A Twist of Fate SERIES (Pentatonix)

(18) New Year's Day

you ever appalled at how incredibly horrible your writing can be at times? yeah. pre-editing, this chapter was one of those instances. but now it's all rewritten (third time's the charm) and polished for your enjoyment! :)

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( SCOTT )

When you've had OCD for several years, it eventually just becomes a normality that you learn how to deal with and work around; and, although you don't necessarily want it to define you, it's going to, whether you like it or not. Because, even with medication, it's never going to completely go away, and you're going to be forced to plan your life around it accordingly—because God forbid something is out of place or has a speck of dust or isn't perfect.

And that's the catch, isn't it? The fucking groundless yearning for perfection is always going to be haunting you to no end, and there's nothing you can ever do about it. No medication any high-class doctor can prescribe will make those stupid pointless yearnings just disappear.

But there's also another hidden part of this notorious, taboo disease that nobody ever remembers: all those self-doubts. Because, you see, obsessive people usually have that unfathomable need to make everything perfect because they're worried about what other people are going to think. What other people are going to say or do.

And my heart pounds as I stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom, checking my hair for the nth time, pulling down my already stretched-out shirt and turning to the side to make sure the waistband of my jeans is flat against my lower back, incessantly taking off my socks and then putting them back on because my feet are so damn cold but do I really want to wear them? Do I really need to wear them?

God, I haven't been this nervous for human interaction since, like,...never. But I'd be lying if I said my mind isn't spinning and I'm seriously considering just cancelling tonight's plans all together. A quick check of my watch, though, tells me that I have no time to bail. That I'll have to just deal with the plain T-shirt and white jeans look if it's the last thing I do. And that I'm only getting together with four other people tonight.

Nothing too crazy. Breathe, Scott, breathe.

But it's not just the fact that it's 'only four people.' Big deal. It's the fact that it's Mitch, Avi, Kirstie, and Kevin, of all people. And I'm worried that they're just going to bail on me anyways, too. That they're going to decide that they have better things to do on New Year's Eve than hang out with each other at my place for my sad little excuse of a 'party.' That they're going to think I'm moving too fast, that I'm acting too desperate, and that there's no way a potential future could be in store for us again.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, and then force myself to switch off the bathroom light and drag my feet downstairs. I may love my job now, but I loved my old job even more—and I'm just hoping they can see that, too. Even if they think I'm getting too ahead of myself right now.

I mean, after the break-up, I had briefly considered going solo,—especially since various record labels had jumped on us as solo artists when they found out we were up for grabs—but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Even though, at the time, the plan had been that Pentatonix was over for good and the crew would never speak to each other again, going solo felt like a betrayal to everyone. I don't really know why, but maybe my subconscious knew that one day we'd meet again and rekindle our old fires. Maybe.

And, besides, nobody else chose to go solo either. Only two of the five of us even continued with music as another low-profile job anyways. Which brings on a whole new wave of self-doubt: what if they don't have the same vision that I do for us?