Christmas Past

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Christmas Past.
By Angharad.

She wept as he held her. “Why d’you have to go?” he asked. She shook her head and cried some more. “Don’t go, please don’t go.”

“I have to. I can’t stay–something has come between us and you won’t or can’t say what it is.”

“But I love you,” four words, they’d just slipped out, simply fell out of his mouth.

“Pity you didn’t say so before.” She kissed him on the cheek, then wiping her eyes she turned away from his arms and walked away. He was desolate. Christmas Eve, what a wonderful thing to happen–the person he loved most in the world had just walked out on him. He couldn’t believe it.

The first time they went back to his room instead of making out, he baked her a cake. She wished she’d left him then, instead of now. It had ruined her Christmas, splitting up like this, but she felt she had little option. If only he’d discussed it with her, she’d have coped–or at least given it a try–but no, he had to do it his way. Pigheaded man–why are they all so bloody obstinate?

She went back to her room and unplugged the phone, switched off her mobile, flicked on the telly and opened a box of chocolates–she’d get fat–but so what?

He went back to his room and threw stuff about, even broke his favourite teddy bear. Nearly broke–nah you don’t want to know. Perhaps he should have told her, but then she’d be walking anyway–usually about two seconds after he confessed. He felt like a criminal–sometimes he wished he were dead, or gay or both. He wasn’t either, he was alive and in love with Clara but she it seemed had stopped loving him.

She sent him a present, asked a friend to deliver it. A parting shot? Perhaps, perhaps not, more a shot in the dark or wide of its mark. What did she care–it was over and it was all his stupid fault–bloody men–nothing but trouble.

He fell asleep on his bed, crashed out only woken by someone ringing his bell–his doorbell. It could be Clara, she’d changed her mind–oh how he wanted that to be true–he’d give almost anything for it to be true. He fumbled with the lock realising as he flung open the door he’d no trousers on. Too late, standing there was Sophie, Clara’s friend.

“Merry Christmas,” she said and he replied in kind.

“What happened to your pants?”

“I was asleep, didn’t have time to get them on.”

“Brought this for you.” She handed him a small parcel.

“Sorry, I haven’t one for you.”

“Oh it’s not from me, it’s from Clara, she like, asked me to deliver it.”

“Oh. I don’t know if I should accept it then–we–um–split up yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know. Gotta go, see ya.” Sophie turned and waved before disappearing up the street.

He stood there transfixed by this event and it was only when someone walking past laughed at his lack of leg covering that he came to and shut the door scampering back to his room. He placed the parcel on the table and stared at it for a long time. Beside it was the one he’d have given her if they’d met up today. He could have asked Sophie to take it for him–too late now.

It was Christmas Day and he felt like shit. His will to live had been seriously damaged. He eventually found the energy to make a cup of coffee and after drinking it found his jeans and pulled them on. He could always go to his parents if he pleaded with his mother–if not–he could scrape enough for a meal, just about. He had a box of porridge and some milk–he wouldn’t starve.

Sitting, drinking his coffee he stared at the package. What had she sent him? He agonised over whether he should open it or not. What if it was something awful to show how angry she was with him. Like what? She wasn’t like that, neither was he. How come he’d fucked up yet again? He always did, if he believed in a god he could have retreated to a Trappist Monastery, but he didn’t, so that was out.

What else could he do? He ummed and ahhed for ages before deciding to open the package. He opened it delicately, undoing the gold ribbon and then the bits of sticky tape, savouring the moment until he opened it and found it was something he hated. What would he do then? Oh, god, why did life throw up these dilemmas?

It was something soft and light and when he finally unfolded the paper, wrapped in soft tissue was the most exquisite bra, panties and camisole, all in a silvery grey. He was astonished, aghast, speechless. He sat down trembling. She knew, she bloody well knew. Why didn’t she say? Why didn’t he say? Oh shit, a thousand times shit. Why couldn’t he have gone with his instincts and trusted her–she was different–damn–she was different and he loved her.

He held the package to him and wept, “Happy flaming Christmas,” he said to no one in particular.

The End.

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Comments

one sad Christmas

Can I hope for a sequel with a happier ending?

DogSig.png

Wah!

terrynaut's picture

Do we dare hope for a follow on to this? I'd like to think it ends happily. I've had my fill of unhappily ever afters.

Thanks and kudos nonetheless.

- Terry

Almost Perfect

Almost perfect. I'd have left the contents of the package a mystery - though it wasn't hard to guess what they might be.

But the first part of this story deals with the most difficult subject of them all, the breakdown in human relationships. And it does it splendidly. You see both sides of the story, and you really don't know which one to choose.

There ought to be a kudos plus button for stories like this.

Ban nothing. Question everything.

P.S.

I weep for the teddy bear! Is it okay?!!

Xx
Amy

OUCH !

Yes, OUCH, because this one HURT!

Very clever piece of writing though !

BTW, after the storms and hailstones of Christmas day, to wake up late, because we were sampling the various whiskies after a superb christmas dinner at my younger Daughter's, with her, her Husband, two of her three grown-up children, and me, then a stagger home about 2 am with torch and stick to help find the way, when I woke this morning about 10 am the sun was shining, the wind was absent, the sky blue and clear of clouds... It is like a spring day !

Dilemma ! I want to go out and walk along the beach, as it has been far too rough and dangerous for days to even try that, but I am also wanting to cook a duck for dinner tonight... It's in the oven and I think I will risk going out whilstt it cooks its self. Or perhaps not ? P'raps I will just read a few more stories in BCTS, between peeps out at the sunshine...

Thankyou Angharad, for being there and keeeping us all going.

Briar

Oh crap

Podracer's picture

Well we don't always get it right do we :\ or talk when and how we ought.

Briar the sun shone here today as well, the back roads called, and 16 miles around the wind farms did my body and soul a power of good :D

"Reach for the sun."

I can only...

I can only say that I'm so glad I had the courage to tell my wife. She didn't know, but she accepted, and we've worked things out and have done so much better than I'd ever have expected or deserved. *sighs*

One does wonder about the couple described... That is a kinda horrible way to spend Christmas Eve/day... I wonder how many of us actually end up sabotaging our relationships... I know I was in the process of doing that (subconsciously) before I got the courage to decide to tell her.

Thanks for the story.
Annette

Fears - Ours, thiers

This is a fantastic short worthy of world notice.
How many of us have learned too late that those we love do understand?

Angharad, you are so, so very expressive.