There’s no good option.
At least you’ll get some of those ridiculous rental car expenses back.
But when you pull up to the lot, the lights are off. A sign in the window tells you they’re “closed for the holiday.”
Awesome.
Where the fuck are you going to find parking in the city on Christmas Day?
The End.
You press the red button on your bed that you assume calls the nurse, then press it again several more times. A few seconds later a harried-looking middle-aged woman huffs through the door, shelf-of-boob heaving under peppermint-striped scrubs.
“What’s…going on…here?”
“This man attacked me!” you yell, pointing at hitchhiker-Santa.
“Oh, my, no,” he says. All the evil has drained from his voice, and his eyes are wide and imploring. The nurse looks back and forth between you, frowning.
“He threw a bedpan at my face! It was full; he…”
“Oh no, no. I would never. Though I’ll admit, clumsy me, I did knock over his bedpan when I set down my sack of toys for the sick children.”
“Oh, Freddy, when are you going to learn to buy smaller gifts?” She smiles indulgently at the evil Santa. Dammit, she’s chosen team Freddy.
“I feel just terrible. Here, let me help.” He leans over, dabbing at your face with a towel. His eyes look so sincere; you almost start to wonder whether it was an accident.
“It’s fine. If you could just help me to the shower, nurse.” You push the Santa away. He stumbles back exaggeratedly, like you shoved hard. The nurse glares. Oh fine, blame the victim.
“Freddy wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she whispers in your ear as she helps you up. You feel your own urine drip down your spine. Jesus, gross.
“But I’m certain I saw him…”
“We have you on a lot of medication, hon. I’m sure it seemed like that, but I promise, it was a mistake. You were confused, is all.”
“Oh.” You frown. Looking at Freddy now, smiling at the pair of you, it’s hard to believe he would do that. And he is spending Christmas volunteering for sick kids.
Maybe you were wrong?
“Well, I should go,” Freddy says. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” You look at him. He’s staring at you. “MERRRRRRRYYY Christmas.” He winks leeringly, sticking up a middle finger.
“Oh, COME ON!”
But the nurse didn’t see. He disappears out the door.
You knew you were right about hitchhikers.
The End.
You’re not wrong—she, at least, was being wildly inappropriate—but it’s not worth spending the rest of an already incredibly stressful holiday fighting with the one person in the house that likes you. Sometimes.
“I’m sorry,” you say between gritted teeth. “I didn’t mean to overreact. I just get so…” What would Lindsi accept as an excuse? “…jealous when I see you with another guy.”
Her look of icy scorn immediately melts. She actually looks kinda horny.
“I get that. I’m sorry I made you jealous. You know me, I don’t even think about that stuff. I’m friendly with everybody.”
“Totally.” If by “everybody,” Lindsi means everyone with a dick, it’s a pretty fair assessment.
“So now that we’re made up, Steve has nowhere to be for Christmas, and I really hoped we could invite him over.”
“Oh.”
“I won’t if you have a problem,” she says. “But I thought since you’re being so understanding, you’d get it. He’s alone, and his parents don’t even cook; he needs somewhere to go. Especially since…you know, his hand.”
Well, fuck, how can you argue with a prosthetic hand?
“Okay, sure,” you say.
“Thanks, sweetie.” Lindsi leans across to kiss your cheek. “You’re the best.”
• • •
The family has barely made it downstairs Christmas morning when the doorbell rings. Before anyone can answer, Steve sticks his head inside.
Of course he’s in full Santa regalia.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! MERRRRRRYY Christmas!” he bellows. Lindsi’s nieces shriek in excitement. Even Jimmy almost-smiles. Mom’s beaming.
“Steve! This is the best Christmas gift I can think of,” Dad shouts.
Lars walks over and hugs him.
“Hey, bro. We’ve missed you around here,” he says.
“I’ve missed you too. Especially you, Mrs. VanWhittington.” He smiles coyly as he pulls off his Santa gloves.
“Oh, Steve,” Lindsi’s mom giggles. Actually giggles. “You always were a charmer.”
The day wears on, but Steve’s welcome never seems to wear off. No one can get enough of his inane stories about when he was on the high school football team, like that wasn’t over a decade ago. He’s patting Dad on the back, twirling Mom in dance steps, pinching Lindsi’s cheeks…
All with his right hand. The “prosthetic” one.
It looks pretty damn realistic to you. With full range of motion. Especially when you see it sneak around the chairs at Christmas dinner to grab Lindsi’s ass.
She turns to Steve with a secret smile.
Goddammit, you should have never apologized.
The End. Possibly of a lot of things.
Fuck if you’re apologizing. She was the one all over a mall Santa.
“Just so you know,” Lindsi says as she pulls into the driveway. “I don’t think you should come tonight.” She doesn’t look at you. Her lips are white, they’re so pursed.
“To what?”
“To caroling. And mass. Our family traditions.”
“Come on, Linds.” You follow her into the kitchen. “Your family will think it’s rude if I don’t come. Don’t overreact even more.”
She turns to you, eyes bugging so wide it looks like someone burned off the lids with a laser. Over her shoulder you see Mom enter the room. Lindsi turns at the sound of her footsteps, then looks back at you, a tight, triumphant smile curling her lips.
