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A/N: And here my pretties, is the belated Christmas episode XD

I laid in my bed, fiddling with my present with the slight hope Reno didn’t leave me behind. I hate the holidays, it means I am forced to spend time with the entire shithole family. If you thought I hated my parents, well then allow me to indulge you in the full story of my sadistic family.

My dad’s side is probably the sanest, being there is only one surviving member left (besides dad). Grandma Rose is a sweet, pudgy, typical Italian woman, who loves to do two things- singing and cooking. She’s a little lonely though, every since Grandpa Anthony died five years ago, so any time she is here, she craves my attention they entire time. Now you maybe saying, “What’s so bad about that you heartless bastard?” Well it wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t continuously mention my apparent homosexuality in front of…everyone, (no one believes her; the first five years of my life she thought I was a girl…she’s senile.) I really can’t complain though, she is the only one in this messed up family that doesn’t attack me ruthlessly.

Which bring me to my mothers crazy ass family, The Michaels. Grandma Dorothy is probably the most insane member of the family, and the source of my mothers drinking problem. She is all about appearance, reputation, and plastic surgery- she’s fuckin a million years old and looks twenty. Now if that wasn’t bad enough, she’s a total bitch to me, my mom, and my dad- frequently insulting my parents way of raising me, and my choice of anti-socialism. Grandpa Mark couldn’t care less about his family; the only things on his mind the entire day are his two yachts, billion dollar bank account, and how he swayed the 2000 election. He is the man behind the demonic bitch, usually ignoring her sassy behaving by drowning himself in whiskey and a Cuban cigar. If she is guilty of pride, this man is guilty of being a normal white, Anglo-Saxon, rich male- greed.

Oh, and lets not forget the “perfect” older brother Mark Jr; the man who could do no wrong…he is probably Jesus himself! He married a beautiful ex-model who weighs as much as my pinky toe even after giving birth to the two spawns of Satan I am forced to call my cousins. Little Mark the third and Rebecca may seem like innocent, blonde hair and blue eyed children, but alas, they aren’t. See, they think they are better than me because they can play every instrument known to man, speak five languages, and could probably kick my ass in physics. They are well behaved, listen to everything their parents say, and their minds have bee replaced with Catholism. They are only seven and five and already they are clay zombies of their perfect parents.

I sigh and drag my naked ass out of bed, and head for the call of the scorching shower to wash away the last reminder of Reno. Yeah, I missed him already, just thinking about the week and a half without his hand in mine was almost chasing away my sanity. I probably have it better though- I can hang with Vinny, Cid, Barret, and Tifa, and avoid my family completely, while Reno is stuck in his own personal with his parents right beside him, poking endlessly at the fire that scorches his wounds. So I have no right to complain.

I untangle myself from the beautiful we shower, staring into my room at the sheets that held our sin. Had to dispose of those fast. I quickly threw on some blue jeans, a My Chemical Romance shirt, and my leather jacket (I got CHILLS….okay I’ll stop), and tossed my dirty sheets down the laundry chute for the cleaning lady to take care of. I sat on the now empty bed, watching the watch tick the final minutes of two pm- my family comes at four, an hour to myself. “Write.” I said to myself, “That would keep you sane.” I laugh at the irony; most American writers are insane. I picked myself up and glided to the computer, and that’s when the clock Aeris gave me caught my eye.

It read 8:16...

That’s when I first laid eyes on Reno…

-

I stared at the poem I wrote, about a boy who kills himself by running into a mirror because he couldn’t save his friend. I am starting to wonder if I am suicidal…

Nah, I think I’ll spite my mother by living.

Speaking of the bitch. No sooner than I wrote my last line, she burst into my room, blue eyes ablaze with frustration. She looked attractive in her short red skirt and long sleeve white tope, her brown hair iron straight with make up covering the dark circles around her eyes. If I was drunk, I would think she was my sister.

“Grandma call you fat again?” I dared to ask, and to my surprise the frustration in her eyes disappeared and were replaced by bitter knowledge.

