Midnight (Part I)

Another party, another night of debauchery, another shoulder to sleep on. The room is brimming with people; the counter is covered with empties and elbows, and I find myself instinctively curling against the body next to mine.

In my dizzy, sleep-deprived state, it takes me a while to notice that the people and the lights and the music have dissolved- there is only this ash, soap and tangerine scented shoulder left. 'Where'd everyone go?' I almost yawn, but I stop as soft fingertips press against my feverish cheek. There was something about that moment- the tenderness, the atmosphere- that made me certain that we were going to kiss.
I take his hand, trace the lines of his palm- love, life- and coil my fingers around this. His thumb skates across my knuckle. Minutes, hours, moons and Suns pass between us in the dark, until my body fantastically contorts around his, so were are face to face, lip to lip.
His arms encircle me, my back bowing against his touch. We're so close now, so close to...
And then he kisses me, and then I stop thinking.

Fever

Midnight has never felt so frantic. I write as a girl who is hapless, jobless- but not so loveless. But, then again, this isn't love. Bloody Hell, I'm going mad.
The four walls that taunt me all the way through these family-oriented holidays scream of claustrophobia. Of course, I love the scores of obscure family members who traipse in and out of our house at this time of year, but I'm left here in the evenings feeling slightly infuriated, dissatisfied and once again, alone. I need a party- a day out- anything more than another day listening to my mother, or consoling H with her troubled love life. I find myself recalling last week's party from the vantage point of decades of nostalgia. I need to get out.
I need to see him. No, I don't. Shut up, self. He is fun; he is distraction; he is one of many. But... it's been so long. He makes me blush. I haven't said a word to him, but... I miss him?
What the Hell is this? Lust? Onset of cabin fever? Desperation? An actual feeling? Somewhere along the line, I became quietly guarded and cynical, carefully disguised by layers of flighty optimism. But, I want to let my guard down. Maybe. Just talk to him. And kiss him. And-and...
No, not on a Holy Day.

Saturday was strange as well. 2 guys tired to kiss me, 3 guys held me when I was sleeping, there was talk of a date, I got a massage in public view, and grinded with pretty much everyone on the invite list. But none of this seemed to matter. No hands on my hips or lips on my cheek or arms around my neck seemed to interest me. But I didn't feel cold or withdrawn- it was a welcome sensation, not craving another person like that. My boredom with the opposite sex may have had nothing to do with him.
It probably didn't- I'm pretty sure this is just cabin fever. Being cooped up like this is just magnifying every little emotion I have. This is nothing- I've never even spoken to him. Just- looked.
But, I remember that time I tired to ignore him, tried to detach myself. I hope- if he has even noticed me- that he doesn't feel as confused as I do right now. But, then again, yes I do.
Jesus Christ- Merry Christmas.