𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

9

for six whole days, jesse did not spend a minute sober — from christmas morning to new year's eve, he drank like a fish.

he drank and he drank and he drank; from gin and wine to vodka and whiskey, he drained the lavigne house of any of its alcohol content. by day 3, his liver was begging for mercy, practically wailing and shuddering and turning itself inside out in his body.

and no matter how well he managed to hide it, he spent the entirety of christmas day utterly miserable. when he first got up in the morning, he walked straight to the mirror in the ensuite bathroom and stared at himself, his face gaunt and his eyes all bloodshot, like a solider that had just returned from war — but the only battle going on was the one inside of his head. the day felt like torture: it was easy enough to fake a smile, to fake a laugh, to carry on being the loud and obnoxious and fun-loving young man that he always was (and what people perceived him to be), but each day the sadness grew more and more unigorable. it was an itch that couldn't be scratched. it snuck up on him at the worst moments, when his brain actually had a chance to process things — the first thing in the morning (before his first drink had passed his lips) and last thing at night, when he would lay awake in his drunken stupor fully clothed, just waiting for the sun to come up.

on the contrary, christmas at the lavigne household was always a sight to bear witness to. glamorous and jovial, there was not a dull moment, not even for a single second (at least, not in the emotional sense). only eddie's nearest and dearest chums were invited: his parents, sal, mike and angela and their kids, benny and eva, and of course, johnny romano.

breakfast was light, consisting of two slices of toast with scrambled eggs and coffee — or rather, an irish coffee for jesse, considering he had snuck a shot or two of jack daniels into his cup under the table while his father and sister hadn't been looking. after that, it was time for the pampering.

eddie, being the man of the house, did a double check of all the rooms, ensuring there was no dust and cat hair on the furniture or old cigarette butts left in the ashtrays. after a short but scalding hot shower, he meticulously shaved his face with a straight razor and styled his hair in his signature gelled quiff. he headed over to his walk-in closet with a towel around his waist as he fiddled with his rolex watch, trying to put it back on. it was there where he picked out a suit for today's wear — a burgundy perry ellis number, paired with a white linen shirt, dark brown leather brogues, and a black skinny tie. he then doused himself in a generous spray of paco robanne cologne.

across the hall, after taking the rollers out of her hair and letting the waves cascade down her shoulders, chantelle sat in front of her dressing table and assumed the tedious routine of putting on her makeup. she curled her lashes and delicately patted her eyelids with smoky black and mauve shadow, before applying her favourite lipstick: dior, dark red. since she had already planned her outfit the night before (thinking ahead, as always), getting dressed was no hassle. she chose an elegant, black taffeta dress with a sweetheart neckline, her waist adorned by a thick, patent leather belt with a big gold buckle, and stilettos on her feet. then, pacing around her bedroom like some sort of delirious circus animal, she spent half an hour trying to decide — tights, or no tights? she clipped in her diamond earrings and slid touches of gold jewellery on her fingers and on her wrists, before shrugging on the long mink fur coat that her father had gifted her for her 21st birthday.

meanwhile, to stop himself from being so jittery, jesse had decided to take his meds for the first time in a week. he downed his prozac with a glass of scotch, cringing as the little yellow pills scratched his throat — then came the eye drops to wake him back up again, paired with two hard slaps across the face that could be heard from down the hallway. in the ensuite (with the door locked, of course) he brushed and scrubbed and flossed his teeth until his gums were almost bleeding, before chewing a stick of extra strong menthol gum to hide the liquor on his breath. after that, he styled his russet hair out of his face with a touch of grease. then came the deliberation of choosing an outfit; more specifically, one which his family would approve of. after ten minutes spent rummaging through every one of his drawers, he chose the preppiest, WASPy-iest things he could find: a navy blue polo shirt underneath an off-white v-neck cricket sweater, a thick line of red stitched around the collar, as well as a pair of beige chino trousers and white trainers.