Merry Christmas, Kiss My Ass

Ciaran hated Christmas with his family.

He had always been the odd one out with them, and he saw them so little he hardly took time to remember their names. He did that with a lot of people, in all honesty.

Sullivan, Ruairi…. Sullivan, Ruairi…

It was useless, he didn’t really want to remember the names anyway. They had always looked at him like an outcast; with his spreading corruption, it was only becoming worse.

That’s how he sat in his mother’s living room, staring at the clock to avoid having to look at his brothers. His eyes were following the hands as he tapped his finger in time to the ticking.

“You know, if you took off that stupid jacket, maybe people would like you,” His older brother, Sullivan, sneered at him.

“You know, if you were a nicer person, maybe your girlfriend wouldn’t have cheated on you,” Ciaran shot back without even looking.

“Leave yer brother alone, Ciaran!” His mother yelled from the kitchen.

“He fucking started it, ma!” Ciaran yelled back.

“I don’t care who starts it and who ends it, ya’ instigated it! Ignore him if ya’ need to, god knows I do!”

Ciaran folded his arms and grovelled slightly. His brothers talked to each other; with a few passing glances in Ciaran’s general direction.

Ciaran started tapping his foot in a mix of anger and slight anxiety of being watched. He hadn’t felt truly nervous in a very long time, but being here always made him feel like shit, especially before the corruption.

At some point, where it all got a little too much, Ciaran stood up and took himself to the kitchen, where his mother was cooking, “Ma?”

“What’s up, dear?” His mother didn’t look at him.

“When’s food gonna be ready?”

His mother hummed as she thought, “It’ll be ‘bout an hour still, why’s that?”

“I’m gonna go out and get some fresh air for a bit, that alright?”

“Of course it is!” His mother smiled slightly, still not fully looking at him, “Just be back for dinner, alright?”

“Can do, ma.”

Ciaran turned around, walking towards the front door of the house.

“Where ya’ going, K?” His younger brother asked in a sickly sweet tone.

“For a walk?” Ciaran spat, “Is that an issue to you?”

“What kinda loser goes on a walk at Christmas instead of spending it with his family?” The older brother laughed, “That being said, you are a loser.”

“Kinda person who doesn’t want to hear you complain about your girlfriend being a cunt,” Ciaran sneered, opening the door “Y’know, with your shit personality, she was pretty right to leave.”

Before he could face the downfall, he slammed the door shut behind him, breathing out in a sigh of what could be considered relief.

God, he hated the holidays.

Walking down the street with a huff, he pulled his trench coat around him tighter. He fucking hated the holidays — he found no fucking joy in it. He hadn’t for a while. The best part of it was that it was cold enough that no one questioned his fashion choices.

He walked from his mother’s small house into the small town she lived by — everything here was small, really — and took his time to meander around the shops. Most were running on empty due to last minute Christmas shopping. He wasn’t planning to buy anyway, so it was no issue to him.

He had stopped at a particularly interesting shop, at least to him, and took his time to look at the magic books on display. They even had a few emotion magic ones, for collection purposes only, of course.

As he was looking through the window, he heard it.

A scream for help.

This wouldn’t be particularly surprising to Ciaran, and he usually wouldn’t go and help; however, he had 45 minutes to spare.

He slowly walked to the end of the street, trying to follow the vague screams the best he could. They got louder, and louder, and when they were at their loudest, it was coming from a little alleyway between two shops.

Ciaran got closer to the wall, and then slowly peaked his head around the corner.

There was the source of the noise; it was three dudes, probably late teens, beating up on a younger teenage boy. What a sad sight, in all honesty.

Ciaran slowly thought through what he could do. If he took them by surprise, he could give the kid time to weasel away. Only issue then, it’s all focused on him.

He looked down at his hands.

He slowly took off his gloves. I mean, who’s going to notice anyway? Now all he needed was to surprise them, somehow. Pocketing them, he took one last moment to reflect.

