new york. new years eve, 2023.
She can't remember the last time she was alone at midnight.
The city that never sleeps, and the girl that hasn't been too good at it as of late either. Moonlight through an unintentional gap in the curtains keeps her company, phone thrown somewhere on the floor. Her parents have gone out with friends, her sister— She couldn't care less right now. Her fiance, she doesn't know. She should know. She should be with him. Her band— Hadn't they said she'd be better off sitting this one out? Something about bringing the mood down. They weren't wrong. That left her with the condensation on the outside of her glass of wine and a movie she paused two hours ago because the male lead scrunched his nose the same way Heath used to and God, there's that ache again.
It's easy to feel sorry for herself when there's no one around to pick up the pieces. Her parents have done what they can to hold her together, Lux's pitying gaze enough to remind her there's more important things at stake than her own, selfish suffering. At least she still has Blonde Sundays, right? Wherever they are.
She downs the rest of her wine, resolves to pick up the shards later when it slips from her grasp. The fireworks have started. It's officially 2024 and it hardly feels any different. Her laptop finds its way back to her bed, movie back on to drown out the celebrations outside. 'Heath' is about to get the girl and Cleo thinks she might throw back up the ice cream she had for dinner.
Maybe she will tidy up this mess now rather than in the morning.
Knees hit the ground with force. Dustpan and brush not even a passing thought, she reaches out with clumsy hands to collect what she can. She's almost relieved to see she can still bleed when a sharp edge slices at the softest part of her finger. She doesn't stop; it hurts less than whatever's going on in her ribcage, anyway. A welcome distraction that's gone too soon when the shards make their way into the bin. A bandaid, maybe. Another thing to do that isn't think or cry, or mourn what could've been of her night, her life.
Is he thinking about her, too? Is he somewhere in the city, or maybe he's skipped town, wondering what she's up to, who she's spending tonight with? Does it matter? Would it change a thing?
12:07am. She picks up her phone on the way back into her room. Happy new year!s flash over her screen; family, friends, no Heath, no Sundays except Lux. She drops it again, listens to something crack as she reaches for the covers on her bed. It joins the collection of broken things in this room.
She's going to need more bandaids.
