Six Feet Under | Full Version on Inkitt

Chapter 3

Ten years earlier:

No matter how cold it got, December has always been my favorite month of the year.

The cheerful lights filling the streets, the family gatherings, and the Christmas songs that foretold that Santa Claus was coming to town were all enough to melt my little heart, even if the temperature outside was below zero.

When I was a kid, I used to long for thanksgiving. Not because of the delicious turkey my mother used to make but because a few days after it, my father would always take me on a trip to the woods so that we could pick and cut our own Christmas tree. And throughout the month, our house always smelled of hot chocolate and freshly-baked muffins. And I loved when we would all sit by the fireplace and think of how to decorate the tree and list down everything we needed to get done before Christmas.

Everything about December was like a hymn sung to my soul, filling it with warmth. Until it wasn't...

It took one dreadful night for all of December's warmth to vanish, leaving nothing behind but the frigid coldness that so often mirrored my heart. It was the night I lost both my parents when their car swerved because of the snow and fell into a frozen lake.

I was still in junior high school when it happened. My grandmother did everything she could to save some of that December warmth I once loved so much. But all her efforts couldn't change the fact that everything had already changed to the point of no return. And one day, she stopped trying at all...

Doctors diagnosed her with dementia, and there were days when she didn't even remember who I was. And from then on, I have gotten used to facing December's merciless coldness all on my own...

And now, another December had come with a flood of memories I wished I could erase forever. Unfortunately, though, the human brain wasn't equipped with a delete button. So I decided to seek the closest thing possible; spending Christmas eve at some bar and getting drunk until dawn. My fellow companions in this perfect plan were, of course, Connor and Aiden.

Obviously, seventeen-year-olds weren't allowed to drink—not to mention that it was illegal too. However, with a sly grin, Connor assured us that he had everything covered. And he indeed lived up to his words when he brought us three fake identity cards that showed that we were of legal age. The most ironic thing, though, was that Connor's dad was a police officer, and if he had found out, we would have been screwed.

Our great scheme was all set after we decided to go to a bar on the outskirts of town where the locals rarely hung out. Besides, it was Christmas eve. Most people were going to spend it at their homes with their families, leaving only the loners, losers, and complicated wrecks just like ourselves to spend it at some crappy bar. So yeah, we were confident that nobody would recognize us.

After I made sure my grandmother was deeply asleep after taking her medications, I snuck out of the house and met with Connor and Aiden. Then we took a cab to the bar.

Everything was going smoothly and according to plan. But, once we arrived, I started getting consumed by an uneasy feeling—as if a part of me knew that this night wasn't going to end well. Of course, we had our fair share of wild nights before; we used to drink beer and get drunk at parties all the time. But I knew this night would be different; we were crossing so many lines that it was hard to count.

My train of thought was interrupted by a whistling sound, and a light punch from Connor meant to grab my attention.

"Look at this babe, Erin," he said, gesturing to a luxurious Cadillac from which a man—whose whole look screamed money—got out.

He wore a tailored suit, had a well-groomed appearance, and seemed to be around the fifth decade. I wondered why a man like him would be spending Christmas eve all by himself at a lousy bar rather than in the comfort of his— most likely fancy—home.