Sleepwalking {GTA V}

5: Eyes Like Broken Christmas Lights

Christmas came around, so Michael and Amanda were all over 'baby's first Christmas' themed professional photos. They also got pictures of all the kids together, but it was obvious how they were emphasized on Alana's. Jimmy and Tracey didn't mind, for they hated family pictures I know. They'd told me many times just how awful it was.

But once Michael and Amanda placed photos of Alana around their house, they were ecstatic. "Look how cute this one is," Amanda says while sitting on the recliner next to us with her legs tucked under her. She'd picked it off the coffee table next to her and was admiring the photograph of the baby laying in fake snow with a small smile. I knew that one was her favorite.

Michael looked over while patting Alana's back after he'd just fed her. "I know, I love that one too."

It was Christmas Eve and the kids were beyond excited. I remember being that young and feeling that ache inside to know what you'd gotten for Christmas. But for me, it was either a drunk mom or a drunk moms new boyfriend with a pair of socks or a carton of cigarettes.

Jimmy and Tracey sat on the floor sharing a blanket as they watched the TV playing Christmas specials. I kinda wished I knew what this felt like, either when growing up or having a family of my own. But I couldn't, it doesn't fit my lifestyle. I don't know how Michael does it. Michael invited me over out of sheer pity I assume, and I felt like I was in the way.

Her eyes were open and I knew she was learning her hand - eye coordination for she was opening and closing her fist and kept an eye on it. I knew she could see us cause she always smiled when she saw Michael or Amanda since she was used to their faces and loved their smiles. I knew she loved the sounds of Michael's voice, and I knew that the Townley's were happy she was finally sleeping through the night.

A snowplow's headlights caught my attention out the window from my place on the old recliner. It's funny, Michael manages to steal a great sum of money and never refurnishes his house. I guess he just pays bills easily and finds it simpler this way. I tend to spend my money on alcohol and drugs.

I looked back over at Michael and saw he handed Alana over to Amanda who sat next to him on the green colored couch. It's one hell of an ugly couch. Amanda held the bottle to Alana's mouth and smiles down at her. It made me grin for a moment until I caught myself and forced myself to focus on the TV screen where the animated show embellished in Santa Clause and reindeer.

On my flip phone, I checked the time and it was 10:30 and I used it as a way out. I felt like I needed to be somewhere else, I didn't belong here. "I'm gonna head home," I say and stand up from the chair.

"So soon?" Amanda asks, looking up from Alana.

"Yeah, feeling tired." I shrug. "I'll see you guys later. Merry Christmas." I say and turn towards the door. An orchestra of a scattered 'Merry Christmas' came from all of them, besides Alana of course.

I close the door behind me and trudge through the thick, white snow to my old truck. It's as cold as Antarctica in my truck and I see my breathe before me, and I'm surprised it doesn't turn to ice in front of my eyes. The truck roars to life and takes a lifetime to beat up a few degrees.

I pull out of their driveway and see Tracey and Jimmy in the window waving at me and I wave back. It made my heart ache.

Christmas lights scattered on the building all over town. I could see lots of them were burnt out and left clumps lit, throwing off the balance. It was all stupid. I hated Christmas. The snowplow did a shitty job too, and I was thankful I had a truck instead of a shitty little car like Amanda.

When I got home, I was welcomed to a full and empty apartment. Loneliness hung over me like a shadow.

I pulled my thin blanket over my body and shivered from the damn cold. My world was distorted and soon I was out like a broken light.

It didn't last long. A nightmare of my mother threw me from my sleep as I literally threw myself on the floor. I gasped for air and my chest heaved.

I grabbed my phone off my nightstand and called Michael. What would I even say? What's the point? I heard a groggy 'hello?' before I ended the call there's no reason to drag him into my depressive episodes.

My phone rang loudly on the floor next to me but I ignored it. Instead, I crawled into my bathroom and tried to wipe sweat off with the sleeve of my shirt. It rang one more time but it was distant in my brain.

I turned on the shower and sat under the cold water. My hair stuck to my forehead and I rocked back and forth gently on the hard tile.

I don't know how long I sat there, but I was knocked out of my distorted reality to Michael standing in my bathroom. "Trevor, what the fuck? Are you okay?" He asks with worry and kneels next to me.

"Can you sit with me? Please?" I beg, my voice cracks.

He hesitates. I can see that. But to my surprise, he moves into the shower and sits next to me on the hard tile. He holds onto my shaking hand and tries to comfort me the best he can, but he knows it has to ride itself out.

My back slides down against the tile and I rest my head on his thigh as the water pours down near my shoulders. "Please don't leave," I sob. "Please don't."

He rubs his hand over my shoulder to soothe me. "I won't," he sighs. "I'll be here."

After awhile of this, Michael says, "merry Christmas, Trevor." In a solemn tone. I don't reply.