WILD (✓)

~ eleven ~

-- CJ --

Shit, it's cold out, I exhale into my hands, which are now red and almost completely numb. I make my way to my car finally, parked in the staff lot behind the Psychology building where I work. Praying the damn thing starts, I hop in, immediately reaching for the temperature dial.

The roads aren't crowded, but that isn't surprising. It's Christmas day - people are at home, surrounded by their families. I think about Kat, the girl I see in the Science Center sometimes during my shifts. She's probably all dressed up, not realizing how attractive she is, enjoying a big, Christmas feast right now. Maybe the dress is tight and her hair is down... my mind wanders, and I can almost taste her lipgloss from memory. My frustration grows, knowing she is out there, probably not giving a second thought to me, I groan.

It's that stupid campus, I tell myself. If I didn't have to be there so often, I could just forget about her.

I crank the heat a little more, then the radio, switching to the only station not playing Christmas music. I drive past the streets lined with college off-campus apartments, making my way home to the real shit-hole I live in with my parents.

Once parked out front, I take the rickety wooden steps two at a time, reminding myself I will have to put out rock-salt to melt that ice before it gets too bad - not that anyone besides myself will be leaving the place anytime soon. I think about the current state of my bank account and sigh. Guess I'll have to make a trip into Dad's wallet, then. But with how he's been the past few weeks, I doubt he'll have much more than I do.

"Mom?" I call at the end of the dingy hallway - the only one in our apartment. No response. "Dad?" But that's a lost cause, it's... I check my phone for the time - it's six o'clock already, there's no way he isn't drunk on the couch by now. He is nothing, if not consistent.

I make my way up to my bedroom, keeping my coat on. Dad probably forgot to pay utilities, I exhale in frustration, running my hands over my head. Once I drop my bag off on my mattress, I knock on the door down the hall from mine. "Mom?" I call quietly, pushing the door open a crack, careful not to let too much light in.

"Christopher," Mom mumbles, eyes still closed. She pats the old mattress, beckoning me to her. I sit beside her, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. "How's work?" She mutters drowsily. I eye the prescription bottle on her night stand, feeling my fists clench involuntarily.

"Work," I reply simply.

"How's that girl?" She murmurs. All I want is for her to open her eyes and look at me, but I know she won't.

"She's home," I remind her gently. "For Christmas break,"

"Chrisssmas?" But she is already snoring before I can respond. I kiss her forehead again, pulling the covers over her thin body.

"Merry Christmas, Mom," I turn out the bedside lamp and head to the kitchen to find something to eat.

While I wait for a microwave dinner to heat up, I glare at the lump lying on the couch. "Wake up," I kick the side where his head is. Dad doesn't even grumble or move and I know better than to waste my time trying to wake him up from a stupor like this. I grab the bottle of whiskey off the cracked coffee table and place it on top of the fridge. I used to pour them out, but then I realized he would only just buy more, spending more money than we had to make everything go black and hazy. So I gave up on trying to save him, instead letting him ruin himself and save money while doing it. So far, the plan has gone just fine.

I carry my warmed up meatloaf to my room, filling a glass with tap water to bring with it. I eat on my bed, debating on whether or not I should text the dark haired beauty to say Merry Christmas. The sound of Dad thumping to the floor in the other room distracts me before I can even type the message out.

Once I'm finished getting him back onto the couch, my dinner is cold and my theory confirmed: Kat Taylor is better off without someone like me.