It was yet another night spent with Insomnia.
Christmas Eve, actually.
I glanced at my watch, which glowed green. It informed me that it was 11:59. I sighed and let my hand drop to my side.
One minute.
I counted, silently, ticking off the seconds until Christmas Day dawned.
Three…two…one.
No fireworks, no cheers. Only silence met me, and a gentle snowfall.
Giving another sigh, my breath coming in a chilly cloud, I sat down on the curb on whatever street I was on, huddling into my sweatshirt.
Sometimes I hate my own mind. Without it, I wouldn't be able to start thinking about what I knew was going on in the apartment six blocks over. The apartment which I had spent two hours decorating for Christmas. The apartment where I sat up, drinking hot chocolate, waiting for my boyfriend, the boy I thought I loved, to come home from work.
Oh, he came home from "work," all right.
He came home snogging some blonde, half-naked whore.
Tears began to fill up my eyes as I thought back to just a few hours ago.
She grinned, triumphantly, as she surveyed her work.
The apartment was aglow with Christmas lights. In the middle of the room was a magnificent Christmas tree, decorated with burgundy and gold ornaments, and ivory lights.
Satisfied, she made a cup of hot chocolate and sat in the kitchen, waiting for her boyfriend to come home.
And half-an-hour later, the front door opened and closed. Eager to see her boyfriend's reaction to the decorations, she stood up and hurried into the entryway.
"Merry—" She let out a short gasp. Luke had his back to her, because he had some blonde whore pressed up the front door, his hands up her blouse, doing Lord-knows-but-she-could-make-a-guess.
"You…BASTARD!" she shrieked. The "happy couple" tore apart, and Luke stared at his girlfriend, then looked at his whore, and then at his girlfriend again.
"What're you doing here!" Luke yelped. She chuckled, bitterly, and made a sweeping motion to take in the rest of the apartment.
"I was decorating your fucking apartment for fucking CHRISTMAS!" she screamed. She spat at his feet, gave the whore an evil look, and shoved her aside, yanking open the door and slamming it shut after her.
And then she ran.
Stifling a sob, I wiped at my face, trying, unsuccessfully, to wipe back tears. A sudden quote flitted through my head, quite random, considering the circumstances.
'The best way to spread Christmas cheer is to sing loud for all to hear.'
Chuckling, I began to sing, in the hopes of cheering myself up. I knew I couldn't sing my headbanger. It was too harsh, and would just piss me off even more. No. This was a time that called for desperate measures.
I needed Broadways.
"What is this feeling? So sudden and new?" I stood up, pacing the snow-strewn street. "Felt the moment I laid eyes on you. My pulse is rushing. My head is reeling. My face is flushing. What is this feeling? Fervid as a flame. Does it have a name? Yes!" I couldn't help but grin as I drew out the 'yes.' I always grin.
"Loathing! Unadulturated loathing!" I almost laughed, wishing I had stopped to sing this to Luke. "For your face, your voice, your clothing!" And then I began to…dance.
"Let's just say—I loath it all! Every little trait, however small, makes my very flesh begin to crawl with simple utter loathing! There's a strange exhilaration in such total detestation! It's so pure, so strong! Though I do admit, it came on fast. Still I do believe that it can last! And I will be loathing, loathing you my whole life long—"
I cut off my singing, and with good reason. I had just spun around and came face-to-face with some random guy.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, folding his arms across his chest. I blushed, though you couldn't tell, because my cheeks were red from the cold. I opened my mouth to answer, but he interrupted me. "Upi know what, nevermind. Just get inside before you turn into a human popsicle."
He grabbed my hand and half-led, half-dragged me into his house. He shut the door, then turned around, allowing me to recognize him.
His name was Spot Conlon, and he went to my school. I didn't know him all that well. We were friendly, but not friends. He was cool, though.
"Now, what were you doing out there?" he demanded, dusting snow off of his jacket. I felt a sense of guilt, because it appeared that I had woken him up. He wore a coat, but no shirt, and plaid pajama pants. His boots were unlaced, and sloppily put on. Nevertheless, I snorted.
"I was singing in the middle of the road, what did it look like?" He rolled his eyes. Apparently, he didn't appreciate sarcasm at one o'clock in the morning.
"Do you realize how loud you were? Every rapist between here and Brooklyn probably heard you!" I laughed, my bitterness sinking in, once again.
"Apparently, rapists are the least of my worries." He sat down in a comfy-looking recliner and motioned for me to sit on the couch. I didn't, but it's the thought that counts, right?
"What's that mean?" he asked, and I recognized the 'psychiatrist' tone of voice. I sighed, debating on whether I should tell him.
The 'Yea' side finally one out, and I began bitching to him.
"I spent two hours decorating my motherfucking—"
"Watch the language."
"—boyfriend's house for Christmas, 'cause he's been 'working,'" I made quotation marks with my fingers, "so hard." I paused to enjoy the unintentional pun. "So, when he came in, I went to wish him 'Merry Christmas,' but he was too busy sucking the lips off of some whore."
He frowned. "Well, that's not very nice." I grinned.
"You totally just quoted Pirates of the Caribbean!" He rolled his eyes.
"I know. That was the point. I saw the logo on your locker," Spot said, grabbing a random tee shirt and pulling it over his head. I looked around at the house, and realized that it was lacking two things: Christmas-y stuff, and people.
"So, what's your Christmas sob story?" I asked, finally sitting down. He looked surprised. "There's no one in this house, and you have no decorations." He nodded.
"All my friends are living in New York. I'm stuck in this hellhole," he said, bitterly. "I've been meaning to get out of here, but I've been so busy, I just never got around to it." I could see that opportunity was opening tis door.
"Well, let's go, then," I said, brightly. He stared at me.
"Go? Go where?" I grinned.
"To New York! If we drive all night, we should get there by about noon." He stared some more.
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"Yup. Come on!" He followed me, bewildered, up the steps into his bedroom. I pulled open his drawers and began pulling out his clothes and tossing them on the bed. "Don't just stand there! Get a suitcase!"
Wordlessly, he pulled a suitcase out of his closet, and began putting clothes in the bag.
"We can stop at a Starbucks and pick up some coffee," I said. "Do you want these CDs?" He nodded, and I set them on the bed. "Do you have any thermoses?" He nodded again. "Good. We can switch off driving every few hours. What kind of car do you have?"
"And SUV," was his reply.
"Good. We have to stop by my house and get my clothes, my CDs, my dog, and my guitar. Do you have a computer?" He snorted.
"Hah, not on my salary!" I rolled my eyes.
"Okay, yet another reason to go to my house. Anything else?" He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Then let's go."
I grabbed his suitcase and hefted it down the stars and out to the car. I yanked on the door handle, but it was locked. Sighing, I tilted my head back so that I could roll my eyes at Spot. He raised an eyebrow, then held up a clicker, thus unlocking the car.
"I'm driving."
"That would be smart, considering I don't know where your house is," he pointed out.
"Shut. Up."