25th December, 1996Chad (12 years old)
The first slap paralysed him. The second sent Chad running. His dad was yelling at him, profanities and slurs, and Chad dove into his room and shut the door. He didn’t have a key, his mother had never allowed that and his father hadn’t given him one. He wedged his chair under the knob instead, so he would hopefully be alone.
Chad grabbed the picture of his mum and curled up on the floor at the foot of his bed. His tears fell down on the glass, blurring up her picture. She was smiling in it, looking so happy. Chad had no memory of her looking like that, but at the same time it was exactly how his mum had been.
“Why’d you have to die, mum?” He clutched the frame so hard his knuckles turned white. When there was no answers to receive, he clutched it to his chest as he bent over. “I’m so scared. He’s so mean. I don’t want to stay with him, mum! He hurts me.”
But his mum was gone. She was never coming back. All he had was his dad—and that wasn’t nearly enough.
December 25th, 1997Damian (12 years old)
They tried so hard. They tried so hard for him. But he couldn’t thank them, couldn’t show he appreciated it, because he didn’t. He didn’t want to thank them and he didn’t appreciate it. All Damian wanted was to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?
He’d lost everyone only a little over two month ago. His sister had jumped, his mum had gone mental, and now … now the two of them, and the twins and his dad … they were all dead. Damian was all that was left.
How could he possibly celebrate Christmas without his sisters there with him? They loved Christmas. At least they’d used to. They’d all been so excited on Christmas morning, where they crouched in front of the tree to touch and shake every single present.
Damian had never indulged in it, but he used to watch them every year.
Now he was there, with his uncle and aunt and their small children. And he just couldn’t.
December 25th, 1999Josh (14 years old)
It was sickening to watch. Josh peered around the doorway, but quickly drew back to press up against the wall. Sickening. Andrew was sitting there, amidst Josh’s family, talking and joking and laughing and having a great time of it. And they were all eating it up. They were falling for it and it was sickening to hear.
Josh couldn’t take it. He pressed his arms to his chest, hard, so he could feel the fresh cuts start to hurt again. He hated Andrew. He hated him so much. He was making Josh’s life a living hell, had for years, and there wasn’t an end in sight. Not a light at the end of the tunnel. It was all one long, dark, bleak tunnel he was in and it was never-ending.
A sob escaped him and he sunk to the floor. His thighs burned from the treatment he’d received the night before. As did his back … and his arse. Those hurts weren’t Josh’s doings though. His arms were and he grabbed onto them now, fingers latching onto the opposite arm and clutching down on it.
Pain, pain, pain. His whole life was filled with pain.