Xmas Sucks

I

Midnight Bells. Fireworks at night with no stars, people hugging other people, children's laughter, the inaudible sound of gifts wrap breaking and the glasses filling with champagne.
Arthur walked around looking at everything, with the right hand in a cigarette and the left one on his pocket.

—Christmas, Christmas, Christmas  —He told himself.— Xmas sucks.

It was his first Christmas after three with her. Bertha used to love Christmas —and she still does—, she used to put a big tree helped by him, she uses to carried him to sing from apartment to apartment some Christmas carols. She used to cook a big dinner and decorate all their house, they used to making love just at midnight.

All the Christmas were perfect with her, 'till that whore decided to left him for his arts teacher.

He decided to go to a close park, celebrate Xmas at his own home became rare, he used to do that on Bertha's little apartment, he used to almost live there. He barely spend time with his family; just nineteen years and he lost three years giving them to a crooked spine.

He found on his pocket another cigarette while sitting under the protection of a tree. He gave money to a poor kid that asked for. He was still in love of her?
No. No more. But she left her mark and that fucked his mind. eguía enamorado? No, ya no. A pretty red head and curvy, with the happiness at the skin. Five years older than him, she drived him crazy. He remembered the first time he saw her, she has ashes on the face, just like that little poor kid. The reason? A painting about the death of a butterfly.
He tried to eliminate all the memories about Bertha one more time, but them came to him like hundred of spells.

When she asked him to be his partner for the final presentation. That first kiss at the enter of the taller. The complicit laughter in completing the other's sentences. The way he smoked right after making love. Her cheeks full of freckles. When she smiled after kiss him. When she introduced him into her parents and lye about his age. When they locked themselves in their own world. When they got high to paint that frame of fetus and mamary implants. When they promised with blood always be together. When they went to beach and talk about how ugly is the sea. When she recited her favourite poem an her eyes creatalized before she cried. When she hummed a song that made her happy. When they talked for hours about Rubens and Bukowski. The memories struck and struck his mind, specially the one of her kissing Mr. Patrick after left him.
Now from her, he just had that ugly painting of a girl, the habit of smoke  and her blue notebook full of sketches.