CHAPTER TWENTY ONE . Christmas Day (part one of two)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Damon wakes up at 5 am — and not with a juvenile excitement for Christmas.
When he was younger he'd be the first up. Rushing out of bed, high on energy (despite the complete lack of sleep), and waking everyone else up by shouting and jumping on their beds. His parents, very annoyed and tired, would tell him to wait a couple more hours. He'd be forced to sit in his room wide awake impatiently waiting, desperate to see what he'd gotten from Santa. He no longer believed in Santa, he found out when he was six and went around telling everyone at school. He had upset a lot of people's parents that year and got an earful from his own. He never cared where the presents came from, just as long as he got them. He wasn't upset by the revelation so he didn't think anyone else would be — big mistake.
He stopped caring much about the presents when he was about sixteen but he still enjoyed Christmas. He had always been a social person and he liked the opportunity to spend time with all his family members that he didn't usually get to see. Especially as he got older and didn't see them as much, he liked the chance to catch up. Okay ... and he liked the presents — he wasn't that humble. However, he did like giving as much as receiving (which is a joke he'd tell to Francesca later).
His Grandad was 'traditional' (and by that, he means really fucking politically insensitive) and his cousin was a little gobshite but, even if there were certain people he wasn't keen on, he liked the majority of them. Arguments were still conversations and he was always willing to talk. He'd never been able to bite his tongue.
However, the anticipation (of getting to see his sister and niece again) also wasn't the reason he'd woken up. The truth was, he didn't know what caused it. He didn't even realise it was Christmas until he checked the clock and saw the date.
It was strange, he felt the most calm he had ever been. There was no emotion he could pinpoint that would explain why he was awake. It was completely dark, the light in the hallway creating a halo around his bedroom door. His blue walls reflected the darkness and cast a hue of colour onto the shadows. The room looked like it should be freezing cold with the dark blue haze. It was cold, obviously — it was December, but Damon felt a warmth. The temperature didn't noticeably bother him, he wasn't shivering or anything (even in his short sleeve t-shirt).
Everything felt peaceful. There wasn't a single thing that he would change. Except maybe how he woke up. He had fallen asleep with his chest against Francesca's back as he hugged her. At some point in his sleep, he must have rolled off her and onto his back. He knows it's stupid — because she's asleep and unaware so of course she wouldn't notice — but he feels guilty for letting go. What if subconsciously she noticed and felt offended by his actions? What if she feels abandoned or uncared for? What if — fucking hell, he really needs to shut up because, of course, she wouldn't care. It's Francesca.
