What the fuck?
I try to move, to wiggle myself without being detected, but it’s useless when you’re tied up like a hog. A shadow casts over myface, and my eyes follow its path. There he stands by the window, framed by the glow of the fire and the halo of snow around the window. His red coat is drinking in the light, and this time, the Santa beard lies discarded on the red chaise.
I blink once. Two times, before finally accepting that it’s Neno’s face that reflects on the window. His dark green eyes seem duller and give nothing back. The bells stitched along the hem of his coat jingle when he moves.
“I know, you’re awake again,” he says, his eyes locking with mine through the window. Neno lets out a long sigh before he turns to face me and grins. “Sleep well?”
I shake my head, no. Which, in return, amuses him. Bringing his hands together, he hops in place. “Delightful.”
Without any further words, he moves towards the table and opens his hands in a ‘ta-da’ gesture. “It’s time for you to open your gifts, naughty one.”
My thick brows pull together, I’m confused. I thought when you make the ’Naughty List’ you get coal, not fucking gifts. Yet, I’m in no predicament to not follow along. He taps the page with one gloved finger.
And smiles. The gift of the past. The room tips and the living room slides away. I’m sure at this point that I’m tripping as the walls shift without moving. The smell of floor polish laced with the gym mingles along the chemical sugar of peppermint liqueur. The air grows thin, the lights too bright, and I realize we are no longer in the cabin. No.
We are back inside the year I sold my soul by calling it ambition.
Dorm walls climb up where cedar used to be. A window shows a parking lot bathed in orange sodium lights, and the sound of the high school Christmas concert bleeds in from two buildings over. The melody is cheerful and off-key. And standing there is a younger me, seducing Neno.
Using his brain just like I was using his body. Thrusting into his tight hole, my eyes connect with the blinking red lights.
“Stop it,” I tell the room, relief washing over me briefly when I realize my mouth is once again free to move. But the room only grows hotter, the heavy scent of sex fills the air, and my stomach twists as I hear Neno declare his love for me over and over as the younger me drills into him.
The sound of my balls slapping into his firm ass has me gripping my ears. “Stop, please,” I plead to Neno, who looks at the scene the way a surgeon watches a scan.
“Say it, “ he murmurs.
I shake my head, not understanding as his moans grow louder and my breath grows labored. “I didn’t know they were filming,” I lie, and his laughter booms through the room as he saunters over to where he’s bent over the couch and watches as my younger self grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls him towards me.
My mouth covers his neck, nipping and biting. The sight alone makes me grow hard, but I keep my attention on Neno, who is playing the role of Bad Santa. There I stood, my younger self plowing into his best friend's tight ass hole, all while recording him.
A perfect angle for the camera.
“Smile for the picture,” I say, and with that. My younger self cums inside Neno’s tight hole with a deep guttural groan. Neno didn’t even know what I was doing, but I did. All because I wanted more. But it’s all said and done.
What the fuck does he want now, a fucking apology?
“Say it,” Neno whispers again. But I can’t speak; it feels like a million maggots are crawling their way up my throat to drown the lie before it makes its way out of my lips. “You filmed it. You wanted this to ruin me, so you didn’t have to share. I loved you and would have gladly stepped away for you to shine, make you the star that sits on top of the tree.” He shakes his head, ploppingbeside our younger selves. Watching us make out, kiss with a ferocity despite the fact that we just got done screwing. Slowly, his ghostly features turn to me,
“Scrooge. Scrooge. Scrooge.” His voice morphs into a demonic chant, reaching for the table… for anything that can anchor me. Instead, my hand passes through the wood, the room morphing into a space that is the dorm and cabin all at once. On the TV, which is no longer static, someone points a phone at the two boys in the memory, before the screen bursts into a white light that blinds me.
A cheer goes up, and the future opens like a fucking trap door.
“Cut it out,” I snap.
The world obeys this time, or maybe it grants me a final favor as the dorm walls sink back into cedar. The snow breathes against the window panes, and the fire hunkers down. Finally, I can feel my pulse again, just in time for Neno to slide the top page aside, showing me that the past is checked. His finger trails down to the second box. I try to scream, but all I get out are wet, gurgled groans. My mouth is once again forced open. Neno sits on the corner of the table, his eyes on me as he shakes the first box.
“I was your friend, your lover, and still you stepped over me,” he says, his voice somber and void of emotion. “I was willing to forgive you, move on from all of it.” This time, he places the box down and opens it, pulling out a printed paper. The once white paper is now brown and weathered. Clearing his throat, “But then I received this, just in the right moment of despair. You turned off the small light that kept me fully out of the dark.” He coughs harshly, water spilling from his lips and pouring over the carpet as if to show me the emptiness inside him that’s been filled with water. Nothing but a watery grave. My body freezes, every muscle tight, ready to snap from the pressure. Finally,his body straightens, wiping the corner of his mouth, before he begins to read the contents,
“We can’t go public with this. I’m trying to build this company on “family joy,’ keep my parents’ legacy alive. Investors won’t back a gay scandal.” Each line delivers a painful blow, each a reminder of my sins, and when Neno finally stops reading, the smirk on his pouty lips turns into a thin line. The irony that I’m successful despite already coming out is proof that I was in the wrong, but it’s all in the past. I’ve moved on. Why hasn’t he? Why must he bring up the past to haunt me?
I blink, each flutter of my eyes matches the toll of the bell that echoes in my psyche.
Ding!
Blink!
DONG!
