"His fingers scraped like frostbite against your skin, frigid and chilling. You were almost tempted to look and see if the places he touched had gone black and blue."
༶☆
The unshakable feel of adventure always wracked through your bones as though yo...
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december 21, 2004.
The oven's heat rises to your face as you check on the pie, hands covered in old and torn mittens. The oven door creaks as it slams closed, shaking scarily on its hinges. You lean against the counter, the leftover flour falling from your apron, and sigh, eyeing the cookie dough you have yet to work on. The television covers your faint Christmas music, a crowd laughing at something that also has Charlie chuckling in his quiet sort of way.
You meander over-- under the guise of decorating-- curiously eyeing the television. A cat wobbles on screen, tail flicking as it shoves a cup off the counter. The camera pans down to a confused dog, cup bouncing off its head, water poured all over the floor. Amused, you shake your head and hang up a few more ornaments. You step back and admire your work, pulling the step stool out of the closet. Coughing, the dust flies off and you begin placing a few higher up.
You stretch onto your tiptoes just as the timer goes off. The ornament pulls away from the tree when you lean back, but you're stopped as Charlie rises off his chair and grunts.
"I got it."
"Are you sure? I can--"
"No, you keep doing your thing." Charlie says, waving you off.
"Thanks,"
He mumbles a 'yeah' as he makes his way over, the beeping finally ending. You return to your job, reaching down to grab another when your hand scrapes against the bottom of the box. Glitter clings to your fingers as you step down, attempting to rub it off on your shirt.
Charlie makes his way back into the room, cheeks red. You stifle a smile and glance up at your work. The tree is basically done, so you turn to the stockings piled at your feet.
The first you hang up is Charlie's. It was red with 'DAD' written with some type of marker that was clearly not meant for fabric, but it stayed anyway, a bit faded. You shook off some of the dust and strung it up. Next was your own, your name scribbled on with a different colored marker. Stars were placed onto the front, and only a few were gone, hard glue left in their spots.
Bella's laid limply in your hands. You pause at the sight of it, brushing the top of it with your palm. You hang it up.
It sits in between Charlie's and yours, multiple 'BELLS' written out with a dark sharpie. A small smile makes its way onto your face.
When you were a little older than 6, you and Bella were left alone together often, as Renee and Charlie argued more and more. During which, you had easily convinced her that her name was just Bells.
You put your small hand on her shoulder. "Why do you think Dad always calls you that?"
Successful, Bella had nodded furiously at you. You continued to pull out both stockings and told her that she should practice writing her real name. She nodded again and you left to grab the glue. When you came back, you couldn't wipe the grin off your face.
