Cindy Walsh hummed contentedly as she sorted the laundry, it wasn't that she enjoyed doing the laundry; it was just that she happened to be feeling pretty satisfied with life today. She smiled. She always got this way around Christmas; there was something about this time of year that brought out the best in her. Cindy loved everything about Christmas, preparing the dinner, buying the gifts, receiving news from old friends, but most of all she enjoyed spending time with her family.
They all lead such busy lives these days that they didn't get to spend as much time together as a family as Cindy would like. Oh she knew that she was lucky to enjoy such a close relationship with both of her children but there was still a pang of regret that they were growing up so fast. It seemed like only yesterday they'd been five years old and excitedly awaiting the arrival of Santa. She sighed. Now they were almost ready to leave for College, where had the years gone? Still she comforted herself that was next year, this year she still had her family around her, and Christmas was one of the few times in the year when there was a little space in everybody's schedule. That precious time together was what made the holidays extra special.
Okay so Christmas in Beverly Hills was a little different to the kind of Christmas she'd grown accustomed to in Minnesota, but last year she'd come to realise that it could be just as magical. It had been their first Christmas here and initially she'd been convinced it was going to be a disaster, but in the end it had turned out to be every bit as wonderful as she had dreamed. She closed her eyes, remembering for a moment last Christmas Eve. The house was filled with laughter and singing, the lights were blazing on the tree, she could almost smell the turkey cooking slowly in the oven.
She smiled happily. Soon it would all be happening again. Last year they'd decided to start a tradition, invite all the kids' friends and their families over for Christmas Eve dinner, have a real Minnesota Christmas in Beverly Hills. As she sorted the laundry she let her mind skip ahead, planning the menu she would serve, thinking about the gifts she would need to buy, ooh it was already beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!
She was startled out of her reverie by a bang as the front door was pushed forcefully open, followed by the pounding of footsteps on the stairs. Cindy frowned. It was still early, who could be home at this hour, and why had they gone storming up the stairs like that? Puzzled and a little concerned, she put aside the laundry and set off towards the stairs.
At first the sound was muffled and she couldn't quite place it, but as she got closer, she thought it sounded like an animal howling as if it were in pain. Now she really was alarmed. She thought she'd locked the front door but she couldn't be sure. Had she unwittingly left it open? Had an injured animal somehow found its way in to the house? She paused halfway up the stairs, momentarily unsure what to do. Of course it sounded ridiculous but then you heard about this kind of thing on the news sometimes. She couldn't remember where it had happened but she knew it had happened in other places, but not in Beverly Hills.
So what now? Well she had to do something; she couldn't very well stand on the stairs all day. Feeling a little foolish but better to be safe than sorry she slipped back to the kitchen and armed herself with a rolling pin, she crept up the stairs. The noise appeared to be coming from Brenda's room.
Slowly, carefully so as not to startle what ever was inside, Cindy gently pushed the door ajar and peered around it. What she saw before her shocked her more than anything she had imagined as she'd crept up the stairs.
Brenda lay face down on her bed, she was crying so violently that her whole body shook with each sob. Her heart in her mouth Cindy rushed to her daughter, reaching out a hand to gently touch Brenda's shoulder "Brenda honey, what's wrong? Are you hurt? What is it?"
Brenda turned traumatised eyes on her mother but couldn't find the words to explain. Cindy's first thought was that Brenda was hurt or injured in some way. Worriedly her eyes swept over her daughter checking for any signs of physical damage but she saw nothing. Anxiously Cindy studied Brenda's face, trying to figure out what could have happened to reduce her daughter to this state. Wordlessly, sobs still wracking her body, Brenda enveloped herself in Cindy's embrace.
Helplessly, bewildered, Cindy held Brenda tight, rocking backwards and forwards, gently shushing her, trying to provide comfort for whatever pain had been inflicted upon her. "Brenda please, please tell me what's wrong, what's happened." Cindy begged, her mind producing all manner of horrific scenarios. Struggling for breath between sobs; Brenda could manage only one word "Dylan".
*******
Hands shaking, Dylan McKay slowly poured the whisky in to the shot glass and winced as the liquid met his split lip. He'd been nursing this bottle of whisky for the past hour and with a little luck soon he wouldn't be feeling anything at all. He wasn't so concerned about the physical pain, bruised ribs, a blackened eye and a split lip were nothing compared to the emotional torment he was feeling.
Gingerly, protecting his sore ribs he settled back on the couch. It wasn't like Brandon to lash out physically like that but Dylan didn't blame the guy, he'd deserved it. Still he must have hurt Brandon pretty bad to get him all riled up like that. Oh sure Brandon knew how to handle himself in a fist fight if it came down to it, but Brandon Walsh was a reasonable guy and it didn't often come to violence. Knowing Brandon as well as he did, he felt sure that his friend would be lamenting his actions, and that somehow only served to make Dylan feel worse. He stared forlornly in to the blazing fire, he'd managed to destroy both Brenda and Brandon today, and he would never be able to forgive himself.
Dylan took another slug of whisky and focused for a moment on the burning sensation as the liquid slid down his throat. No matter how much whisky he drank he couldn't get the image out of his head. The pain he'd seen in her eyes when she'd looked at him, the tears sliding down her cheeks, the way she had flinched away from his touch, it was taunting him, tormenting him, reminding him of the terrible thing he had done to her.