“It would be hypocritical for you to come to church with us, since you’re an atheist.”
Mom squeaks in what sounds like actual shock and bustles away, hand over her mouth. Lindsi’s grin gets even more shit-eating.
“You know I don’t really care if your family knows I’m an atheist, right? That’s just true. If it’s a problem for anyone, it’s not going to be me.”
“Yeah, well…that’s just…SAD,” Lindsi sputters. “Enjoy your Christmas Eve alone. Jesus won’t be praying for you.” She storms out, hair twitching behind her like an epileptic fit.
Getting out of church is a bonus, but you’re too pissed at Lindsi for the mall, and for trying to fuck you over with her family, to focus on that.
* * *
If you want to pour yourself a drink right this second, go HERE.
If you’d rather go out to a bar, so you don’t have to stay in this place one fucking second longer, go HERE.
This is too much. You can’t keep taking the blame for Lindsi’s frankly ridiculously inappropriate sex drive.
“Can I just say, I had nothing to do with this.”
Mom sniffs.
“I was waiting to get processed—because all we’re talking about is a fine—and Lindsi came and basically attacked me.” You turn to Lindsi. “I think you need to set better boundaries, Linds. This is getting to be a problem.”
She slaps you across the face and wrenches herself off your lap, throwing your back out a little further. A parting “fuck you.”
Now both Lindsi and her mom are wearing the same look of disgust. Sort of like someone smeared dog shit on their upper lips and the scent’s just hit. They turn and walk out together, leaving you alone in the cell.
“Lindsi, wait,” you call after her retreating form. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I—”
“Good luck with the drunk tank,” she yells down the hallway.
What could she possibly mean by that?
* * *
Click HERE to con
tinue.
Just play it cool.
“Oh, Lindsi thought she could provide some moral support. That’s why she was…massaging my back. Because of the injury.”
Mom sniffs in elaborate disdain.
“Her weight keeps me from hyperextending the muscle while she works the knot.” Jesus, are those even words?
Luckily, Mom is too disgusted to wait around for more of your elaborately flimsy story. She walks away in a huff, and you and Lindsi follow.
• • •
You wake up in the middle of the night to someone attacking you.
“Ahhh, no,” you whimper, flailing around. The attacker pins your wrists down.
“It’s me,” Lindsi hisses. “Shut up, Mom will hear.”
You blink, confused. Forget Mom; you’re sharing this room with cousin Jimmy.
“I thought we could finish what we started at the police station.” Lindsi leans in to nibble your ear. Despite Jimmy lying mere feet away, you feel yourself start to get hard.
“No, you have to go.”
Lindsi starts pulling your pajama bottoms off with her teeth. “Seems like you want me here.”
“My back. It’s spasming. And someone could come by. They could catch us again.”
“Don’t be a wimp,” Lindsi says.
“No, really.” You’re getting desperate. You think you hear creaking down the hall. Someone could be coming. You cannot lie for Lindsi again. Think. THINK! “I think the uh, punch, really messed something up. I hit him pretty hard, threw my whole body behind it. I can’t do this; I’ll do serious damage.”
“Uhhhhh,” Lindsi moans, caressing your chest with her hair. Fuck, you’ve said the one thing guaranteed to make her more horny.
But then she pushes back off you.
“I’ll just have to wait, then. Prepare yourself. It’s gonna be nasty.”
She tiptoes out of the room, stopping at the door to growl at you. Jesus.
Seconds later you see Mom’s silhouette in the doorway. You can’t make out her face in the dimness, but you’re certain she’s sneering.
Whatever, she has no evidence. You silently congratulate yourself on the narrow escape as she plods back down the hall.
But you can still hear something. It’s quiet, but insistent.
Fap-fap-fap. Fap. FAPFAPFAPFAPFAP.
Oh Jesus.
It’s Jimmy. Masturbating. And moaning.
You pull your pillow over your ears and try to go to sleep.
* * *
Click HERE to continue.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”
Mom’s voice rings through the hallways as people bustle out of bed. You yawn, stretch, and pull a sweater over your pajamas. You actually feel mildly cheery. After all, you found that great gift for Lindsi, and she let you put your name on all those things she bought. This won’t be so bad. Everyone’s happy on Christmas.
You head to the living room and find a spot on the floor next to Lindsi. After the kids open a few presents, you pass yours to her.
“I got you something,” you whisper.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” She nuzzles her head into your shoulder. Mom looks at you…indulgently. Awesome. This plan is working perfectly.
“Let’s just hope it’s not a sweater,” Mom says with a laugh.
“Oh my god, right?” Lindsi giggles as she pulls the ribbon. You frown at Lars.
“One year Lindsi brought home a boyfriend and he got her this hideous cashmere sweater,” he says, grinning.
“It was terrible,” Lindsi rips through the paper. It’s too late to stop her. “It’s like he’d never even met…”
She pulls the sweater out of the box. In this light, it looks especially pucey.
“Oh. Thank you,” she says mechanically.
