Finding Someone Special, by Deejae

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Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears…
I’ll give it to someone special

 

The party is crazier than you had anticipated. Your friends have been split into two groups: the drunk, and the taken. The drunks are the ones who are yelling maniacal, nonsensical phrases at the top of their lungs and singing karaoke; that is, if they haven’t already passed out from the heavy liquor coursing through their systems.

 

The taken are the ones who either arrived to the party with a significant other, or managed to find another single to partake in the festivities with. You are in neither group.

 

It is almost midnight on Christmas Eve – you see the time after a couple moves away from in front of the large grandfather clock in the foyer – and you are staring at the stairs leading to the bedrooms. It’s a large house, with Victorian antiques. Everything is beautiful, exquisite. The mahogany finish of the table top in the center of the entryway shines, your reflection crisp when you look at it.

 

Is wood supposed to do that?, you ask yourself. You smile, your fingers grazing the flat surface of it. A flute of chardonnay sits between your fingers and you stare at the door just as it is opening. Someone yells profanity from the other room and accompanying the foul word is shattered glass. You wonder what has just happened until the sound of your name being spoken makes you turn back to the door.

 

“Is that really you?” the owner of the voice asks, his face glowing. Your jaw drops slightly, and your pulse races.

 

“Ben? Y-Yes, it’s me. What are you doing here?” It takes everything in you to hold in the tears threatening to spill past your eyelashes.

 

“The Jonases invited me. How have you been? It’s—” A throat is cleared and you look to the left of his broad frame, his arm being held by slender fingers. Your eyes trail down to his wrist and you gasp quietly at the sight of his hands interlaced with harsh, angular fingers. “Oh, how rude of me. This is Clare, my fiancée.”

 

“Fiancée?” The shock running through your mind is evident by the tone in your voice. “I-I had no idea.”

 

There’s almost no way of stopping the tears now.

 

“It’s so, so n-nice to meet you, Clare.” You extend your hand towards her petite frame, her eyes shooting daggers through you. Feigning politeness, she accepts your gesture and shakes your hand. When the skin of your fingers meets hers, you shiver at the iciness of them. You don’t know if it’s the temperature outside, or the pure wickedness pouring from her core.

 

She is the reason. She is the reason you cried for weeks, the reason you couldn’t see the light of day until the New Year came. It was just three-hundred sixty-five days prior to this moment that you had found them in bed together. She hadn’t said sorry, but Ben said it enough times for the both of them.

 

But it wasn’t enough. You had given him your heart, and he held you in the palm of his icy hands – then, dropped it. Every dream you had of your future together, shattered. Every memory was tainted – every kiss you shared, every time you held hands, every time you woke up to him.

 

Your body hurt for months. You felt that you were at fault, that you were what pushed him away. But it was her. He had ‘loved’ her, he said. The silver on her left ring finger shines in the light from the chandelier. It represents their love for each other. But, it also represents every tear, and every ounce of hurt you have felt in the last year.

 

“I-I have to go. Um, have f-fun at the party, you two. And congratulations on your eng… engagement.”

 

It had taken every bit of effort for you to say those words. By the time you uttered the first syllable of congratulations, you felt sick to your stomach. It feels like hours as you ascend the stairs, and it feels like even longer as you search for an empty room. Finding one, you shut the door and lock it, the tears already staining your warm cheeks.

 

The tears fall from your eyes, your chest twisting in knots as your breaths shallow – inhale, exhale, trying to remember how to breathe. You collapse near the head of the four-poster bed, hanging onto the sheets while you sob. The sound echoes in the large room, your crying. You suck in a breath and shake your head, not wanting to cry anymore. It is difficult, but you eventually stop and look around the room.

 

Suddenly you feel strange, like you’re in a foreign place. A nightlight is on, and you can see most of what is on the walls. Posters, frames of pictures, concert tickets; so many things, and they make you wonder whose room it is.

 

“Can I, um… help you?” You jump, your heart leaping in your chest. You apologize over and over again, the word ‘sorry’ tumbling around on your tongue.

 

“I just… I had to get away from the party and this was the nearest empty room I could find. I’m so sorry for the intrusion.” All in one breath, you say it.

