Vic Havoc || Alone on Christmas

Snow begins to fall over the flat Ohio landscape — icicles forming on his eyelashes from the cold as he stares up into the inky black sky. Vic Havoc hates this time of year. Not because of Christmas — he could get behind Santa and holiday cheer. But the holidays, and their emphasis on being together, always reminded him of the fact that he has a shitty family.

It’d gone the same way it did every year. His mother, nervous but happy to see her oldest, tentatively invites him inside, only for his father to appear, blocking him from further entry. Alberto Martinez would then tear into his son. Nothing was off-limits for the pastor, Vic’s dyed hair, his tattoos and piercings, the unholy music his band made, everything stoked ire from his father.. And then — he’d kick Vic out and tell him not to come back until he found God again.

Different year — same fight. If it weren’t for Lewis and Travis, Vic wouldn’t even come back to this miserable place. He doesn’t think he’d shed a tear if his father dropped dead tomorrow. How a man of God could be so full of hatred, Vic could never understand.

Vic watches a truck drive past — the light-up sign on the back reads, Jesus is the reason for the season. The bassist rolls his eyes. He’d take Santa and the Grinch over religion any day — at least Santa probably wouldn’t kick his son out for choosing a different path. Vic was a world-famous rock star, and yet his father made him feel like he was still that lost teenager he once was.

Why couldn’t he be proud of his son for making a name for himself? “Fuck him,” he mutters into the cold, taking another drag of his half-burned cigarette. It looked like he’d be spending another Christmas alone. Not that he had to. Vic knows full well that if he called up any of the boys, they’d immediately have a seat at their tables for him. Hell, Mikey would probably pretend to be in the area by coincidence just to have Vic over. They’d been taking him in since the first time his father kicked him out at sixteen. In fact, he slept on the floor of Davey’s room for almost the entirety of senior year. He’d never be able to thank the Williams’ enough for taking him in like that.

But sometimes Vic didn’t want to be the pity invite — not that they ever saw him that way. They were brothers after all. But on Christmas Eve, Vic wants to be alone to wallow in his own misery. Which is why his phone is shut off in his pocket. Otherwise, those idiots would burst in using Find My Friends because those fucking idiots were the best fucking friends a guy could ask for.

The run-down bar is the kind he’s come to love — dressed in tinsel that had to be from the last century and with a floor that was slightly too sticky — it was the perfect place to drink himself into a holiday-induced oblivion without being recognized. Bing Crosby’s voice crooned from the old jukebox — Home Alone playing silently on the TV overhead. The bar was mostly empty except for the usual barflies tucked into their typical booths. Behind the counter, the grizzled bartender stands, his eyes fixed on the movie as he cleans a glass.

It was perfect.

Exactly the place a fan wouldn’t recognize him and make him explain why he was alone on Christmas Eve.

Vic takes a seat at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers on the counter. The bartender casts him a look, not bothering with pleasantries. “Old-fashioned. — Thanks.”

When his drink arrives, Vic tosses his card on the counter, starting his tab. He didn’t plan to leave anytime soon. As he picks up the drink, Vic notices the only other person at the bar — surprised to see someone else under fifty in such a run-down place. No one came here. They always went to the cooler bars closer to town.

He knows just how much it sucks to be alone when everyone else seems to be in their happy little holiday bubble, and in a moment of uncharacteristic holiday cheer, Vic turns towards {{obj}} slightly. He raises his glass in {{poss}} direction, offering a half-smile to the stranger.

“Cheers, yeah? To being alone on Christmas.”