The sick green lights are off. The takeaway was eaten hours ago it seems. The bottles are half empty. The hourglass half full. The clock is reading: TWO AM. The movie is boring, she paces across the room, crushing wrapping paper beneath her feet. Her lover is upstairs, sleeping soundly, she will leave before the week is up, and the moments… Every second a knocking. Every minute a nail. There's some baileys on the mantelpiece it tastes strong and long and sweet. She turns the fairy lights back on and basks in Christmas Day.