“She would have been fat is it wasn’t for the fuckin a million surgeries she had.”

I swirled around and stared in disbelief at my…SOBER mother.

“You aren’t drunk yet?”

She cocked a brown eyebrow at me, advancing menacingly towards her prey. “I don’t drink that much.” She said smoothly.

I cracked an inappropriate smile and retorted with am, “I had never seen you sober.”

“Oh…” she looked sad, I was surprised yet again that she could display any emotion on that stone cold face of hers, let alone such an emotion as sadness. She always looked like a drunken angry person, replacing her once unmatchable beauty with that monster, but now it seemed that some of the mask has been cracked.

“Get the fuck downstairs before I smack you.”

Okay…scratch that.

I jogged downstairs, laying eyes on the two perfect children singing Christmas carols in my living room. Their hallow voices echoed with the scratchy piano their father played- a dead smile plastered on his face, approving the sorry scene he directed. They were dressed like ornaments- Rebecca in a red fluffy dress decorated with lace and puffs, while her brother was in a black tux complete with fashionable bow tie- and they were treated and acted like the sharp objects.

The singing ceased, the air grew colder as the disapproving eyes of my family pierced into me.

“Well, well,” Mark jr began, arising from he piano stool, “Cloud, In less than perfect attire…again.” The sadistic children giggled at their father, whispering child obscenities about me.

“My Chemical Romance is Christmassy,” I mocked.

“What’s ‘My Chemical Romance’?” Rebecca hissed, her voice lacking the child like innocence little Marlene was famous for.

“It’s a band,” I countered.

“A band about Satan,” Rebecca’s mother snapped, “promoting homosexuality, sex, and anti-religion.”

I rolled my angst-y blue eyes, silently giving them the hint to shut up (Before I go MCR fan bay on their asses.), and attempted to head for the kitchen when grandma Dorothy spoke up in her raspy, smoke induced, voice, “Cloud dear, come here.” She patted the empty seat next to her evilly.

I sighed, and reluctantly took my rightful seat next to Satan in the flesh. My eyes met those of Grandmas Rose, sitting across from me, in a rocking chair, knitting something.

“So Cloud dear,” Satan began, “What do you plan on doing with your life.”

“He is going to be a writer,” Grandma Rose interjected sweetly, “When he used to visit me, he would sit at Anthony’s desk and scribble little fairy tales. Ant and I loved reading them!” She smiled at me, comforting me in the hell I was stuck in- it’s funny the crazy eighty year old who thought I was a girl for the first five years of my life, is the only one that understand me.

“Oh heaven forbid!” Grandma Dorothy shrieked, causing Grandma Mark to jerk in his sleep, “He is going to be a Millionaire like his father.”

“That’s if he could stop acting so immature,” of course Mark Jr had to throw in his two cents; the world would end if he didn’t have something to say.

And that’s how it went for two whole hours. Everyone- save for my parents and Grandma Rose- gladly took stabs at my writing…

“That’s a stupid hobby.”

My choice of clothing…

“A woman dancing with a skeleton! That’s horrible! You are scaring my children.”

My friends…or lack of…

“Are you antisocial?

And finally, my whole bad attitude…

Why are you so depressed?”

“Don’t you smile?”

“I have a great number for a psychologist.”

“Maybe you should take some meds boy.”

Suddenly a slam dragged everyone’s attention from me, to my rather angry mother who was holding a fire poker.

“Will you leave my son alone!”

Her loud voice echoed throughout the house, drowning the walls in silence. Everyone looked at the rage in her eyes with such fear one would think they were facing death himself, and quickly silence any further attack on me. Then out of the kitchen, my invisible father appeared behind the psychotic woman.

“Dinner is served,” he said coldly, ripping the pick from the grip of my mother. Satan and her minions sprinted to the dining room at some alien part of the house.