 

“It’s okay, I’m just wondering why you’re in… here… and… crying?” His voice is accusing now. He hasn’t moved forward enough, so you can’t see his face. But his voice is familiar to you, almost calming.

 

“N-Nicholas, it’s nothing.” He hasn’t ever been a close friend of yours. You and his brother, Joseph, have always been close. Friends, and just friends, but best friends. In the long years you’ve known Joe, the most you spoke to Nick was ‘hello’ and sometimes a ‘goodbye’ when you visited the Jonas household.

 

He takes a step towards you, his hands reaching for you. You turn your body away from him and flinch when his palms touch your shoulders.

 

“You’re trembling,” he whispers. “What happened?”

 

He pushes you softly onto the bed, letting you sit. He takes a step backwards, giving you an invisible bubble of space. His arms fold over his chest and he stares at you. His eyes aren’t condemning, but they are soft. They are a comfort, the deep brown pools that they are.

 

“I can’t tell you,” you say, your voice raw from crying – you play with your fingers and avoid his eyes.

 

“You can. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

 

“We’re not children, Nick,” you reply, your tone poignant. “You don’t have to act like one.”

 

“Oh.” He doesn’t have to say much for you to know by the sudden quietness of his voice, he is hurt. The inflection of your voice was hurtful, you admit. “I was just t-trying to help.” A cloak of vulnerability comes over him and at this, you cry again.

 

“I’m so sorry, Nick. It’s honestly not you – you’re not the problem. I – Ben.” Saying the name hurts you, your tongue begging for the name not to slip past your lips again.

 

“Ben? Ben Shay? What about him? Isn’t he supposed to be at the party tonight?” He has not moved from in front of you, the large space still between you.

 

“Y-Yeah, he is. In fact, he just arrived with his… Clare.” The intonation of her name makes your detestation obvious. “He and I used to be a couple, Nick. Exactly one year ago, tonight, I first told him I loved him. You know, to be romantic? And he…” You have to pause for a moment, tears still streaming down your cheeks. A tear hits your hand and you wipe it away with your opposite thumb, the moisture making just that part cold.

 

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” his voice is quiet again, but eager. His hand rests on your shoulder, his thumb drawing soft circles.

 

“Just a few hours later, I found him in bed with the woman I just formally met downstairs.” You say it quickly, thinking the admission would hurt less if done hastily. It doesn’t.

 

“I loved him, you know? Genuinely, and completely. And he took that vulnerability, and… broke me. I felt so useless after I left him. I felt so alone, and so afraid of ever opening up to anyone else.”

 

Silence breaks through the room before you speak again.

 

“And he’s engaged now. Engaged. As if hurting this much isn’t enough, I just met his fiancée. I’m just so, so alone. And now, I’m pouring my heart out to someone I’ve never had a formal conversation with,” you say, chuckling sadistically to yourself. “This… this is how pathetic I am; what a pathetic piece of nothingness I’ve become.”

 

“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare think that about yourself.” You look at Nick shaking his head, your sight blurred by the tears still settling on your eyelids. “The mistakes that Ben Shay has made are his and his alone. You had absolutely nothing to do with that.”

 

You cry and ask, “Then how am I supposed to feel? I told him what I felt for him and he cheapened that feeling by sleeping with a girl I had never met in my life. He’s a cheap bastard, yes, but… maybe – I don’t know, maybe I still love him? I still, oh God, I still love him.”

 

“Listen to me.” He kneels in front of you, holding your trembling hands in his large, gentle ones. “It’s alright to cry. It’s alright to dwell for a while. It’s alright to feel sad, to feel hurt. But what it’s not okay to do is blame yourself. Ben made a mistake by doing what he did. The pain that you go through in life just makes the rejoices worth even more. It’s his loss, and not yours. You don’t love him anymore, at least you shouldn’t. You love the idea of what he was, the idea of what you two were before he hurt you.”

 

The tears and the sobs still shake your body, and you hold Nick’s hands tighter as he speaks. You sit in silence, your shallow breaths – inhale, exhale, again – ring in the room. Your head is spinning, emotions sparking every neuron in your brain. You are crying, you are trembling, but what makes you feel better is the fact that you are not hurting.

 

Nick’s hands comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear from your stinging cheeks.

 

“He’s the pathetic one for letting away someone as beautiful, intelligent, and remarkable as you.” It when he says this that you have to pause and rewind.

