Santa, What do You Get Someone Who Just Wants to be Loved?

Chapter 1: The List for Kids Just Tryna Get By

'I haven't been Naughty, nor have I been Nice. Does Santa have a list for kids just tryna get by?'

Tommy's favourite time of the year was Christmas. He'd said it so many times, on streams, on calls, to his friends.

This year though, he wished it was over and done with.

The usually bustling Christmas tree that he'd get and decorate by himself was sad and bare. There were no Christmas baked goods to share and eat while his family sat around the warm fireplace and told stories and tall tales. A dead hearth and an oven that hadn't been turned on in weeks showed that.

The presents he'd meticulously wrap every year weren't there, only a small cardboard box with his name that he'd hastily scrawled on in sharpie.

The house was dark and bare and cold. And not a single soul aside from Tommy had been inside it for quite awhile.

They'd left him, weeks ago. Told him that he was ridiculous and foolish and couldn't do anything correctly. They hadn't come back.

He'd waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

He sat on the front stairs, cold hot chocolate in hand, waiting. Somewhere, deep down in his gut he knew no one would come to the door.

His mother and father were gone, but accepting that was something Tommy wasn't ready for.

He'd known their marriage was falling apart, ever since he was a kid. He remembered his grandfather telling him when they were so much happier before he was born.

The ageing man was trying to tell him they weren't always so mad all the time. But the way he said it made Tommy realize that his birth had put a huge strain on their relationship, even as a young seven year old.

Over the years, his parents had fought more. Christmas time had always been a stressful time, his parents fighting more and more, the tensions rising. They never did anything for Christmas, but Tommy always decorated the house and bought gifts and a tree.
Perhaps the stress of the holiday was part of the reason. Jobs got more hectic, traffic was worse, and literally anything Tommy did would set them off. It wasn't like walking on eggshells or glass, no, it was like walking on bombs that exploded no matter what.
He'd get his parents gifts, setting aside a few for himself. Most of the time he'd never get a gift from his parents, but on the few occasions he did it had made him so happy.

And he knew normal families had Christmas that everyone prepared and celebrated. Knew that his version of Christmas could be viewed as depressing and sad.

But it was the one time of year that he could sit with his parents and open gifts and have some level of normalcy and feel loved.

And this year he'd gone and fucked it up.

The feeling of something wet dripping onto his hand made him aware of the tears that were falling ever so slowly. He felt his cheeks, rubbing the salty tears off, as more followed to replace the drying patches.

He let out a choked sob.

It was never enough. He was never enough.

When he'd asked his parents if they could put just a little bit of effort into Christmas, they'd snapped and yelled at him. His father had hit him, harder than normal, and Tommy thought he might have had a concussion when his head ricocheted off the wall. His mother had tormented him with her pointed words, sharpened over years on a whetstone of anger and spite, made to find the weaknesses in him.