Travis threw back the covers irritatedly and huffed a breath of frustration as he slammed his arms down at his sides. He pressed his eyes closed and shook his head in disbelief at another completely sleepless night. His body was drenched from hot flashes, courtesy of the chronic pain that wracked his body. He tried to force himself to relax, his hands gripped in the sheets he lay upon, as he waited for the ceiling fan he used even in early December to dry the perspiration from his body.
He could hear the soft hum of Scotty’s television on the other side of the house. He’d tried sleeping with the television on. He’d even put it on the Disney Channel, thinking how brutal could a Disney show get? It’d be easy to sleep through. But he’d been shocked into wakefulness anyway after only a few precious minutes of sleep. Seems one of the Disney channel actresses had a voice very much like a certain someone that was never, ever far from his thoughts. Hearing that voice had jerked him awake, and made him hurt all over again when he realized she wasn’t here, and he had no one to blame but himself.
“No more fucking Disney Channel at night,” he mumbled, sitting up and turning to place his foot on the floor. Travis looked down at the stump of his leg, which now consisted of from just below the knee joint and up. It never stopped throbbing. And there were times he could swear the limb was still there. The feelings of the skin burning, of the bones shattering, were as real as when the injury occurred. He reached for the prosthetic he wore each and every day, and began the process of attaching it securely to his leg. “May as well get something done,” he mumbled to himself as he rose from the bed to pull his pants on.
Travis walked into the kitchen and started his first pot of coffee. When he opened his cabinet to get a coffee cup, he grabbed the first one he saw. But, as he closed the cabinet door, his eyes fell on another sitting closer to the back of the shelf. He opened the cabinet again and slowly reached for the brightly colored mug. He set the first one back on the shelf and smiled as he looked down at the mug he now held. It was in the shape of portly Santa Claus, with a black beard and red eyes, though his red outfit was true to tradition. Emblazoned across his belt was the name ‘Satan Clause’ instead of Santa Claus.
Travis held the mug in two hands and brought it closer to his face. He sniffed the mug, knowing full well that there was no scent of the woman that had given it to him, but he tried anyway. Travis closed his eyes and was back in the living room of his home, on that first Christmas he was back from overseas. He could hear them laughing outside as they got out of the car. He could hear the click of the doorknob as Libby opened the door, and he could see the joy on her face as she stepped through the door, her arms loaded with packages, yet still looking over her shoulder to be sure that Scotty was right behind her.
“We’re back!” she singsonged.
“Weren’t gone long,” Travis grumbled.
“We’ve been gone about seven hours! That’s a long time to go Christmas shopping!” Libby answered.
“Told you before you left it wasn't necessary,” Travis answered. He noticed her smile falter briefly, and though somewhere deep inside it tugged at his guilt, it wasn’t enough to make him back off.
“It is necessary. We’ve waited a long time for you to be home with us at Christmas,” Libby said. “Once the tree is up and all the gifts are under it, you’ll feel more like yourself.”
Travis had turned to leave the living room, but when she spoke of a tree and feeling more like himself, he reached out and grabbed the recliner next to him to steady himself as he spun to answer her with a snarl. “What is going to make you understand? I will never be whoever it is you thought I was! I don’t want a goddamn tree, I don’t want to celebrate Christmas. I just want to be fucking left alone. You have no place here. Go!”
Libby had looked at him silently for long minutes, and he’d have sworn he could both hear