He slammed the door. "Can I be anything but pathetic and loud?" his left hand found its way to the floor, his right was soon a fist and his knuckles turned white. After around half an hour of stomping around his room, going into every corner there was, he decided to sit down on his big, soft, wooden bed to calm his nerves. At the time he didn't know what that was going to lead to, but he did it anyways.

The quiet was kinda nice and exactly what he'd wished for. The enormous clock on the wall besides the window -his grandma had given it to him before she passed away- is ticking a regular beat. As the seconds go by, his thoughts seem to explode, so he grabs his notebook and begins to scribble down. He writes down everything that comes to his mind and his hand moves fast. The notes are very messy and everything but organized, but it feels right at the moment, so he continues.

Just when the sun outside his dirty window -he needs to clean it sometime soon- begins to set over the fields far away, he looks up again, just to check the time. A split second later he's standing in the middle of his room, panicking, throwing clothes on the floor as he is looking for something acceptable to wear. Boxers and a striped shirt just really aren't it. His curls are messed up, his hands still red from hitting the wall.

"Just a little bit" he'd said. "Just to calm me". He didn't do 'just a little bit', but stopped just in time to not hurt himself badly. So he's proud of himself.

He's still searching for clothes that are appropriate to wear for Christmas, when there is a knock on the door. "Honey, would you come downstairs, please?" a sweet, familiar voice calls. It's his mom. She's been preparing dinner for a long time. Earlier he'd helped her a bit. Still he feels like it wasn't enough.

So she's waiting for him to come out of his room to go to church. They always do that on Christmas Eve. They will go to church, sing something, pray and talk to strangers whom they pretend to know. Alex doesn't mind much really, but it also gives him discomfort, being around that many people. When they come home he would always take a breathe and enjoy the silence the second he enters the door. The quiet always seemed to take over the house.

He likes to live with his mother, even if she's the only one he lives with. And even if it gets a bit lonely at times.

He doesn't miss his father. Sometimes he thinks he does, but that's just sometimes. There isn't a word or lable that could describe his father. He left a few years ago, that means, in the unlikely event of missing him, he would never have the chance to see him. He didn't leave anything behind so there's no way to contact him.

Anyways. Alex, to his relief, had found something to wear: a plain white T-shirt and black skinny jeans. He even wears his good, black shoes and throws on a blazer, just for church.

Right as he heads downstairs, a little bit of hair gel sticky in his hands, a smile on his lips as he thinks about spending the evening after church with his mom, he hears something shatter in the kitchen and a loud "Oh for gods sake!". His smile fades. She seems angry. And sad. And kinda disappointed in herself. And Alex is somehow afraid to go and talk to her. He doesn't have a good way with words, especially when someone's in an fragile state of mind. So he decides to wait a little more before heading down.

He looks at the yellow, orangeish wall, which he'd painted exactly ten years ago, with his dad. They'd had fun, they really did. He'd even had some color at the tip of his nose. His dad, father, had put it there. But that's enough about his so called dad. He's gone now. Why can't Alex just accept that? It's not like he'd come back some time soon.

On this exact wall there are pictures. Happy ones. Only happy ones, where everyone smiles. As if they all were happy, but he knows they weren't, they fought all the time.

The picture right in front of him captures a little family. Mom and dad on the left and right side of Alex, holding his shoulders. He was four back then.

To the left of that picture there is another one, black and white, with just one person in it. She looks old, fulfilled and just genuinely lovely. It's his grandmother. She always made him happy.

Alex is now standing there, looking at his dear granny, smiling. Feeling good. Happy almost. He hasn't felt like this for several weeks and he loves it. It feels good.

"No No No No No No..." his mom sighs desperately and it sounds like she's sitting down. He still doesn't dare to move, so he looks at more pictures. The good, happy feeling is gone. He worries about his mom, even more than he'd like to admit, but not enough to go downstairs.

To the right side of the family picture there is another one. It shows just his mom and him and they're older, smiling. Because he'd grown a bit since the family picture with his father, he could rest his head against her shoulder.

But that's enough of the pictures, he's spent enough time studying them in every little detail. It's gotten quiet downstairs and he can't help but worry about his mom. What had happened? And then he remembers. He sprints downstairs.