Good isn't perfect [c.e] | 18+ a Chris Evans fanfic

17 | Destroyed

December 24th, Christmas Eve

Caroline Danielsen

I had always loved Christmas. I loved the fact that the family always got together. We always went to my grandmother's house for Christmas, my fathers mother. I knew she hated her own son for what he had become. I knew she adored my mother and us kids, when she passed away, I spiralled down into a depression. My father's father had died when I was just two years old and I didn't remember him. But my mother had told me he was the sweetest old man to ever exist.

When I got older and my dad got sent to jail for the fifth time or so, right before Christmas, I started to dislike it. It didn't feel the same when my dad wasn't around anymore. I knew that my father wasn't a good man, but he had me fooled, and I did have some good memories of him. And we did spend some time together, that was good. He wasn't always a maniac.

I was a daddy's girl, and I hated it, but I always tried to see the good in people. And since he was my father, I mostly overlooked the things that he did to me. Besides he always said he was sorry, and he seemed genuine. I never realised that he was manipulating me. That was my first mistake. I hated to admit it, but my father was once upon a time my hero and my favourite person in this world.

Beside the tradition of spending time with my family each Christmas, I love the tradition we had where we would make rice porridge and try to find the almond in your bowl. I never got it, therefore never won the marzipan-pig. My father always did, and he always shared with us kids. Every time. Until one year it just stopped. I never knew why. Even now that I lived alone, I kept that tradition as the only tradition.

Now I hate Christmas. My father had ruined it for me. And I was afraid that I would never experience the Christmas spirit again. My dad hadn't always been like he was now. There had been a time where he was caring and kind. I couldn't quite pinpoint when that had been, but I was sure it had happened. Besides, I had a terrible memory. Hell, it could even have been my mother that had told me these lies about my childhood. Maybe she was the mastermind behind everything. Maybe my father was innocent? If that was the case, how could you explain the nightmares I had about my father.

Third person

After she had cooked her meal, Caroline sat down at the dining table with a wine bottle and a glass. She poured herself a big glass and started to drink from it. "Merry Christmas, Caroline," She mumbled to herself. When she had finished her plate she threw it across the room. It smashed against the wall and it fell to the floor in little pieces. It felt good. She launched her glass at the same spot. It had the same faith as the bowl had. It shattered like snow. She leaned back and drank straight out of the bottle.

Who needed glasses when she could just drink straight out of the bottle. She looked around her apartment from where she was sitting. Most of the furniture she had, she had gotten from her dad, when she moved away to study. She hated every piece. It wasn't really her. She was supposed to start fresh, but how could she when everything she saw reminded her of her dad.

She took her bottle between her petite hand and started to look around her apartment, wondering what she wanted to start with. She decided upon one of her chairs, picking it up and throwing it into her kitchen, pleased when she saw the cabinets falling to the floor, causing everything inside of it to shatter.

She drank the rest of the bottle before just releasing it from her grasp, making it fall to the floor. But it didn't break. Not even a little crack was to be seen. Caroline didn't bother to pick it up and try again. She strutted to her fridge picking out another bottle and screwed the cap off. What next? She thought to herself. Then she noticed it. She had a picture of her and her dad on the wall. She took the picture frame down from the wall. Taking the photograph from inside the frame she tore the paper in two. Then four, then into many little pieces. 

She let go of the picture frame and went to her coffee-table flipping it upside down not caring that the articles on top got destroyed in the process. She smashed her bookshelves with another chair from her dining table. Flipping her sofa upside down she started crying and sat down and leaned her back against it. She drank from the wine bottle now and then. Closing her eyes she hoped that maybe an angel would come and rescue her. The person knocking on Caroline's apartment door was maybe not an angel, but it was the next best thing she could have imagined.

Chris had decided that he was going to visit Caroline, so she wouldn't be alone on Christmas Eve. He knew that in Norway they celebrated Christmas on December 24th, well he had read about Norwegian traditions. He had given her a little present, a silver necklace. He had meant for it to be a I'm-sorry-for-being-a-complete-asshole-to-you-present. But he had never found the right time to do so, so now it was a Merry-Christmas-and-thanks-for-being-such-a-good-personal-assistant-present.

Knocking on her door he got excited. He hadn't seen her in a long time. She had ignored him completely, and he deserved it. He had been at her apartment every day since the day she kicked him out. How the tables had turned. He had every intention to knock on her door, but he had chickened out every time. Once her neighbour, Mr. Adler had let him into his apartment to have a talk with him.

Mr. Adler had told him that he had heard Caroline cry at night, and that she had said his name on multiple occasions. The walls in the apartments were not soundproof. He also told Chris that if he ever hurt his sweet neighbour he wouldn't hesitate to kill him. And if they ever got together, which Mr. Adler hoped they would, they  were more than welcome to dinner.

"Merry Chris-" Chris stopped mid-sentence when he saw the state his sweetheart was in. Her eyes were bloodshot and he could smell the alcohol coming from her. Looking past her he saw her wrecked apartment. Caroline seemed to notice where he was looking, and much to his annoyment, she tried to close the entry door, so he wouldn't see inside. He stopped her by placing a hand on her door. He pushed it open, making Caroline take a step back while still holding her wine bottle.

"What the hell happened here, Caroline?" Chris looked at her with eyes full of concern.

Caroline Danielsen

I hadn't expected Chris to be standing at my door, but again, I was so drunk I could be imagining the whole thing. But every good thing seemed to happen when I was drunk. I met Chris when I was drunk. I slept with him the first time when I was drunk. He was my saving angel. I had to be honest with myself; I had been thinking about him on every free moment I had during the day.

I think I love you. No. That was way too fast. You didn't love him.

"I needed to decorate for Christmas." I shrugged my shoulders, taking another swing of the bottle. Chris grabbed the bottle from my lips and went to my sink and emptied the bottle out after taking a sip from it himself. He went over to my sofa and turned it back over again like it weighed nothing. Show off. He patted on the seat for me to sit down while he got a glass of water for me.

"Talk to me."

"He doesn't want to be my dad anymore," I looked down at Chris while he was sitting on the floor in front of me. "Maybe you want to be my new daddy? Will you fuck me, Christopher?"

"Not until you are completely mine, Sweetheart." He leaned down and whispered into my ear. "And beside, when I fuck you next time, I want you to be sober, and remember every little thrust, every little bite I will make on your skin. My fingers, pumping in and out of you. And you screaming my name, over and over again, begging me to let you cum."