Her Lost Spirit {ON HOLD}

T w o

DECEMBER, by any means, is definitely not my favorite month. Nor my favorite time of year. The cold Chicago winds and I don't go so well together. Even though I've grown up around this type of weather, I can never get use to it. Then there's the snow and of course Christmas. The holiday I dread most every year.

The sound of children laughing and Christmas carols playing in shops and on the radio do nothing to get me in the 'Christmas spirit'. It only irritates me more than the people themselves. I envy those who are always so filled with joy and family during this time.

I never had that. Never had a joyful Christmas. Never had a real family. Only the man and women who raised me alongside my arrogant, know-it-all brother who's ego is so big, you could smell it from a mile away.

All I had during the winter was cold, runny noses and more prominent bruises. The only Christmas type color I ever wore was red. But that red was nothing more than my own warm blood on my skin.

A humorless laugh escapes me, effectively making a grey cloud of smoke to puff out of my mouth from cigarette between my teeth.

I remember the time I first ever heard of Christmas, and how it's supposed to be a time full of joy, not hate or anger. Like I've always seen it as. And as if that's ever changed.

As far as I can remember, Christmas was always the time I hated the most. It was the day were I would get tortured for all my mistakes that happened that year. Any mistake I ever made, I would get a harsher punishment than the one I got after it happened.

I'd even get punished for reasons I do not even remember. Reasons that I honestly think never existed. That they just wanted a punching bag to take out all of their anger on.

But that ended long ago.

I wish I just could've seen their faces when they realized I had left. That would make the satisfaction of being free even greater. The freedom I should have been given long ago.

And now that I have it, I'm not looking back.

+ + + +

There was always something about snow that I have always enjoyed. Something about the slushy, cold ice seemed to calm me. It has always been such a strange thing to admit. Because somehow in this fucked up world, I had found something that wasn't so bad.

I know it seems crazy to say all of this. I have already established that I hate the cold, but for some reason I like the snow. It is some kind of oxymoron I guess you could say.

A sigh escapes me, and I continue to walk down the icy sidewalks of Chicago. The chilly, crisp air bites at my skin, even through the fabric of my thick tan-colored coat. Not to mention all the other layers on me as well.

Damn it's cold.

As I walk through the city, my surroundings start to become more familiar and I see things that I recognize from walking the same route the week before.

I continue to walk, passing up Verizon and a couple of clothing stores. Then I start to slow down once I'm near Eddie's parking garage, which is right next to where I'm headed.

The old, dilapidated brick building seems to grow bigger and bigger with each step I take towards it. Its height makes it look more like a six story building, rather than a three story.

My eyes look over the building, searching for the same area I previously went to the week prior. Once I spot it, I start to make my way towards it. Headed to the same sliver garage door behind the building.

The snow underneath my feet slush with each footstep I take and a shiver runs through me as a cold breeze sweeps by.

I reach the half closed garage door and bend my body forward to go underneath it, which is pretty easy for me given my small frame and short height.

With me not even being in the large, empty garage for a minute, I hear my name being called out.

"Tris?" The voice calls. "Tris!"

I turn around and spot him, walking towards me I see his face come into view and I can see the hazel color of his eyes.

"You brought it with you?" he says, standing closer to me than I'd like.

I arch my left eyebrow at him. "No, I just decided to bring an empty brown paper bag with me to an abandoned apartment building for no reason at all." I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He chuckles and shakes his head, taking a step closer to me. I swallow as he places his large, calloused hand on my cheek, wishing he would just leave me alone for today.

"Now baby, what's the need for the mouth, eh? There's only one thing it's good for and it ain't talkin." he looks down at me with that sick grin of his that makes me want to vomit. You can see the yellow spots in his teeth that obviously have not been brushed in days.

"Look Derek, I'm only here to give you your stash, okay?" I say as I shove the bag into his hands, effectively pushing him away from me. "Now where's my cash?"

"Okay, chill girl." he says as he holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I got it."

"Good." I say and hold my hand out.

Derek's hand goes to the inside of his jacket and I take a step away from him, weary of his actions. He gives me a quizzical look and I are at him.

He must finally find the stack of cash in me of his many pockets that are in his biker jacket and slaps it in my hand.

"Now," he says. "How about little kiss, eh?"

I scoff and shake my head. "In your dreams, asshole."

I don't know what I ever saw in him last year when we dated. I think what it was is that I was just blinded by the idea of love. Of someone actually caring for me. It wasn't love or care at all. It was list. Nothing but lust.

He tried multiple times to get me to have sex with him. I rejected him every time. I was never able to do it. Not with the demons of my past. The idea of opening myself to someone like that, to give myself up like that, it scared the hell out of me. Sometimes it still does, but somehow I ended up finally conceding and have myself to him. After that, it was nonstop sex every time we saw each other.

Then I eventually realized that he was just using me as some of sex toy. Some slut that he could just call so he could get laid whenever he wanted. Our relationship was toxic. So I broke it off with him. I stopping hooking up with him. Sex and drug deals stopped. He didn't handle it for long, because about a month and a half later he was calling me up for some drug deals and attempted to make me some kind of prostitute. I went through with the deals, but never the whoring part. Ever since then, he's always tried to me again. To make 'us' happen again when there really never was an us in the first place.