The Christmas Dinner

TRIGGER WARNING: Substance use, mental health, suicidal/homicidal thoughts

The holidays were always the worst. Every year, John's family got together for Christmas so they could sit at a dining table and have his parent's compare him with his sister, Anna. Every year, he wanted to kill them all. Or himself. He hasn't made up his mind which one was preferable. Maybe both.

John clutched at his chest as his heart beat faster. Sweat prickled from his skin. He fumbled for a moment in his bag before finally drawing out his glass pipe, and his meth bag. After a moment of fumbling for the lighter, he took a drag and sighed as it all stopped mattering. Who the fuck did his parents think they were? And so what if his younger sister was finishing college for nursing? They're all fucking morons - John was like the next David Thoreau, living it rough intentionally - he had Einstein levels of intelligence that they could hardly fucking fathom. The whole lot of them? Unbelievably retarded. IQs which need to be brought up from the Mariana Trench. Nothing they say tonight matters - they're all beneath him. Imbecilic, pretentious, condescending retards who couldn't even fathom the depths of his godlike knowledge.

And today, he would let them know exactly what he thought of them.

John smiled to himself and gritted his teeth, throwing open the door of his dilapidated red 2000 Chevrolet Prizm, and crunching his boots into the crisp snow of his parent's driveway. One of his headlights were out and his drivers side window was broken - he had accidentally hit a brick mailbox in January. No doubt those facetious cunts would be talking about that tonight, too.

As he made his way to the door he couldn't help but to admire the Christmas decorations. The house was fully decked out - his parents had clearly spared no expense this year. Mossy green wreaths twinkled with christmas lights above each window, their bright red ribbons flowing gently in the crisp winter air. Light strips adorned every line of the facade, glittering with alternating white, red, and green bulbs which illuminated the sprinkling snow. And of course, the tree was visible thanks to the open blinds of the living room, glittering with ornaments of every color, and adorned with a proudly glittering crystal star on top.

John's keys jingled as he sought the key for the front door. He fumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as each key refused to fit. Nope, not that one. He tried the next. DAMN IT! With pursed lips he pushed his last key to the lock, jamming it in with all of his arm's strength. The lock clicked into the unlocked position. With shaking hands and a final glance outside, he slunk into the warm embrace of the foyer.

The sound of music and mirth. The smell of cooking steak. The brightness of the glittering lights. The taste of sweat. The tightness in his chest. A myriad of mixed feelings flushed through him as he shut the door. "John!" It was John's father. Before John could process his appearance, he had pulled him into a tight hug. John gripped the keys in his pocket with bruising intensity.

"Hi dad." John mumbled as he hugged him back. John's smile did not wrinkle the corners of his eyes.

"It's been so long! Let me get a look at you…" John's stomach shifted uncomfortably as his dad took a step back. "You've lost weight! Have you been working out?"

"Y-yeah," John said while averting his eyes. "Something like that."

The evening passed so quickly. Before he knew it, dinner was being served. Mom had gone all out - she had prepared corn and green bean casseroles, ham, cranberry sauce, and bread rolls with honey butter. The velvet tablecloth adorned the dining room table, the silver cutlery perfectly arranged. John's stomach twisted tighter each passing minute. Like the wax running down the dining room candles, sweat beaded down his face.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Anna asked lowly, her brow furrowing.

"YES!" He shouted, slamming his fist on the table. Silence. Everyone was staring at him.

"I-I mean yes! Everything is okay Anna, thanks for asking." John's face felt hot. He chuckled nervously, trying to break the tension. Gradually, everyone resumed eating.

"So, how's school going John?" his dad asked.

"It's going fine."

"Have you decided on a major yet?" he asked.

"No, not yet."

A moment of silence passed over the table. His mom smiled at him. "It's alright, it took quite a while for me to figure out my major when I went to college." What does it matter, you never ended up using it for anything, John thought to himself.

"Same situation for me. I switched majors a few times too. Anna, you switched majors a couple of times before settling on nursing, right?" His dad asked.

That son of a fucking bitch, John thought. John stood so abruptly his chair flew back behind him, causing him to nearly stumble and fall over with it. His face burned with humiliated rage.

"DON'T FUCKING COMPARE ME TO ANNA!"

Everyone was staring at him again in shock. "I- I wasn't-", his dad began.

John wouldn't let him get another word in. He threw down his utensils and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. His feet crunched in the snow as he made his way to his car.

"Wait!" It was his father. John stopped in the snow and turned around. John sneered at him. His father sighed heavily. "Please come back inside. I wasn't comparing you to your sister. Can we talk about it?"

John hesitated, and his chest tightened even more. He didn't want to go back inside. His father shifted his weight from side to side. "I don't want to."

His father opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked down, sniffling. "Okay… okay… I love you, alright? We don't have to talk right now, but please call me later…?"

A moment of silence passed between them. And, without another word, John turned and went to his car. His phone vibrated. Three unread messages. John picked up his pipe, and hesitated.