All I Want For Christmas is Some Ass...

"Holiday Spirit?"

Fuck That

Trent awakes, to the smell of breakfast, in a full-size bed--quite different from his king size back in California. Sluggishly, he rolls out of bed, hoping the impact of hitting the floor will wake him.

It does, somewhat.

He stands, taking a moment to wipe his eyes. He walks out of his bedroom and heads for the bathroom. He relieves himself, then washes quickly and heads for the kitchen.

He enters, his mother sitting at the table, drinking coffee and watching the news.

“G’morning.” Trent says.
She sits her coffee down. “Mornin’.” She watches him make himself a cup of coffee. Motioning to his plate on the table, “You might want to warm that up, Trent. Been sitting there for a while.”
“It’s okay.”

He sits at the table, coffee cup in hand. He drinks a little before digging into the cold eggs and bacon.

“Doesn’t the tree look nice?” She asks.

Trent looks over at the tree in the living-room, dressed in white and red lights, shiny ornaments, garland, but no star atop it.

“Yeah.” He finished his breakfast. “Where’s the star, though?” Sipping the last of his coffee.
“Oh, you know that was your father’s thing, to put the star on.”

Silence. Aside from Christmas commercial on the television.

“I’ll put it on, Ma. Where is it?” He stands.
“Nah, you don’t have to.”
“I want to. Where is it?”
“Look in the hall closet. It’s in a box.”

Trent puts his dishes in the sink and then goes to look for the star. Rummaging through the box of Christmas junk, he finds it, blows some dust of it and takes it into the living-room. Reaching up, he places it on top of the tree.

He turns around. “How’s it look?”
She nods and Trent returns to the table.

“You know I have to fly to New York tomorrow.”
His mother sighs. “That SSW garbage?”
“It’s my job. I’m in the main event.”
“I don’t even know what you mean.”
“It means, it’s important.”
“And spending Christmas with your mother isn’t?”

He doesn’t have an answer. Sighing, he stands up from the table and walks to the office. Why the fuck is the show booked on Christmas?

He sits at the computer, logs on to the net, and checks his email.

Amongst the many messages, he finds the card. He reads it over. Most of these people he doesn’t even know, including his opponent: Bullzeye. Only that she’s the Malice Champion and she has what he wants.

Browsing more messages, he fins one aptly named “HOT Lesbian Action!”. More bullshit to make his “challenge” harder, given to him by Doctor Reid. It’s not that he wants to complete the challenge, by going without sex and alcohol for a month, but he’d like to prove to himself that he has control.

He logs off and walks back into the kitchen. His mother’s not there. He hears her in her bedroom, sobbing…

He’s not cold, but he doesn’t know how to ease her pain. She’s yet to get over her husband’s death. He walks into her to do the only thing he knows how: hug her, hold her, and tell her “It’ll be okay.”

---

A few hours later, Trent finds himself sprawled across the couch, remote in his hand. He flips through dozens of made-for-TV movies and Christmas specials. They irritate him. Christmas is a nuisance to him, really. And everything that goes along with it.

He finds something suitable, a stand-up comedy special. He watches, not expected to laugh too much, but at least escape all the holiday crap. But, not for too long. The special goes to a commercial, advertising last-minute gifts. He watches it. It’s only thirty seconds, right?

The next commercial is for Vodka. He’s starting to think someone is purposely fucking with him. And as a Victoria’s Secret commercial begins, he turns the television off, in need of something else to do.

He throws his coat on and opens the door. “Ma, I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later.” He steps outside.

The fierce cold hits him instantly and he remembers why he moved to California. Fucking Michigan weather.


	"Holiday Spirit?" Fuck That Trent awakes, to the smell of breakfast, in a full-size bed--quite different from his king size back in California. Sluggishly, he rolls out of bed, hoping the impact of hitting the floor will wake him. It does, somewhat. He stands, taking a moment to wipe his eyes. He walks out of his bedroom and heads for the bathroom. He relieves himself, then washes quickly and heads for the kitchen. He enters, his mother sitting at the table, drinking coffee and watching the news. “G’morning.” Trent says. She sits her coffee down. “Mornin’.” She watches him make himself a cup of coffee. Motioning to his plate on the table, “You might want to warm that up, Trent. Been sitting there for a while.” “It’s okay.” He sits at the table, coffee cup in hand. He drinks a little before digging into the cold eggs and bacon. “Doesn’t the tree look nice?” She asks. Trent looks over at the tree in the living-room, dressed in white and red lights, shiny ornaments, garland, but no star atop it. “Yeah.” He finished his breakfast. “Where’s the star, though?” Sipping the last of his coffee. “Oh, you know that was your father’s thing, to put the star on.” Silence. Aside from Christmas commercial on the television. “I’ll put it on, Ma. Where is it?” He stands. “Nah, you don’t have to.” “I want to. Where is it?” “Look in the hall closet. It’s in a box.” Trent puts his dishes in the sink and then goes to look for the star. Rummaging through the box of Christmas junk, he finds it, blows some dust of it and takes it into the living-room. Reaching up, he places it on top of the tree. He turns around. “How’s it look?” She nods and Trent returns to the table. “You know I have to fly to New York tomorrow.” His mother sighs. “That SSW garbage?” “It’s my job. I’m in the main event.” “I don’t even know what you mean.” “It means, it’s important.” “And spending Christmas with your mother isn’t?” He doesn’t have an answer. Sighing, he stands up from the table and walks to the office. Why the fuck is the show booked on Christmas? He sits at the computer, logs on to the net, and checks his email. Amongst the many messages, he finds the card. He reads it over. Most of these people he doesn’t even know, including his opponent: Bullzeye. Only that she’s the Malice Champion and she has what he wants. Browsing more messages, he fins one aptly named “HOT Lesbian Action!”. More bullshit to make his “challenge” harder, given to him by Doctor Reid. It’s not that he wants to complete the challenge, by going without sex and alcohol for a month, but he’d like to prove to himself that he has control. He logs off and walks back into the kitchen. His mother’s not there. He hears her in her bedroom, sobbing… He’s not cold, but he doesn’t know how to ease her pain. She’s yet to get over her husband’s death. He walks into her to do the only thing he knows how: hug her, hold her, and tell her “It’ll be okay.” --- A few hours later, Trent finds himself sprawled across the couch, remote in his hand. He flips through dozens of made-for-TV movies and Christmas specials. They irritate him. Christmas is a nuisance to him, really. And everything that goes along with it. He finds something suitable, a stand-up comedy special. He watches, not expected to laugh too much, but at least escape all the holiday crap. But, not for too long. The special goes to a commercial, advertising last-minute gifts. He watches it. It’s only thirty seconds, right? The next commercial is for Vodka. He’s starting to think someone is purposely fucking with him. And as a Victoria’s Secret commercial begins, he turns the television off, in need of something else to do. He throws his coat on and opens the door. “Ma, I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later.” He steps outside. The fierce cold hits him instantly and he remembers why he moved to California. Fucking Michigan weather.