Grandma rose smiled, slowly rising from her seat, “There, there Cloud,” she said as she patted my knee, “Don’t let those fools make you feel bad.” With that, she followed the rest of the pack, leaving my parents and I alone in the cold room.

”Cloud,” My dad said smoothly, “Don’t let them get to your….you’re a good boy.”

I half heard him, my eyes ran to the family pictures- my mom, my dad, and I at 12 looking as happy as any normal family. Then I looked at the scene now, a unhappy mother, an oblivious father, and an unhappy son- a sad pathetic, lying, f1uckin family.

“Shut up,” I snapped, “What do you know? You’re too busy screwing your secretary.”
My parents didn’t do anything, because the left, they went to enjoy their Christmas dinner, I love fake sympathy…especially from them.

-

I laid on my bed, staring blankly at my My Chemical Romance poster, wondering desperately what went wrong in my life. Then I realized- those fuckin in that poster were staring at me…of them. Their burning eyes smiled disapprovingly at me, taunting me, laughing at me…what right did they have to laugh- Gerard Way was a loser in high school!

HA! HA!

Yes, I am insane…I am personifying a picture…fuckin A.

I grounded as a stabbing hunger pain began to multiply in my empty stomach. I haven’t had the time nor the effort to eat. Dammit. I am going to turn into one of those anoereix girls in fuckin xanga. I could very easily go downstairs and eat with my evil family, as they sit there and continue to badger me. OR I could stay up here, wait for the assholes to leave, and possibly die in my room. Hmm…quite a problem I have here…

I choose death.

I turn my back on the power, and began the everlasting glare at the door. The soft sounds of the piano music danced through the cracks in the wood, followed by the shallow voices of my cousins. This was getting ridiculous. I grabbed my Ipod (I sold out…) and blasted, “Thank You For The Venom.” allowing the cryptic sounds of the guitar and sadistic voice of Gerard Way murder my eye drums. I would my my ears bleed just to rid myself of the horrible sounds of my family…

Amazing how I am bitching about this…I have everything. Money, Power, not a real worry, and here I am still complaining about something. Is that what I based my life on, complaining about every little thing...I am worse than then people I complain about. Why can’t I be happy hmm?

The soft hand running through my hair woke me up from my sleep. I dragged my eyes to the gray, dull, orbs of my grandmother.

“You look sick deary,” she said sweetly, “sick in the heart.”

I pulled the earphones out of my ears, “Yeah, mema.”

“What boy broke your heart,” she tapped my chest twice, and then the watch on my left wrist, “is it the boy who have you this?” I laughed despite myself, causing mema to frown, “Don’t laugh. I’m right.”

I looked away, staring at the dents in the ceiling from the many times I throw random objects at it, “Yeah,” I said absently mindly, “Yeah mema.”

“What did he do baby?”

“He left me here.”

“Will he come back?”

“Yes…I hope.”

She smiled a happy old woman smile, “I see that look baby; that’s the look your grandpa have me when we first met.”

I mimic her smile, blushing slightly at the way my eyes twinkled every time they find their way to the warm, green, eyes. Grandma Rose wasn’t the first to notice this twinkle, Reno mentioned it once…mocked me about it…but I could tell he didn’t care, cause he looked at me the same way.

“Don’t forget what this watch says baby, that’s a declaration of his love for you.”

“Yes mema,” I said, the overwhelming loneliness catching in my throat, almost causing me gag thanks to the sappiness.

She tapped my shoulder, grabbing me attention to the large plate of food on my desk, “Eat up,” she demanded and wobbled out of my room. Woo hoo, I don’t have to die.”

-

I remained in my room, talking to Cid on the internet…apparently he had a good time introducing Tifa to the family. His dad, though had on numerous occasions tried to help her, almost threw a hissy fit when Cid brought the girl home for dinner- but didn’t utter a word to his Cid’s mom about Tifa’s old profession. Which was good because Cid’s mother has this this time with germs and STDs, would have chased poor Tifa out of the house in a fit of rage. He continued to brag about how great Tifa was tonight; from the way she helped his mother cook dinner, to being able to play with his sisters. He was madly in love with this girl, I could tell that night when he saved her from that rotten profession. Seems funny, out of all my friends, I thought Cid was going to be the pimp of the group…he had the looks and the girls went all “Oh em gee Cid,” every time he walked by. Yeah, he was a mini- celebrity.

