A Christmas for Morrie (Red Door Holidays #1)
1. Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Morrie
A t some point I was going to have to do something about the brown stain spreading over the ceiling of my bedroom.
It stretched outwards from the corner above my closet, spreading across the roof like someone had dropped a cup of coffee and this splotch was the result. I didn’t even know when it had started, but now it was all that I could see whenever I turned the light on in here. I frowned as I stood in front of the cracked mirror on the closet door, eyeing the spread of coffee brown above my head. It probably had something to do with the winter that was blustering through, but we had deep winters every year here in Alberta and I didn’t remember noticing this stain last year. That was a bit concerning. Shingles did need replacing every so often though and my landlord wasn’t really into doing much to repair this dump. The shoddily patched holes in the living room walls and the old, brown threadbare carpets that ran throughout the place reminded me every day that I wasn’t exactly living in the lap of luxury here.
I sighed as I adjusted the shirt I wore, staring at my reflection as best as I could through the long thin cracks that slivered through the mirror in front of me. At some point in the history of this top floor apartment a fist had been put through it, and it had never been replaced despite being listed as “needs repair” on my move in walkthrough a couple of years ago. I hummed as I picked at the edge of the shiny red fabric on my chest, my eyes wary in my reflection in the mirror as the glittery threads woven into it caught the dim light of the lamp beside me to sparkle faintly. I didn’t like that sparkle. That shine was obvious and would call attention to me that I didn’t want or need tonight. With a frown, I grabbed my phone and opened my messages, firing off a text to my best friend Perry.
I can’t wear this.
Perry responded immediately with an admonishment that it was just a shirt and it would be fine, but he couldn’t possibly understand that it was so more than that to me. On the front was a big technicolor cartoon shark with a Santa hat, googly eyes and comically large teeth. Though I loved it and had been overwhelmed with joy when he’d gifted it to me, I felt more naked and exposed now than I had before I’d put it on. The shine of it and the way it highlighted things I desperately wanted to keep secret rumbled my stomach and I fingered the edge of it, looking down at the cartoon on the front. Even the shine felt like it was too much for me and I dropped my phone to my mattress, pulling the shirt off my body. I opened the closet to drop it into some hidden corner where it could be forgotten, relief pooling inside me. I reached out and plucked a plain black v-neck off a hanger, sliding into it instead.
“Better,” I whispered to myself as I smoothed out the soft jersey fabric, like I needed to be reminded of what I knew was acceptable. The shark shirt would be advertising what I was on the inside and I wasn’t ready for everyone to know that yet. They assumed anyway, most likely, but saying it out loud was a whole different thing. I indulged the piece of me I didn't talk about while playing blocks and coloring with Perry in the booth he snagged for us on Saturday nights at the club whenever I was off work. That was good enough. It had to be good enough. I had to draw a line somewhere and the shark shirt was it.
My phone dinged with a message from Perry, letting me know he was right outside the building waiting for me. He never came up to my apartment, not because he didn’t want to, but because I didn’t want him to see the place I called home. In the two years since we’d met, my best friend had never been up to see where I lived and I liked it that way. It was bad enough he could see the crumbling outside of the place, he didn’t need the visual of the inside with the holes and cracks in the hallways, creaking staircases and flickering lights. He definitely wouldn't understand the cluttered tables and stacks of books in the corners of my living room, or the pile of clothing and trinkets strewn about my bedroom. Perry would probably think the whole place was haunted, but I knew the only ghosts that haunted these halls were the people who hung around the third floor corridors, high on some kind of drug with the scent of alcohol and decay clinging to their skin.
I avoided the third floor as much as I could.
I flicked off the bedside lamp and made my way to the tiny kitchen area that opened into my small, messy living room to grab my things. I grabbed my wallet from where it sat on the couch and rifled through it, searching for the two plastic cards I needed for tonight. Plucking them both out from the beaten leather that held them in place, I slid my ID into my back pocket along with my membership card to The Red Door, an exclusive members only club. It was the only thing I bought for myself outside of the items I needed to stay alive and I scraped together my pennies every year to make sure I had enough to afford it. My restaurant dishwasher paycheck wasn’t much, but it was enough that I wasn’t starving to death and I had a roof over my head at night, even if parts of the roof were turning brown for some reason. Saving up for my membership to The Red Door was something I had budgeted carefully for, and picking up extra shifts whenever I could made it easier to afford.
I grabbed the black winter jacket I’d bought at the local thrift store a few years back off the hook by the door and put it on, my one thumb getting caught in a small tear inside one of the sleeves. I frowned as I pulled my arm back out, then slid it back into the jacket, taking care to tuck my thumb in this time. A new winter coat was on the list for this year, even though buying that meant I would have to pull money from a different part of my budget for it. Jacket finally on properly, I slid into my worn in black canvas sneakers before turning to take one last glance around my apartment and grabbed my cell phone from the basket by the door. I wasn’t sure why I always did that but every time I left home, I paused for a moment before walking out of the door to make sure that everything was safe. It wasn’t like I had much to steal. Outside of the mess and clutter, the living room consisted of a lumpy futon and a smaller TV that sat on a milk crate and the kitchen held just enough dishes to get me through one round of meals for the day. I had one pot and one frying pan to my name, nothing anyone would really break in to take on purpose.
