Jingle Bells Ball

JBB: 01

Fuck this time of year.

I hate it.

Numerous people walk around the streets, their faces beaming with joy, and it feels like they're all under some kind of messed-up spell. They carry shopping bags, some of which look heavy, but the weight doesn't bother them. These bags are undoubtedly full of gifts of various shapes and sizes, possibly for their loved ones, family, or friends. The atmosphere is festive, and the air is filled with the sound of laughter and chatter.

It makes me feel nauseous.

I just don't get it, you know? People spend thousands on stupid gifts that probably end up in the fucking trash can. Meanwhile, there's me; I can't even afford a box of cereal. Or new shoes.

At the age of twenty-two, I should have a well-paid job behind me and a roof over my head, possibly married to a devilishly handsome man with kids by now. But no, instead, I live on the streets.

I like to think that no matter how fucked up my situation is, there is someone in the world in a worse place than me. That's the only thing that keeps me going.

Pushing myself off the bench where I was seated, I ran a hand through my black locks of hair, only to get my fingertips caught. "Ugh!"

I hate long hair.

I should cut it short.

I just need to find a sharp object.

But I'm too lazy.

Oh! I know. I can pick a pocket to find something.

Megan, you're incredible.

"Oy! Watch where you're going!" Some man dressed in a disgusting tuxedo grumbled when I almost knocked him over.

"Maybe if your head wasn't so big, you'd see where you are actually going," I told him, finally pulling my fingers loose only to stick my middle one in the air. He scoffed but hurried away from me. "Yeah! Keep walking, dipshit!"

Gah! I hate them. I hate every last one of them. Rich dickheads, prancing around as if they own the fucking streets. This festive season makes them ten times worse.

You know what else I hate?

The fact is we live in Australia, and they sell shitty winter decorations and clothing in summer. Like, what the fuck? Who would in their right mind buy, let alone wear, a jacket just for having a Christmas tree on it? Not when the temperature is forty-something Celsius.

A man caught my attention. He was tall, with broad shoulders and messy blonde shoulder-length hair. And like many other people around, he wore a tuxedo, but it was blue.

Slung over his shoulder was the very same jacket I had just referred to.

"Moron," I commented.

"Excuse me?" Oh shit, he heard me. I know this because he was walking straight towards me like a fucking man on a mission. "Did you just call me a moron?"

"You're excused, and yes, I did. Now bugger off!" I fluttered my eyelashes at him, and unfortunately for me, he moved closer. Too close, I could smell his aftershave.

I felt nauseous.

"Did your mother fail to teach you manners?" He inquired, his icy blue eyes staring into my deeper blue ones. They captured me, and not in a good way.

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I stepped backward in a failed attempt to escape his presence. There was a fucking wall behind me. Of course, there is. That always happens in these situations. "My parents died shithead."

"I see," the man had somehow cornered me between him and the wall. "Then you will forgive me for my previous statement."

"I will do no such thing, mate! Now please kindly piss off and leave me alone."

To my surprise, he did. Although at first, it seemed as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Instead, he lowered his head like he bowed to me, which is weird, and then he left. Disappearing into the crowded street.

"Men," I huffed to myself, sagging against the wall behind me. "Fuck the lot of you!"

~...~

I lost count of how many hours had passed since that horrible encounter with that man. The majority of my time was spent waltzing around the streets, searching the bins for food or even cash. I hadn't realised the sun began to set, not until it almost fucking blinded me with its death rays.

Whoever made that sun should sit on it.

"Happy Holidays, love," the same man as earlier stopped before me. "Oh, it's you."

"What's so happy about it?" Annoyance laced my tone.

His blue eyes took in my appearance and judging by the look of disgust evident on his face, I could tell that he wasn't a fan of my ripped jeans and dirty shirt, which had once been pink.

He smiled, but it was forced. "I was dared to find a young lady and invite her to a Ball I'm hosting."

"Yeah? Ya might wanna keep looking, mate. Cus I ain't no lady." I leaned against the tree trunk I was resting near.

"I can see that," he cleared his throat. "Erm, I mean, here, take it." A golden envelope was tossed at my feet. "Blackhill Crescent, number one, at eight tonight, please be there. At the gates, tell them you're a guest of James Underwood."

And just like that, he walked hastily away.

I glanced at the envelope on the ground.

What the fuck was that about? And why the hell did he invite me, of all people? I'm homeless, dirty, and probably look like I sleep in a dumpster.

That could be because I did sleep in one last night.

Oh well.

Should I go?

Actually, there will be free food. And I can swipe a wallet or two.

Smiling, I grabbed the envelope, stood up, and tucked it in my bra for safekeeping.

A thought crossed my mind, causing me to freeze on the spot. "Where the heck is Blackhill Crescent?"

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A/N

This is a short story and will not have a lot of chapters. I'll be posting them as I write.

Thank you for reading.

Love, Dane.