 

“What?” His other hands follows suit of the first and cups your other cheek. He pulls your face towards his, sitting taller on his knees. The world is moving slower as you watch his eyes shut, and you mimic him. Your eyes close and you rely on your other four senses to try and understand what is happening.

 

Your lips feel pressure against them and you hear the sound of a kiss. His lips are full against yours, and warm. He deepens the kiss and suctions your bottom lip between both of his. You can’t contest; you’re enjoying this. The first kiss was chaste, but this one is passionate. His tongue presses between the gap of your lips and you taste his lips. Chapstick –

 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he exclaims, jumping to his feet. “I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking clearly and… I’m just so, so sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“I just wanted to feel what it’s like to kiss you and—I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s alright.”

 

“I’m sorry—”

 

“Nicholas! I said it’s fine.”

 

“It… is?”

 

“Completely.”

 

“Well, good,” he smiles, the smile quickly fading as he looks at you and drags a heavy hand through his hair. He says your name like he is trying to reason with you. “I’ve been head over heels for you since I was thirteen.”

 

“You’re lying. This is the most we’ve ever talked since I’ve been friends with your brother.”

 

“That was why,” he replies sheepishly, cringing slightly when he sees tears still on your cheeks. You wipe them away. “I liked you so much, so I distanced myself thinking that I’d get hurt if you and Joe eventually got together. But when I really wanted to started building some kind of friendship with you, I realized that I distanced myself for too long. I guess it hurt less to just not be friends at all.”

 

You sigh, closing your eyes and soaking in the information. Your heart is beating in your ears.

 

“I don’t want to be the rebound,” he says suddenly, his eyes downcast. He looks at you through the unruly curls falling over his eyes and cracks a crooked smile. “I don’t want you to want anything to do with me if it’s only to get over Ben.”

 

You shake your head, holding your hands out for his. Much to your pleasant surprise, he takes and holds them. You pull him towards you, making a space between your legs for him to step into. You smile.

 

“Ben who?” Maybe it’s too fast. Maybe it’s too soon. But in this moment, you want nothing more than to be with him. To feel him, make love to him, hear his moans in the scattered sound of his breaths.

 

It has nothing to do with Ben. From now on, nothing has anything to do with the boy who broke your heart.

 

His hands clasp yours, his fingers between yours and he holds them on each side of your head. He kisses your lips deep, and then deeper. His tongue touches yours and you close your lips around it, sucking softly. He moans from deep in his throat and his Adam’s apple vibrates.

 

He moves one of his hands away from yours, and rests it on your hip. His knee nudges your thigh slightly and you open your legs wider, wrapping them around his hips.

 

“W-Wait,” he laughs. “I’m trying to undo your pants and you’re making it difficult.”

 

“Oh,” you join in his laughter, “sorry.”

 

His hands fumble with the zipper of your pants, and he sighs loudly as the sound of the denim unzipping comes into your ears. He pushes the thick material off your legs, letting you kick them, and your shoes, to the floor. He kisses you more, his lips pressing into yours.  You push him until you lean on your elbows, pushing his hands away from the buttons on your blouse.

 

“Let me,” you say, pointing at his pants and biting your lip. He had changed into pajamas by the time you stormed into his room, and his task was not as difficult as yours. First, he takes the hem of his shirt into wrinkled fistfuls and pulls the green fabric over his head. He shines in the yellow lighting, sweat dripping down his temples.

 

With hesitation, he takes the elastic of both his plaid pants and his boxers, pushing them off his hips. The v of his accentuated pelvic bones jut out and your core aches as you imagine your tongue running across the indentations. He smiles at the look on your face and he peels everything else off of his body. Kneeling on the body and crawling over you, he kissing your breastbone.

 

“You’re beautiful, you know. Absolutely exquisite.”

 

“Thank you,” you reply, the first tears of happiness brimming at your eyelids. You can tell he isn’t lying, despite the fact that your first real conversation with him happened merely minutes earlier. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss his chin, up to his lips.

 

He hooks his hands around the backs of your knees, angling them until they are folded at his waist. You feel the heat coming from his cock, and you tremble at what’s to happen. He kisses your neck, sharp breaths coming from his nose.

