I don' like Christmas. Never have. Not b'cause I ain' got any Christmas spirit, but b'cause I've never been given de chance to enjoy it.
I'm sittin' here in de corner of de livin' room writin' dis an' listenin' to de others singin' Christmas carols while dey put up de tree. I can' bring myself to join dem even t'ough I do know de words. Dey're happy, even Bella Donna, Gris-Gris, Singer an' Fifolet are happy. T'ings are goin' pretty smoothly in de unification dese days...even Emil is keepin' his mouth shut more an' tryin' to refrain from tickin' Gris off, which is a miracle in an' of itself.
Dey ain' noticed dat I'm not takin' part in de decoratin' or de singin'. Not surprisin', really, since dey don' notice me mos' of de time anyway, unless I say somethin'.
Bel jus' found some mistletoe in de decorations box we brought over from de mansion. She's goin' hang it in de entrance of de livin' room. Great. Now I'll have to wait until everyone else leaves b'fore I leave so none of dose crazy women catch me under de stuff. I hate mistletoe. Who came up wit' de idea dat if you catch somebody under it you an' dat person have to kiss? What if de person don' wan' be kissed? Or hugged or touched in any way...
I t'ink dat's one of de big reasons I don' like Christmas. Everybody gets so touchy-feely an' I don' know how to react to it. I don' know how to be like dat. After my Momma died when I was three, my father an' brother spent de next fifteen-plus years abusin' me mentally, emotionally, physically an' even sexually, an' threatenin' to kill anybody who tried to show me any kindness or affection in any way. So for all dose years, de only t'ing I knew was pain an' anguish. People got used to not touchin' me or huggin' me or anythin'. An' after I grew up...even now, so many years after dey were taken from my life for good...de others'll be affectionate wit' each other but not me, b'cause I can' handle it. I don' know how.
De t'ieves wonder why I'm so crazy...how I can point a gun at someone an' say "Boo!" like it's a big joke when it isn't. Dey wonder why I avoid any kind of contact with anyone an' why I freak out if de least little bit of touch happens, even by accident. I've heard dem askin' each other what's up wit' me. I wish I could tell dem...wish I could explain it wit'out goin' into hysterics or runnin' away an' hidin' somewhere. De ghosts of my past will always have a profound effect on my behavior, dat's somethin' I can' control.
In my life, touch has always equalled a lot of pain an' agony and fear. Hugs are unheard of. I see de others bein' affectionate wit' each other de best dey can...an' laughin' when someone gets caught under de mistletoe Bel has jus' put up...but I also see dem, especially de t'ieves, eyein' me an' prob'ly t'inkin' I'll shoot dem if dey try to catch me or go near me.
I don' wan' be dis way...I would love to be able to tell dem dat it's okay to touch me or hug me...b'cause deep down I'm still a little three year old kid sometimes an' I crave dat kind of contact. But I don' know how to tell dem dat maybe it's okay. I don' know how to explain myself to dem. I was denied so many of de t'ings I needed in life, especially love an' affection, an' I'm only as good an assassin as I am b'cause I was desperate to find somethin' dat would make my father an' brother proud of me. I t'ought maybe if I was a fantastic assassin, even as a child, maybe dey'd stop hurtin' me. It didn' work.
I'm never gon' be even remotely close to a normal person. I don' know what love is. I don' know how it feels to be hugged an' held an' comforted. Even Tante Mattie has avoided goin' near me, even t'ough de threat of bein' killed for doin' so is long gone. She tells me she loves me...same as she tells all de others...but she shows it to dem t'rough her actions. Not me. I get left out b'cause of my past an' possibly how I'll react.
I guess it's not dat I don' like Christmas. I don' like all de affection dat gets tossed 'round more openly at dis time of year. It's especially more noticable now dat we're essentially livin' wit' de t'ieves. Dey're always affectionate wit' each other. Dey're a lot closer as a fam'ly dan we assassins are.
It's highly ironic dat I'm starvin' for dat same affection but I don' know how to ask for it. So dis Christmas, like all de others b'fore it, I'll sit in my corner an' watch dem enjoy de holiday.
I wish dere was one person in dis fam'ly who knew what I go t'rough...who knew how hard it is to want somethin' so bad an' yet be terrified of it at de same time. B'cause I am scared of it. Scared dat it'll hurt even if it isn' my father an' brother attackin' me. Scared dat I will freak out an' run away or somethin' an' in turn hurt de person who tried to be nice to me. Scared dat I'll break down an' cry like a baby or cling to dem an' never wan' let go.
If I could only get one t'ing for Christmas an' it could be my choice, I'd want for someone to just take a risk an' hug me. Honestly, all I want for Christmas is a hug or two. Or as many hugs as anyone wants to give me.
I don' need anythin' else.