The phone was ringing, as it had been doing regularly for the past hour but Dylan didn't stir. He didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to have to deal with this. Right now he was alone with only the ghosts of Christmas past for company. He'd spent too many Christmases like this, finding solace in a bottle of whisky. He knew that he should have called Ben, talked it through, but he didn't want to call Ben, he didn't want to talk. Instead he wanted to go to that safe dark familiar place, that comforting oblivion where none of his problems existed. It was a place that he used to visit often and he knew that he could only find it at the bottom of a bottle. Grimly he poured another shot.
*******
Brandon Walsh seated on the couch shifted uncomfortably under his father's penetrating stare. "I don't know Dad, I don't know how it happened, one minute I was standing looking at him the next I was pounding on his face."
Jim Walsh was standing in front of Brandon; he was far too agitated to sit. He looked down at his son incredulously "I understand that you were angry Brandon". He shook his head sadly "God knows there's been times I've wanted to punch the guy, the amount of trouble he's caused for this family." He folded his arms and regarded his son sternly "but you can't go around punching people no matter how much they've upset you. I thought I taught you better than that."
Brandon sighed heavily. "You did Dad, and I know what I did was wrong." Suddenly he found he couldn't quite meet his father's eyes. "I know you're disappointed in me, and I'm disappointed in myself." Slowly he raised his eyes, looked directly at his father "I'm also a little scared" he admitted hesitantly.
"Scared?" Jim looked questioningly at his son.
"Yeah, scared of what I did." He paused then continued in a small voice "Dad if Steve hadn't pulled me off when he did, who knows how far it would have gone. I guess I never realised I was capable of doing something like that, and that scares me."
Jim nodded, fatherly concern rapidly replacing anger and disappointment. Brandon was obviously badly shaken by what had happened, and it was something that would affect him for a long time. He scowled. He blamed himself for this. He'd always known that Dylan McKay was trouble. He should have been firmer, put his foot down instead of letting himself be talked round. He rubbed his eyes, he was tired but he knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. Instead he and Cindy would be up until the early hours trying to figure out a way to put the family back together.
Jim frowned as he thought back over the past few hours. He'd had a hard day at the office and had come home to find his family in the midst of a crisis. Brenda was hysterical, and Brandon sporting bruised knuckles, and blood stained clothing, was pale and uncommunicative. Cindy had remained with Brenda; comforting her until she eventually exhausted herself in to an uneasy slumber. The task of dealing with Brandon had fallen to Jim. As he looked at his son, Jim suddenly felt incredibly old.
"Dad." Brandon asked softly "What do you think this means?" He looked at his father earnestly "Do you think I have some sort of anger management problem?"
Jim smiled kindly "No Brandon I don't think that."
"But I just lost it" Brandon said anxiously. " I went for Dylan and I just wanted to hurt him. Surely that must mean something".
Jim nodded "It does. It means you're human Brandon, and you make mistakes just like the rest of us."
Brandon nodded slowly "I guess you're right Dad but it still doesn't make me feel any better about it."
Jim sighed. "Only time can do that Brandon".
*****
Kelly Taylor reached for another tissue and blew her nose hard. She had to get a grip but she just couldn't seem to stop crying. In the space of a few short hours her entire world had fallen apart and she didn't have any idea how she was going to fix it. She'd been calling Dylan for the last couple of hours but he wasn't answering, he'd even turned the machine off. She knew that meant that he didn't want to talk to her but she couldn't stop trying. She needed him right now more than she had ever needed anyone before.
Fighting against a fresh surge of tears, she tried not to think about what he had said when she had rushed to his side. She'd been so happy to see him move, so relieved that he wasn't badly hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut at the painful memory of Dylan flinching from her touch, the terrible hatred in his eyes as he had accused her, the coldness in his voice as he'd told her to leave him alone. It was the accusation that hurt the most. How could he think that she would do something like that on purpose? How could he believe that she could be so cruel to Brenda? She'd thought that he loved her, and that they had made a connection, but if that's what he thought of her then he obviously didn't know her at all.
She desperately wanted to call Brenda; she couldn't bear to think what this had done to her, and she needed to know that her friend was okay. She shook her head, who was she kidding she thought bitterly, she knew Brenda wasn't okay, Brenda would be devastated, and it was all her fault. She wanted to call but she couldn't. Anyway if she did call Brenda what would she say? Explain? Apologise? Beg for forgiveness? Whatever she said it wouldn't be enough, it would never be enough. Besides it was too soon, way too soon, Brenda wouldn't want to talk to her.
Actually she didn't think anyone in the Walsh house would want to talk to her right now. Mr and Mrs Walsh had been so good to her over the last few years, and now she felt as though she had betrayed them just as much as she had betrayed Brenda. She didn't think she could face them, not tonight anyway. As for Brandon, she shuddered remembering the hate in his eyes when he'd confronted her, the way he'd attacked Dylan, and worst of all the look of self-loathing as he'd walked away.
Months ago Dylan had warned her about the possible fall out from their relationship. This was worse than anything she had ever imagined. She had lost everything, Brenda, Dylan, even her friends didn't want to know her right now. Donna and David had left without a word, and Andrea had cast a brief look of disapproval before ushering a shell shocked Brandon away. Steve had driven her home, she'd been in no state to drive herself, but they'd hardly talked during the half hour journey and when he'd dropped her off it had been with only a curt 'see ya'.
Kelly regarded the phone contemplatively. In the past when things had been bad she'd looked for the easy escape. She knew plenty of guys who'd be more than willing to party with her, spend the next few days in a drug and alcohol induced haze. All she had to do was pick up the phone and make some calls. She bit her lip. That was the past, she'd changed since then, and she wasn't that girl anymore. Or was she?