 

“R-Ready?” he asks. You are comforted by the fact that he is as nervous as you.

 

“Yes.” You rest your lips against his, anticipating the sharp pain. He holds your hips still as his length pushes past its barriers and buries into you. Painfully slow, he pushes until he’s completely inside of you, your walls widening as it tries to fit him. Your face wrinkles in just a bit of pain, surprised at his size.

 

“Oh, oh wow,” you breathe, your hips lifting slightly and making him slip just a bit further. He groans at that moment and you follow with a moan of your own. “Go, Nicholas,” you tell him, the pain going away.

 

He moves, slowly at first, and his hands are holding you in place firmly. His fingers are long and angular and they press into your skin, thick parallel lines embedded into your skin. He slips out and back in, making you lick your lips. He’s phenomenal, the way he moves. His muscles move in time with his thrusts and his knees are giving out.

 

“You’re so, ohh, so wet and so incredibly warm. And sugar, you’re so t-tight. So good, so good.”

 

“Nicholas, just like th-that, yes! Oh yes, like that.” He starts moving faster, hitting your spot over and over again. He slips in and out so easily that the sound, slippery and wet, is all you can hear above your moans. His teeth graze your collarbone as he moves and you can feel his cock pulsate inside of you.

 

“So close,” he whispers, embarrassed.

“Let me be on top,” you beg, panting.

 

“What? No. I want to do this for you.”

 

“Nick, oh Nick, you’re doing it all for me. Just—” You groan, pushing his shoulder and rotating both your bodies. He slips out of you for just a second and you hold him, making him hiss as you grasp his length between your fingers. Leading him into you, you settle down on top of him and circle your hips.

 

“Oh, baby girl, so good. Just… mmff, perfect.” The new position lets him hit new spots and you throw your head back, every nerve in your body on fire. You yell, your moans growing in pitch and in number.

 

His hands fly to your hips, leading you up, down, and all around. His nails scratch into your hips, heightening the pleasure.

 

“Nick, just right there, yes!” you yelp, circling your hips over and over again. His nails dig deeper, leaving crescent shaped engravings in your skin. His thrusts come up to meet yours and you feel him throbbing as he comes to his end. Ropes of everything he has to offer fill you up, a warm wetness dripping down your inner thigh as you continue moving.

 

“Oh God,” he groans, writhing beneath you. His movements drive you crazy, hitting your spot just where you want it and you completely unravel right there. Your muscles tighten over and over again, tightening over his length as he comes. Your fingers curl, as do your toes. You lean over his body, scratching as his damp chest, your other hand tangling itself in his mop of hair.

 

You pull yourself off of him, whimpering at the loss of contact. You lay next to him, both of you with your legs hanging off the side of the bed. Your limbs are a tangle of tiredness, meshing together. Your chest heaves with each breath and when you look at Nick, you can see that you are breathing in sync – the breaths are fast and shallow.

 

He pulls you close to his body, your bare chest against his. He carries you with him to the pillow at the top of his bed, resting you on it. You lie down and look at him, his cheek against his palm and leaning on his elbow.

 

“What?” you ask innocently, tracing the line between his pectoral muscles.

 

“Most amazing thing.”

 

“That?” you chuckle, raising your eyebrows. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

 

“No, I was talking about you,” he replies, kissing the tip of your nose and then the top curve of your lips. You smile at him as he lies down beside you.

 

“So what were you doing here in the first place?” you ask him a few minutes later.

 

“Hmm?” His eyelids are already heavy, sleep calling to him.

 

“You were up here while the party was still going on.”

 

“Oh,” he replies, a smile on his lips as he opens his eyes to look at you. “It was too painful to see you downstairs, so I decided to head to sleep early. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve loved you for so long.”

 

At that, you kiss him. His temple, his cheek, then his lips.

 

“If I give you my heart,” you ask him carefully, “would you take care of it?”

 

He thinks about it and pulls your hand to his chest, lacing his fingers with yours.

 

“Like the most precious of jewels.”

 

He holds your hand tighter and you look past him, your eyes searching for the clock. Finding it, you smile at the time; it’s past midnight.

 

“Merry Christmas, Nicholas,” you say, kissing his lips chastely.

 

“Merry Christmas, my beautiful angel.”