One Shots

New Years Eve Special (2013 - PG-13)

 

          The five chances we never took, and the one chance we did. 

1.

    The first time it happened was when we were eighteen. We'd known each other for six years, and as soon as we turned eighteen, we decided to rent a flat together. It was nearer to the college than our homes, that way we didn't need to catch the bus so early in the morning. It was a decent place, small but large enough for the two of us. Right in town so we could get where we needed to go.

    It was great. We were great. We did our shopping every Friday evening, and it wasn't boring like it used to be with our parents. Then again, nothing was ever boring as long as I was with Sam. Which pretty much explained why our Saturday nights were never spent out partying like every other teenager. We'd normally stay in, catch a movie on T.V, get a few beers in and have a laugh.

    College was three days a week, we picked up part time jobs where we found them. Sam wasn't so good at keeping himself employed. Too much mouth, not enough work. He'd come back to the flat in his latest work uniform with a guilty look on his face and I'd say, “Fired again?” The only reply I needed was that stupid smirk.

   I didn't mind picking up his slack with the money. I had everything I wanted. A flat with my best friend, free reign to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. It was all we ever talked about. Still never really thought it'd happen, though, but it did and I couldn't be bloody happier. Until things started to change when Sam met a girl. 

    “What's her name again?” I asked, searching through the drawers for his lynx spray.

    “Katherine.” He shouted, slight annoyance to his tone. “God, how many times do I need to remind you?” He was laughing now, bending down to tie his shoe laces.

    “Sorry.” I handed him his deodorant from where he was kneeling down on the carpet. When he straightened himself back up, he sprayed the deodorant all over his clothes, practically showering himself in the stuff. He didn't seem to care that I was choking to death in the background.

    Tonight was his first ever real date, which meant he was full of nervous jitters and in constant need of reassurance that he looked good in his skinny jeans and gray, knit, polo-neck jumper. I thought he looked brilliant, but then I couldn't remember a day that he didn't. I never told him that, of course. Instead I kept repeating, “You look fine.”

    “You don't think I'm a bit under-dressed?” He observed himself in the half-length mirror that was hung up on the flat door, prodding at the brown strands of hair that he'd fixed into place with gel.

    “Stop it.” I set my brows in a firm line, looking at him through the mirror, from behind his shoulder.

    His eyebrows scrunched up in return, turning around to face me. "Stop what?" 

    “Trying to find flaws. You look–“ amazing, I thought. But, again, I simply told him he looked– “fine.”

    My gaze slid down to the waist of his jeans where his jumper had gotten stuck behind the buckle of his belt. I untucked it with weak, unsteady fingers, glancing up to see Sam shuffling forward slightly. Those three seconds we spent staring at each other felt more like three, very long, minutes, with only the sound of us breathing filling the narrow hallway of the flat entrance.

    As our foreheads neared collision, I let go of the hem of his jumper and took a large step back, finally letting my heart rate return to its normal pace. Disappointment crossed Sam's features. I forced myself to forget I ever saw the expression.