I'll be Home for Christmas (A Frerard Story)

Chapter Eight

     It felt like the walls were closing in on me and the only thing protecting me from being crushed by them was my pain. My sorrow and pain and hunger all at once. Maybe I should've stayed in Frank's room. Maybe I should've stayed home. Maybe I should've never woken up today. Maybe I was just a waste...

I decided to lay on my back and stare at the ceiling for a bit. When I turned over, I got a whiff of whatever smell was on Frank's pillow. It was this cologne that wasn't too masculine or pungent, it was really subtle and you could barely tell it was there. Or at least, you weren't supposed to know it was there. I decided to take a deep inhale of it as if it were some essential oil and then sighed.

What the hell was I doing in here? I had to leave.

I got up, put on my hideous sweater and scarf, pulled on my shoes, and tried my best to sneak through the crowd unnoticed. Which didn't really work if you had broad shoulders and was chubby like I was. Everyone around me was either taller and more muscular or skinner and narrower. As I tried to sneak past those said people, there were annoyed mutters and insults thrown my way. I probably should've expected that, it was Christmas Eve in New Jersey.

After getting my coat, I hurried out the door and into the snowy street. It was fucking cold outside. Yes, I wanted a ride home from Frank, yes I'd rather stay in, but the rest of me wanted to freeze out there. So there I was, feeling numb.

Feeling empty.

Feeling frozen.