The Difference Between Getting and Needing

t w e n t y - o n e

broken hearts and broken bones,
this is where we used to l i v e . . .

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I had never particularly cared about New Year's Eve, but that could be said for most holidays now because the older I got, the less captivating they became. Essentially, they were all just another day. Once I realized that my birthday wasn't observed worldwide and the universe did, in fact, continue on, my outlook on these days shifted.

For the last eight years, I had rung in the new year with Gus. It didn't matter what our plans were; we were always together. We made sure of it. He was my one and only New Year's kiss that I had wished for since I first heard of the corny tradition.

It all started with an accidental drink offering at a house party when we were sixteen. Gus and I, that is.

The summer going into junior year of high school was a pretty memorable time. Aside from it being the prologue to my roller coaster of a relationship, it was when life began to change. We only had two years left at Clearloft High and everyone in our grade was maturing. Shedding their previously innocent skins to fit the image of the upperclassmen we were about to become. We were the Beta beasts, following in the footsteps of our Alpha senior class, salivating at the idea of being at the top of the food chain once they graduated. The kids below us were so young; they knew nothing, they were nothing.

In reality, we were all exactly the same. At the time it seemed like such a big age difference when really, we were all just as young and dumb as the next high-schooler.

I was standing by myself for whatever reason in the spacious backyard that belonged to all-star swimmer Quinn Regis when Gus approached me, holding a red Solo cup brimming with foamy beer. It was hot as hell and every girl was wearing the trend of the moment – low-rise denim shorts, layered tank tops in assorted colors, and Old Navy flip flops – so Gus mistook me for someone else. Or so he said.

"Here's your beer," he said casually as he came up from behind me and held the cup out.

"What?" I asked him, furrowing my eyebrows that were hidden beneath the solid chunk of side bangs I had going at the time.

He blinked when I turned to face him, eyes widening when our gazes connected, then stammered out an apology.

"Shit, s-sorry. Thought you were uh, someone else," he fumbled over his words.

"Really?" I cocked my head a little to the side. I didn't believe him for a second.

He nodded. "Sorry."

"I mean, I'll take the drink since you offered," I said, feeling a smirk slip through my lips.

Now his eyebrows were drawn together, but more out of amusement. A corner of his mouth turned up.

"You trust me?"

And it was sweet of him to ask, I thought, considering I hadn't seen him pour the drink and drugging girls had been a rampant crime at unsupervised parties. I couldn't explain it, but I had an overwhelming sense of assurance in him. I hardly knew him and could only form an opinion about him from the few times we'd spoken in classes we had together, with a random flirty comment peppered in here and there. We weren't friends, per say, by any means. In that moment, it felt like I'd known him my whole life.

Whether it was because I was already tipsy and thought his eyes looked like actual sapphire stones, or his striped polo and khaki shorts were too damn endearing to me, I took the drink.