I locked the door behind me and made a beeline to the stairs, stumbling my way down them as fast as I could. Shouting and laughter met my ears as I hit the threshold by the third floor and my heart raced like a rabbit in my chest. Doubling down on my speed, I raced down to the main level of the building and burst free into the chilly, clean night air.
Perry sat at the curb in his big silver SUV, a far cry from the snappy little red sports car he drove in the summers. It was strange being friends with someone who had money and I wasn’t sure why he’d decided that we were going to be friends in the first place. The first night we’d met at The Red Door, I had had my reservations when I saw the designer clothing he wore and the way he carried himself with confidence like he just knew he belonged there when I still wasn’t sure of my own self. Perry had proven himself loyal on more occasions than I could count though. If anyone would have told me five years ago when I aged out of the foster care system and found myself very much alone that the first friend I’d make as an adult would be Peregrine Carruthers, a boy born into one of the wealthiest families in this city, I would have called them a big fat liar.
“Looking hot,” Perry grinned as I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as he pulled away from the curb and headed for the streets of the city that didn’t feel quite as barren and dark as the row of brick covered low income rental apartment buildings I called home did.
The club was busier than usual tonight and as Perry and I stepped into the locker room reserved for subs and boys, I could feel the energy of the building buzzing in the air. I unzipped my coat and grabbed an open locker, stuffing the heavy winter jacket inside before I dropped my ID, membership card and cell phone into the pockets.
“Morrison,” Perry sighed, grabbing my hip and spinning me around where I stood so I faced him. He frowned at me from beneath his long eyelashes, his lips turned downwards so far it almost looked comical.
“What?”
Perry gestured down my body and I shrugged then crossed my arms across my chest like I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I really did.
“Morrie,” he said, leaning in and pulling me into a hug that made my skin bristle and my cheeks redden. “You’re not wearing it.”
I stood with my arms crossed, resisting the urge to smack him away from me as he held on a bit longer than he knew I liked. Perry finally let me go and I sighed in relief.
“You said you’d try,” he whispered, fingering the edge of his own Christmas dinosaur printed pajama shirt as he glanced down at my plain black one again. “You said you loved it.”
“I know, Per,” I responded, apology written into every syllable. “I really do love it, but I can’t wear the shark shirt. Not here. It's not me.”
That was the biggest lie I ever told and Perry seemed to know it.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” he asked, like he didn’t already know.
“Someone will see me as a little and touch me,” I responded, dropping my voice to a hiss. “You know I don’t like that. They’ll want to cuddle and snuggle and I don’t want to be cuddled or snuggled. I don’t want to be held. I just want to play and drink hot chocolate and forget that everything exists for a little bit. Why is that not enough?”
“What’s so wrong with cuddles? I love cuddles.”
Perry looked as perplexed as he did the first time I tried to explain it to him and I sighed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want kindness. A piece of me craved the softness and tenderness I saw that people used with him sometimes, but a larger piece of me knew that softness and kindness could hide dark things. That was the terrifying part. I needed to be allowed time to get to know someone before I'd let them start cuddling or holding me and unfortunately, I hadn't met a Daddy yet who'd offered me that. They all seemed to want to jump right into cuddling and trying to get me to sit on their lap and I wasn't that kind of little. I had tried to tell Perry what I was looking for so many times that I'd had to simply give up because he didn't get it. I couldn’t blame Perry for not learning the same things I had when I was growing up. The lessons of what was hiding behind perfect faces and gentle touches wasn’t something I would ever wish on him, but I wished he’d at least try to understand, even if just a little bit.
“I’d rather be smacked across the face than cuddled,” I murmured, shaking my head. At least a smack across the face was honest.
Perry sighed and reached into his locker to grab the blue triceratops stuffy he carried with him whenever we went to the club. I knew it was his favorite thing and I thought back to the shark shirt and my own favorite thing that I kept beneath the pillows of my bed for a brief moment before shaking that out of my head. I would do the Saturday night as I always had before, playing with Perry at our booth and watching Daddies and Doms, subs and boys wandering through the place. We’d drink hot chocolate and juice boxes that Ambrose, the club’s owner, would bring to us. We’d build towers of blocks and eat animal crackers from those little packets from behind the bar while we pretended that life was simple and easy. While we believed that nothing could ever hurt us again. And then afterwards, I’d go home alone, crawl into my undersea pajamas and cuddle Mr. Starkey, my shark stuffy that would never hide a secret frown behind his happy face because he wasn’t real.
Unlike people whose cuddles hid fists and whose smiles hid sneers.