I open up a bottle of Chardonnay, fill up my glass and press play. Rihanna blares through my bedroom speakers as I get ready for New Year’s Eve. This year is a lot different to previous years. In the past I spent my night’s muddy feet stomping along to someone’s car radio at some far away camp ground. That has been the tradition for a few years’ now and I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed it. I’m not a camper, nor am I a glamper for that matter. So, you would understand my excitement knowing this year I get to dress up, slap on some make-up and get to dance the night away on something other than mud and grass.Gold and Silver glitter covers the floor, the walls and ceiling are draped in beautiful silk fabric sheets. There are rows of tables displaying the most artistic champagne tower formations. Of course there is a huge disco ball reflecting the prettiest of lights all over the room. Laughter roars from my left, a group of friends relaxing on white leather couches reminiscing on their years most memorable moments together. To my right is the dance floor, its packed with people dancing away to The Chain Smokers. The room is filled with so many beautiful people, all dressed up in their best clothes ready to ring in the new year with loved ones.
I’m meeting a few of my friends here tonight (otherwise known as “The Breakfast Club”, a group of misfits. You know? We are like the drips and drab of those who didn’t have solid plans and are single for the night, well we are single every night but especially tonight. New Year’s Eve is like Valentines Day on steroids.) however, they have yet to arrive. I make my way to the bar that’s overly crowded with people, knowing it will be awhile till I get served. After a couple of minutes I make eye contact with the bar tender who is surprisingly very young looking never the less gorgeous. “Can I have a dry Martini please, shaken, not stirred” I say confusingly knowing I have no idea what I’m talking about, nonetheless I want to be adventurous tonight. Taking my drink, I push through the thirsty crowd of people and try to find a quiet space to sit and wait for my friends.
Still, no sign of my friends, whom are probably drowning in drinks at the bar.
I lift the olive out from my Martini glass, place it between my lips and give him a long stare. Our eyes meet but only for a second. I can feel my heart racing. I was hoping to see him here tonight. He looks even better than the last time I saw him. How is that even possible I think to myself. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up revealing his tattoo covered arms. There are just enough buttons undone exposing his sculpted chest. His black hair falls just a bit over his right eye and the rest is sleeked back almost perfectly. I can feel the gentle stubble on his face as he lifts the side of his plump lips. Meeting my gaze again, he slowly starts walking closer towards me.
“Hello” his deep voice vibrates through my body, as he says the simplest of words. I try to speak, but no words come out. He smiles at my silence almost crippling me, I can feel my knees becoming weaker the longer he looks into my eyes. “I was hoping to see you here tonight” he says looking down at the olive still placed between my lips, then back up at my eyes. My body feels excruciatingly hot, my hands are sweating, and I’m almost deafened by the sound of my racing heartbeat. “Would you like to dance” he says extending his hand towards mine. Still, at a loss for words I place my hand in his and follow him to the dance floor. Ed Sheeran is playing as he glides effortlessly through the crowed leading me to the centre of the dance floor. He lifts my hand around his neck and places his hand around my waist. This is exactly where I want to stay for the rest of the night, in his arms, my head rested between his shoulders and neck. Just then the DJ stops the music to shout out the count down into the New Year. 10, 9, 8, 7 he lifts my chin up revealing my love struck eyes to meet his gaze, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… he smiles and whispers “Happy New Year” while lifting my lips up towards his.
Shirt – Cotton on
Skirt – Factorie
Choker – Lovisa
Photography – Tegan Smith Photography