So, every Christmas day, my friends and I hang out and have a “horror” movie day I guess you could say. Just our way of going against the norm of watching A Christmas Carol, and eating leftovers with the family. It all started when we were freshman, Vinny, Cid, and I all came to the conclusion we were alone on Christmas day- Vincent’s grandma would go play bingo with her friends, Cid’s parent’s deemed Christmas Day as “the day of rest” and had no will to do anything, and my parents hang out at some rich couples house the entire day. Since my house was the biggest, and I have the huge big screen TV, they both came over here and we watched any horror movie we could get our hands on, eat a shit load of candy, order pizza, and play violent video games. Yes, it is actually pretty fun.

Except this time we have a new guest joining us. I was really pushing for Barret to come but, he has a daughter and can’t leave her Christmas day, so I understand why he could come, though this meant Vincent and I were stuck with Romeo and Juliet. Cid, being Cid, managed to convince us to allow Tifa to join us. Tifa is a girl; she is going to scream like a maniac during the horror movies, stay away from the candy because it is going to make her “fat”, and whine and groan when we start playing Grand Thief Auto, and other such games. And no I am not stereotyping girls, I just know she is going to do this.

The house became silent; everyone was long gone without a simple goodbye. They all forgot me…maybe better off. Why ruin their holiday with my presence- clearly they hate it, and I can’t stand them…so it’s a win win situation I guess.

I look at my watch, didn’t matter what time it was? It was late, I was alone, time didn’t mean a thing in this place. It was just a nasty reminder how long I had left without…you…know…who.

My phone yelled and vibrated on my night table, begging me to answer and cease the annoying ring (okay, it wasn’t really annoying but…I am tired a cranky). I grabbed the phone, not bothering to check who it was, and snapped, “What.”

“My my, that’s no way to answer the phone.”

That voice wrapped around my mind, pushing me to sit on my bed at the surprise he actually called, “Hey…”

“That’s better,” he laughed, “How are you?”

“Emo…”

“Are you going to cut your wrist and black your eyes?”

I smiled despite my utter hatred for that pussy band, Hawthorne Heights. “No loser.”

There was a loud pause, a forbidden phrase lingering on our lips, but we seemed to proud…or too scare to say it. Maybe if we said it, the distance between us would seem more real than it should.

“Dude, I’m going to see Brokeback Mountain here!” He laughed

“Ew…now who am I supposed to see it with.”

“Umm, your friends maybe?”

“Yeah the fuck right, crazy lady.”

We paused again, the sounds of children playing was heard through the phone- large family I expected. “How you holding up,” I finally asked.

“…fine…”

No he isn’t.

“Are you okay?”

“…yes…”

Liar.

“Are you O’fuckin kay?”

“Yes!”

Nah.

“Do I…wear you out?”

“Come again?”

“Remember when you broke your foot…”

“You are so fucking gay.”

“…from jumping out the second floor.”

“You stupid My Chemical Romance fan girl.”

I laughed at my insanity…and no I am NOT a fucking My Chemical Romance fan girl. I mean yeah, I can think Gerard Way is sexy without it being wrong!

Yeah…so there.

“Despite how much of loser you are,” he said, most likely rolling his green eyes, “I love you, I mean that.”

“Yeah baby, I love you to.”

“I have to go now; I’ll see when I can escape my family to call you again…bye…”

“Yeah bye.”

But he never called back; for the rest of the Christmas vacation, his beautiful voice didn’t echo through my ears and mind, keeping me up at night and yet comforting me when I was awake. Now looking back on it…I know why he never called…

He wanted me to forget why I loved him.