On Santa's lap - S01 E22

3 months ago

On Santa's lap - S01 E22

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 22

"It's not your fault,"

"I didn't say it was,"

"No, but I know you're thinking it,"

I looked up at him, sitting on the couch facing me with a cup of coffee in his hands, he acted like he knew what I was thinking. The sad thing was, he was right. I was thinking it. Because it was my fault. I wasn't going to deny it. Yet I wasn't going to let that eat me up. I wasn't going to sit and cry that it was my fault, today was an exception.

If I told anyone how much I loved Christmas when I was younger, they would have laughed and said, "What you, no way,"

Evelyn doesn't like Christmas, she's the Grinch that stile all the egg nogs.

But ever since I was twelve, I had a Christmas Party, and it was the same when I was about to host my seventh one. It was one of the biggest school parties that would happen. An annual event a lot of people looked forward to.

It was more about a night of celebration, food and swapping presents at midnight than about the real meaning of Christmas itself.

"You were a kid,"

"I was seventeen Nik, that's not a kid,"

"But I'm pretty sure a lot of people are still immature when they're in High School," I scoffed. I didn't need people to make excuses for me. At the same time I would rather people blame me, than pity me. Even Ethan has never brought the subject up. They were his parents too.

Why didn't he say anything?

"Dad, where's the tree?"

I had hurried home from shopping for presents only to realise they had the wrong tree. I stared at the small green tree standing in the rumpus room, the third lounge room of the house in annoyance. Dropping the bags I shrugged off my jacket and crossed my hands.

"What do you mean Eve, I even decorated it for you," My father looked a lot like me. Dark hair, and eyes. Tall, handsome, successful and also had the look that scared most people away from him. I was daddy's girl and he spoiled me. Moderately.

"But dad, I said white not green. I can't have a green tree, I asked for a white one!"

"Eve don't raise your voice at your father,"

I had simply scoffed crossing my arms across my chest. I could still remember the slightly sad look on his face. But I was being that hormonal teenager that wanted everything right everything perfect. I had the white tree with blue and gold decorations, that's what I told everyone. And when you're seventeen, what your friends thought meant the world to you.

You only realise how superficial the friends were as you grew up. Or the fact they just stopped trying. Sending them out on Christmas Eve, when the traffic will be congested from people trying to get to their family's homes, relatives, the roads were packed.

It didn't help that the roads were wet from rain from earlier in the day, and also didn't help that your mother was giving you a lecture while you sat annoyed in the back seat hoping she would shut up. You just wanted a tree. Maybe if they got the right tree to begin with you wouldn't be making this trip when all you wanted to do was just get ready.

Maybe I should have just sat there instead of muttering to myself, which only angered her further. And then dad tried to but in to tell us both to relax, his concentration going off the road. And maybe it was just meant to be. The luck that the driver in the opposite lane was drunk by six p.m, swerving his car straight into ours.

It wasn't a bang on collision. No. I still remember the car bumping into ours, enough for front damage, not enough for us to flip over, but enough to send us off our line. That was one way to stop a mother and daughter from arguing.

I could still remember the three of us just sitting there in silence as we caught out breathe, confused about what just happened. "I should get is insurance number," was all dad was worrying about. This was going to be one heft bill. Luckily we had a dash camera, which means we wouldn't have to worry about it.

And then I remembered the kinder side of mum as she turned to look at me, "Honey, you're bleeding," was not what I expected her to say. Wiping my nose, I realised I was bleeding. But I wasn't hurt. One moment I was out of my seat leaning forward to get the tissues she was holding out.

The next the car had flipped over from a truck joining the crash scene. I was the one without a seat belt. I was the one that flew threw the window hitting my head on the ground. Not them. But why did they die? And why didn't I? They had air-bags. They had seat belts. And they weren't laying with glass on the road. But the car burst into flames. And it was like watching a tv program gone wrong.

My biggest worry was getting blood on the car seats was now, crap, my parents are inside.

I could hear other people, see people trying to get them out in time. Mum made it out, and dad didn't. I could still remember his smile as he saw that we both were somewhat safe. But I was frozen. There wasn't that sobbing like mum was doing as the car exploded. And there wasn't that registration that it just happened.

I just sat there, like I was at home watching a movie. Go Bruce Willis. I didn't collapse like mum did. I sat there, with crossed legs holding that tissue to my nose.

"Eve,"

I looked up realising Nik was hovering in my face, "W-what?"

"Are you okay,"

I nodded. Of course I was okay. Didn't I look okay? No broken bones. Just a scar. No bloody noses. Unless I was stressed, only happened a few times during Uni, enough to scare everyone around me. It was just a little blood.

I winced feeling something on my forehead, Nik's hand, like he was checking if I was sick. One of those looks I recognised from number 'therapists,' I got sent to, to talk about my feelings with. Too bad I had nothing to share with them.

Why did people think talking about it makes it better? It doesn't. I didn't talk, but I was better even if I didn't talk. I didn't need someone prying into my life. It was my life.

And Nik just looked like another therapist trying to fix me right now. "Share your feelings," and through the whole conversation he just starded at me. Saying "It's not your fault at the end," Obviously.

I told him because I just felt like it, not to get his doctorial views on it. And now I just felt like another one of his patients.

"I'm hungry, are you hungry?" I got out of the seat rushing to the kitchen. Maybe I should order pizza. I felt him follow me as I dug through the fridge.

"Eve,"

And there was that tone.

"What?"

"Eve you should t-,"

"Nik shut up. If you want to stay, stay. But if you wan't to give me the whole "Talk about it," The front doors right beside you, you're not a therapist" I said as I grabbed tomatoes out. Were they rotten? Were they not? Opening the bag I realised they were fine.

I heard the front door close and sighed, instead of being sad, I felt relaxed.

Looking over my shoulder I realised he was gone and it felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Breathing in I threw the tomatoes back into the fridge and grabbed bread. I might just eat toast.

But in the back of my head I could hear my inner voice, You made him leave, like you make everyone leave.