Her Name Was December

Day 13

When Greyson woke up on December 31st, his body felt as heavy as a brick. A restless night filled with thoughts of December left him with various blankets and bedsheets strewn across the floor and crumpled up into balls at the foot of his bed. Sunlight creeped in through the curtains to illuminate the mess he had made in a rage of rejection and heartache. Papers with half written letters were crushed into balls and littered across his desk and across the carpet; eventually he gave up on using the trash can. He wished he could say that he hadn't cried, but there were more tissues scattered around the room than he'd like to admit.

He groaned and pulled a blanket over his body lazily, flipping onto his stomach and wrapping his arms around his pillow to bury his face in it. He did not want to face the day. Shame for being so torn up over December's rejection took over, and the wreck his bedroom had become was a display of his embarrassment. He wished more than anything that he could lessen his emotion, to stop his brain from making every little issue feel like the end of the world.

He was prepared to spend the entire day amidst the blankets. He relaxed and let his body melt into the mattress, closing his eyes and willing himself to drift off back into the safety of sleep. Just as he was about to fall into rest, he heard an exaggerated gasp come from the doorway.

"Oh, honey!" he heard his mother cry. "What happened to you?" Jenn's weight was pressed into the bed next to him, and her hand reached out to his shoulder in a motherly fashion.

"...Mom?" Greyson mumbled, turning toward her. A daze of sleepiness clouded over his eyes and left his voice deep and raspy. "How'd you get in here?"

"Greyson, dear. Leaving your spare key under your welcome mat is probably the worst idea you've ever had." She smiled warmly and giggled, eyebrows still furrowed in concern. Her eyes wandered the chaos the room had become. The bright light of noon streamed in from the window, but the room's atmosphere felt dark and bleak.

Greyson pulled himself up and leaned against the headboard, rubbing his eyes. His mother's dark, brunette hair was pulled up into a clip on the back of her head, too thin and weak to do much else. That's bound to happen when you've worked fifteen years at a hair salon. Endless dying and styling had done a deal to her hair.

"What happened, Grey? Looks like a tornado passed through here." she asked him, running her thumb over his shoulder. Greyson swiped her hand away, shaking his head. Jenn sighed and crossed her hands in her lap, dialing back her motherly instincts a few notches. She sometimes had to remind herself that her little boy was 19, now. "It's the girl, isn't it? These are girl tears." she said, nodding in realization.

"What does that even mean?" Greyson asked. He tried to shake the sleep off, along with the sadness. Standing up, he grabbed a pair of sweatpants, hopping across the room on one foot as he quickly tried to pull them up over his boxers before his mom saw too much.

"Just tell me what happened with December." Jenn pleaded.

Greyson's heart fell at the sound of her name, his chest feeling empty. He walked around the room groggily, picking up tissues and papers and various other things he didn't remember throwing around the night before. "Nothing happened." he said, keeping his back turned to hide his face.

His mother crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows and gesturing around the room. "I don't believe you for a second." she told him. Across the room, Greyson tensed up, his hand clenched into a fist around one of the many letters he'd written the night before. The bed creaked as Jenn stood up. She hugged him behind even though he didn't return the favor. He stood stiff as his mother held him around the waist, standing at least six inches shorter than him. He'd inherited his height from his father, but he wasn't around to show for it.

"You love her, don't you?" Jenn asked.

Greyson held a handful of unfinished letters in his hand, each graced with the same beautiful name in the opening line. He pictured December in his head, with pale skin and a delicate jaw that he could have sworn was sculpted by angels. Her cryptic gray eyes were simply mystifying, and it was now more than ever that he wanted to get lost in them and peel back every layer of protection this girl had built for herself. After a moment's hesitation, he whispered under his breath, "Yeah... I do."

His mother smiled a wide smile and turned him to face her. She reached up and took his face in her hands, whispering, "Then you've got to fight."

* * *

Greyson's living room couch was possibly more comfortable than his bed. He was sprawled out over the old thing, one leg reaching up and over the back of it, the other outstretched along the length of the sofa. He was still clad in his sweatpants and dusk brought him no reason to change. He leaned against the side of the couch; armed with his second can of cola in one hand and the television remote in the other. He took great pride in his ability to multitask.

His mother had left hours ago. After finding her way in to say hello and discovering her son bathing in a pool of his own despair, she gave a quick therapy session and hurried out the door to make it to some family New Years party Greyson refused to go to. He was a bit of a hermit. To him, family could be a bore. Reality television was the only friend he needed.

Dr. Phil's voice echoed through the speakers; he was inevitably working people through some shit they hated each other for. Greyson wasn't completely sure, though; his mind seemed to shift to December too often for him to pick up on the drama on Dr. Phil.

He'd admitted that he was in love with her, and that was hard for him to wrap his head around. He didn't think he'd ever been in love before. What is love supposed to feel like? Whenever she was around, he kinda wanted to puke up everything he'd eaten in the last 24 hours; he knew that much.

Suddenly, Greyson heard a knock at the door. He groaned and set his soda down, raking a hand through his hair. The floorboards creaked as he made his way to the door where the person behind it was knocking again. Greyson took his time, opening the door with a hand in his pants pocket.

On the other side, Michael stood with who Greyson could only assume was Natalie under his arm. Her vibrant pink hair matched the winding colors of the sunset. Behind them stood five or six other people, some of which Greyson recognized from high school and some he didn't. Mike's shaggy blonde hair was pulled back with a bandanna, and he wore glasses with "2014" written across the lenses in neon lights.

Mike shot Greyson his trademark sideways grin. "Hey man!" he said. He held a beer toward the sky, shouting, "Happy New Year!"