupid VIP areas are so hyped up. Really, they're basically just a few extra couches and crappy tables that have marks on them were people, obviously drunk out of their minds, got up on them to dance.
When was the last time I did that? I dunno, it's the kind of thing I did when I was 17 and just thought I was the shit because I was allowed to drink at such a young age. My mom subtly hinted over Christmas I should take some time off, relax, bring my head out of the clouds for a while. She does that every now and then, basically when I'm being an ass and she thinks I need to quit the celebrity thing for a while, just to bring my ego down a little.
Maybe she's right. I know a thousand guys would kill to be in my position right now, but quite frankly I think if I see another girl with hair extensions who is wearing a barely-there outfit, my head will explode. That's not healthy, right? Take that pretty girl over there in the corner, who feels quite free to lazily stare at me up and down, probably wondering whether I'm worth the chase. She's quite pretty, and man, even I can't deny that body's hot, but she looks like all the others. No, I won't bother her. I think I'm a little sick of the one night stand thing anyway.
Whoa, I really need some time off.
Story Notes:
An old (2004?) but dear story that had a great time on the old NF archive. Just to put more stuff under my name, I'm putting it all up again, unedited and old as it is!
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