Page 1 of Unwrapped

PROLOGUE

DARE

CHRISTMAS 1995

I wondered if this was the year he’d come. I pressed my nose to the glass, looking up past the tall evergreens to the clear night sky. I didn’t see his sleigh yet, but it was still early. Hopping down from my bed, I gingerly unwrapped the cookies I saved in a napkin from my class party. Three sugar cookies with sprinkles. Santa’s favorite. Surely, this year, he’d leave me something. Anything. I’ve been a good boy, kept my head down, cleaned the dishes every morning…even the broken ones I often find on the floor.

“Darren! Where you at boy?”

My spine stiffened. My palms started to sweat.

Not tonight.

Why did she have to invite him over tonight?

My eyes darted to the window. But there was no time to climb down in the snow. I wouldn’t get far in my pajamas anyhow. The door to my room crashed open. Ma’s boyfriend, Jim, stumbled in with a cigar dangling from the corner of his lip and stinkin’ of cheap vodka. I was only eight and yet I learned what the smell of a drunk dickhead was years earlier.

My fists clenched.

“What do ya’ want?” I turned, widening my stance.

“You’re a mouthy little fucker, aren’t you? I’m here to teach ya’ some manners boy!”

I cringed. I didn’t say anything, but it was of no use. He beat me for fun. He charged forward and I dove right under his legs, rolled and made it through the door.

“Come back here, you little shit!”

No way was that happening.

Ma had a lot of friends over. They were laughing loud and using straws to snort powder off a tray.

No one saw me.

No one cared.

I quickly looked around before opening a bare cupboard door under the kitchen island, managing to squeeze in leaving it open just enough to peek out.

“Where did he go?” Jim roared.

No one knew. His face became redder. He kicked over the tiny tree Ma and I had put up when she was sober three days ago.

I watched as he stomped on the cheap ornaments, I managed to buy from the drugstore in town using some of the money I had saved from weeding my neighbor’s vegetable garden last summer.

“Santa’s not comin’ for you boy! He ain’t real! Ho, ho, ho little fucker!” Jim bellowed as he held an almost empty vodka bottle and downed what was left.

I swiped my hand across my eyes.

My life sucked.

No one loved me.

No one cared.

I needed to believe thathewas real. That maybe once a year I could feel special; like my existence even mattered.

I didn’t dare come out. I stayed in that cupboard below kitchen counter all night. When I woke up, my neck was so stiff I could barely move it. I gingerly opened the door. Ma’s friends were still there but they were all asleep. Some on the couch, others on the floor. The place smelled bad. I looked around, but Jim was right. Santa never came. And I was stupid for believing. I shoved into the snow boots my teacher gave me; a hand-me-down from her older son. My winter coat was too. I didn’t know where I was going, but I didn’t want to spend Christmas Day here.

It had snowed sometime overnight and my boots sank deep as I trudged through to the road.

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