I'll Sing You One Last Song and then I'm Gone (Tokio Hotel Fan-Fic)

Chapter 21

This story is written by @xAnDeinerSeitex She wrote this story on a website called TokioHotelFiction.com. I was able to locate her and found out she had a wattpad account. She has given me permission to post it on here. @xAnDienerSeitex aslo has a new updated version of the story, as seeing this one is a few years old. If you like to read that one click the external link on the side. And I would like to say I have no rights to this story and I am NOT the writer. I would also like to thank @xAnDeinerSeitex for writing this great story and letting me post it on my account.

I rolled my eyes as I slouched back into the couch, disappearing as far into the cushions as I could physically go as I tried to just shrink back into them and disappear forever. At that moment, I decided that I was officially sick of us trying to pretend we're a normal family – the decision I make every single year on the same day, around the same time.

It was Christmas morning. You would think the holiday spirit would be enough to make my parents stop fighting for just one day. The soft morning snowfall outside, the smell of cinnamon and pine colliding in the air, the twinkling lights on the tree, the sounds of holiday classics drifting through every store and restaurant you went to, none of it could coerce them into at least pretending to get along for a day.

While none of this happens, we always go through the effort to try to make things like we imagine the cookie-cutter Americana family had. The tree was standing in the corner of our living room, we'd gifted it lights and gold-colored ornaments, under it was a small collection of gifts, we had a fire going in the fireplace to try to take our mind off the snow is it made its earthbound journey, and a big breakfast with all the works was scheduled for after we opened our gifts. It happened every year. In theory, the situation sounds nice, almost dreamy. And then you add in the perpetually angry, screaming parents, and suddenly, it looses its pizzazz.

“Well, had you not come home so bloody late last night, maybe all of this would be a little better put together!” Mum shrieked at the tops of her lungs from where she sat cross-legged across our semi-circle from Roger. They sat across from each other on the floor, I opted for the sofa. It had been like that every year since Mum first got sick, but this year, to be quite honest, I lost track of what it was that actually sparked the argument. “It's not like this is easy to do by me-self!”

“And what else did you forget to do, Michelle?” Roger snapped back at her, not drunk yet, but surely wishing he were. “Would you forget to breathe if I didn't remind you to do that, too? Because if that's the case, maybe I'll stop!”

I diverted my eyes to the cackling orange flames as they consumed the wood we'd fed it. I preferred the fire that blazed in a way that released the scent of the pine needles I'd tossed into it than the flickers of heat that licked at my parents' attitudes every year. “Would you stop it? You're ruinin' Christmas mornin' for our daughter!”

“Like I care about that right now? There are more important things I have to deal with, like why the hell I married such an incompetent swine.”

“It's me that made the mistake, you asshole! I should have just carried me-self back to England when I had the chance!” She always brought running away up around Roger, like someday, he would suddenly care if she left or something. I never followed her logic.

From beside him where they lay waiting to be torn open and enjoyed, my father grabbed a rectangular box wrapped in paper with a bunch of cartoon Santa drawings on it, and chucked it with all his might at Mum. She shrieked and dodged it in time, and the package crashed loudly against the section of wall dividing the living room and the kitchen, sounding like something had shattered inside from the force of the blow. “So go, then!”

“You prick!” Mum screamed at him as loud as she could, her voice already becoming hoarse as it battled for precedence over the symphonic Christmas classic playing over the stereo. “That was the bottle of Vodka I bought for you in the hopes you'd drink yourself silly today and shut the fuck up so some of us could enjoy a nice holiday in peace!”