“There’s a gift receipt…somewhere,” you mumble. No one is making eye contact with you anymore. You never should have tried to be nice.
“There is another present,” Jimmy says, voice like a hospital monitor flatlining. “It is addressed to you,” he says, depositing it in your lap. “From Lindsi.”
Lindsi frowns, but you don’t notice it. You’re too eager to distract from the massive failure of your gift.
“That’s so nice of you, sweetie. I know we were planning on exchanging our real gifts at home, but I should’ve known you’d go out of your way to make me feel like part of the—”
You pull out a set of leather straps, frowning.
“OH!”
Mom seems to have made the connection before you have.
Now that you’re looking more closely, though, you see it: a leather bondage suit, the crisscrossing straps clearly too flimsy to cover anything meaningful. And there’s a massive black dildo attached to the crotch.
Huh. Lindsi never told you she was into pegging.
* * *
If you want to fall on your sword to make it up to Lindsi, go HERE.
If Lindsi’s going to have to take the fall for this one—because seriously, fetish gear at family Christmas?—go HERE.
A few minutes later, the scrawny deputy comes in. An ample-bellied, impressively moustached man in late middle age is behind him. He’s wearing a flat-brimmed tan hat and aviators, even though you’re inside, in the winter.
“I’ll take it from here,” he says, grabbing the papers from the deputy. The deputy nods nervously and scurries away.
“Follow me, son.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the holding pen. This cell we gotta keep open in case of major crimes.”
“Major…? Wait, why am I…I was told I’d pay a fine and—”
“You need to stop interrupting me, son, or you’ll be in a world of pain.”
He glares at you over mirrored lenses. You gulp back your words.
“I spoke to my friend Mrs. VanWhittington just now, and once I heard what happened down at the mall, I agreed with her. You need to cool off. Lindsi’s safety is at stake.”
“Lindsi’s…wait a second, it wasn’t like that. Lindsi—”
“Here we are. Enjoy the night.” He pushes you into what’s clearly the drunk tank, laughing as he locks the door.
It’s still early evening, but already a few alcoholics are sharing the space with you.
The entire room smells vaguely of stale piss. A guy with a red clown nose and wilting antlers is vomiting all around the tin toilet in the corner, mostly missing the bowl with his creamy-looking splatter. In the corner, a skinny man with a totally disproportionate gut has pulled his pants off entirely to sleep, limp dick rattling with every snore.
You sit down gingerly on a bench near the cell entrance, hoping against hope you’re not in a puddle of anything. Hours pass, and eventually you slip into a nervous half-sleep.
This is easily the third-worst Christmas you’ve ever had.
• • •
You wake up to the sound of violent vomiting.
At least it’s a different guy this time; Rudolph seems to have passed out next to Free Willy in the corner.
You rattle the bars until someone comes over.
“Am I free to go now?”
“Name?”
You give it.
“Uh, yeah,” the woman on the other side says, frowning deeply. “You weren’t even supposed to be in overnight.”
Awesome.
You head to the front desk to check out. The same weedy deputy is there.
“Before you go, someone left this for you,” he says, producing a small, beautifully wrapped box. The tag on top tells you it’s from Lindsi.
Thank god. At least you won’t have to deal with her still being angry when you get back.
“She said you should open it here,” the deputy squeaks. You comply.
Inside is a rock with a rubber band around it. No, wait…it’s a lump of coal. Where did she get an actual lump of coal?
The rubber band is holding a note in place. You pull it off.
“My Christmas present to myself is dumpi
ng you. Merry merry! <3, Lindsi.”
You close your eyes against this new indignity.
The deputy leans over to look at your gift.
“Oooh,” he says, voice cracking as he laughs. “Burned.”
You’d tell him to fuck himself, but that could mean another night in the drunk tank.
The End.
As soon as everyone leaves for caroling, you head to the fridge. All they have is beer and wine, but you’re not picky. You grab an IPA and head to the couch.
You turn on the TV, flipping through channels, hoping to find something you recognize. One of the local stations is showing the old Grinch cartoon. You loved that as a kid. You still love it. You settle back and turn up the volume.
Half an hour later the show finishes, but they follow with Home Alone. This station is nailing it. With no one around, the house is actually pretty pleasant. Relaxing. This is the kind of Christmas you wanted. If it were always like this, you wouldn’t even make plans to escape.
The family dog, Toodles, comes up and nudges your knee with his graying muzzle. You’ve always liked golden retrievers. They’re so easy. They don’t get bitchy, or flirt with their exes publicly, or try to fuck you over with their moms. No, golden retrievers are the perfect…
Wait, what’s that coming out of Toodles’s mouth? It looks like foam.
Fuck, did Toodles catch rabies? Et tu, Toodles?
You back up on the couch as Toodles starts to convulse. Soon he’s rolled over on the floor, his whole body twitching. You hear a choking sound. Rabies doesn’t make dogs seize and choke, does it?
How do you save a choking dog?
The only first aid training you’ve received was back in sixth grade, when your mom made you take that babysitter’s safety class in order to stay home with your sister. Are you supposed to…sweep the mouth, maybe? For foreign objects?
Choose Your Own Misery Page 25