He walked around the corner, “Hey, what’s going on in here?”

The boys stopped attacking for a moment, and one of them spoke up, “None of your business, man!”

Ciaran rocked on his feet, “You guys have made it the whole streets business, actually.”

“What are you, some kind of smart guy?”

Ciaran looked down for a second, seeing the kid crawling away slowly while the bullies were trained on him. He took this time to lean against the wall, hoping it would keep their attention for a little longer.

“I did graduate, which is more than you guys could say, I’m sure,” He laughed.

One of the other kids stormed up to him, “Listen here asshole!”

Ciaran leant forwards, “Do we really have to fight, hm?”

The younger kid hadn’t escaped the alleyway yet, just leaning against the wall like a deer caught in headlights. Hidden behind his back, Ciaran flicked his hand to try and signal them to just run.

What kind of idiot kid waits around to watch me get my ass kicked! I mean really—

Ciaran blanked completely as he felt a searing pain in his nose. He put his hand up to it, stumbling back slightly. He pulled his hand back.

Blood. Undeniable. Flecked with purple.

“Ugh,” Ciaran wiped up as much blood as he could, “Well, that was unexpected.”

“More where that came from, hero!”

Ciaran didn’t want any more.

“Don’t touch me,” Ciaran put his hands up, seeming to surrender, “I can leave.”

“Nah, you can’t leave now!”

He couldn’t tell which one of the boys said this.

The one who had punched him was around his height. That was somewhat worrying.

His collar was grabbed, and he was pulled closer to one of the boys. He could taste blood.

He lowered his hands.

“Let me go,” Ciaran mumbled.

“What kind of hero begs, huh?” Laughed the boy holding him.

He was punched around the side of the face by another boy.

“Let go.”

The laughing got louder. He took another hit to his face.

“I said let. Me. Go.”

The laughing suddenly stopped.

Ciaran had shoved his hand forwards. His hands turned from fingers into claws. The bully was bleeding onto him.

He pulled away, and they stumbled back, holding their bleeding stomach.

“I gave you a chance,” Ciaran smiled, laughing a little.

“What the fuck!” One of the bullies went to his friend, the other stayed near Ciaran.

“You want to fight? Fine, let’s get rough!”

Ciaran wiped the blood that had collected on his face, grimacing as it covered his hands. He pulled his gloves back over, reminding himself to wash them when he could.

“Thank you… for—“

Ciaran put up his hand, “I’m not your hero. Grow strong enough to fight your own battles, someone like me won’t always be here for you.”

There was silence.

“If you have the power, people stop fucking with you,” Ciaran started to walk off, “Get a sort of power that causes others to fear you. For now, go home.”

Ciaran didn’t realise he was hobbling slightly until he was away from the younger boy, when he let out a breath and let it all hurt. Fucking hell, it hurt. He hadn’t even realised his leg had been nicked until he looked down and saw the small tear and the blood seeping out.

He checked his phone, and sighed. He had 35 minutes to get home. He was happy that it didn't take as long as it felt like it did in his head. Well, it felt like it both took three hours and two seconds.

As he walked home, the people around stared at him like he was a grey alien walking the streets, mind you there weren't a lot. Still, he hid into his jacket collar slightly. That wouldn’t hide the bloody leg but it would hopefully hide his face.

The hobbling was getting old to him now, and he could feel the blood still trickling slowly down his leg. That didn’t matter right now, he could wrap it up when he got to his mum’s house.

That’s what he kept telling himself. As he walked and walked, all he kept in mind was that he could fix it when he got back.

When he got back…

The walk almost felt colder, but he assumed the adrenaline leaving him was causing it.

He was usually fine putting people in their places, but he was not one for physical fighting. It reminded him of… He pulled his jacket closer.

That was enough of that.

His eyes felt heavier, and walking forwards was like pulling his body through molasses.

As he saw his mum’s house come into his eye line, he internally breathed a sigh of relief.