Here is some writing. It's the other present. The one that isn't naked Alex James and a lamb...

~OoO~

Neal woke up to find a man standing over his bed, breathing heavily and dripping water onto the carpet.

"You've been a very naughty boy." The man said. Neal, who wasn't paticularly afraid at this point due to the lingering effects of the two joints he'd smoked before going to sleep, sat up in his bed a little.

He raised an eyebrow at the man, grinning as he asked, "Is that supposed to be some dodgy porno line? Is this the bit where you rip off your clothes and sh-"

"You shouldn't say things like that..." The man said quietly, moving into the light a little more so that his face was visible. He was tall, with neatly trimmed brown hair and stubble brushed across his cheeks. He wore a red-suit with furry white hemming and knee length riding boots - Neal thought the man looked like a handsome, if not slightly pedohpelic Santa Claus. He looked as if his age was somewhere between thirty and thirty five, though to Neal this didn't really matter. All that mattered to Neal was what this man was doing in his bedroom...

"Who are you?" The boy sat up a little straighter, pulling the bed-sheets tighter around himself, for the first time becoming worried about what this man was doing in his room. It wasn't the first time he'd had strange people appearing in his bedroom; whenever his parents were away he turned the house into a 24-hour non-stop party, with people coming and going as they pleased. Hell, once he'd even woken up with a dog in his bed - and he didn't even own a dog.

But somehow this was different. It had that weird feeling to it, the one where he couldn't quite figure out whether it was all a dream or not.

The man smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth, which seemed to glow in the darkness. "I'm Nick. Actually, I have many names, but I think Nick suits me best, don't you?"

"Nice to meet you Nick. Now I want to know what the fuck you're doing in my bedroom at -" Neal glanced across at the display on his alarm clock. "11:25 at night."

"You don't even know what night it is, do you?"

"I know it's 11:25 and there's a stranger in my bedroom..."

"It's Christmas Eve, Neal. Christmas Eve. And you've forgotten all about it, haven't you? I bet you've forgotten about Christmas as well. With all the drugs you're taking I'm suprised that you can even remember that this is your bedroom..."

There was silence for a few moments and Neal could hear the rain beating against his bedroom window, masking the sounds of the highway beyond. Now that he thought about it, he realised that it was Christmas Eve. Not that it mattered much. The only people who really got excited about Christmas in his family were his parents. Already there was an unbelieveable amount of food stuffed into the refrigerator in the kitchen, awaiting consumption by the whole family tomorrow. It would be Neal, Neal's parents, his brother and sister and their families all crushed into the house, stuck with each other for hours upon hours... A living hell, in Neal's opinion.

"Still, that doesn't tell me what you're doing here."

"If you really want to know the reason I'm here, then I'll tell you." Nick took a step over to the desk, pulling the computer chair towards him and straddling it so he was facing Neal. He looked at the boy. "Mind if I light up in here?"

Neal shook his head and Nick pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, igniting it and taking a deep drag.

"The truth is, Neal, I'm Santa Claus. Saint Nicholas, Father Christmas, Kris Kringle - whatever you want to call me. And I'm here to have a talk with you. You see, I've made my list, and I've checked it twice..."

"You're gonna find out who's naughty and who's nice?" The boy in the bed asked, smirking.

Nick shook his head. "Nope. Already done that. And you're on my naughty list. Actually, you've been on my naughty list for the past five years, so I decided we needed to have a little chat."

It was said in such a casual tone of voice that Neal couldn't help but give a yelp of laughter. The idea of anyone, especially a thirty year old man, claiming to be Santa Claus was simply ridiculous.

~OoO~

Neal would have that knowing half smile plastered across his face, eyes glittering, as though he'd just heard an insanely funny joke that you weren't allowed to know about. The only urge you got was to punch him in his pretty-boy face, making him bleed, maybe knocking out a tooth for good measure.

~OoO~

Neal and James were polar opposites. Neal was loud, eager to be the center of attention. Always darting from one group of people to another, wanting desperatly for people to like him, eager to please and to be pleased in return. He was two-faced and would've done anything for fame. To the people he really loved though, he was loyal to a fault.

James, on the other hand, was introverted, quiet and sarcastic. He didn't really care what people thought of him, and when he actually decided to talk to people he was blunt and eager to reach the point. I couldn't really decide how much of this could be put down to his drinking, but as far as I could tell when he was sober, he was a generally nice guy. He was wary of people he didn't know, but that could be attributed to the fact that he was constantly being robbed.

I was never exactly sure how I managed to fit into the band. I suppose I was the one in the middle - the one who evened everything out.

~OoO~

"Why did they have to dress me like this?" James growled, gesturing at the bright pink waistcoat that he'd been coaxed into by the photographer.

We were on a photoshoot for some shitty teen magazine. Thank god they only really wanted pictures of Neal - it meant that James and I could sit down and get totally hammered after the group photo was taken.

I gave James a sarcastic look from behind my glasses. "Because you're the gay one. You know that all these magazines are only interested in stereotypes. You, gay. Me, nerdy. Neal, pretty. That's how it has been, that's how it always will be..."

Glancing down at myself I fliched. Tweed trousers, button up shirt, vomit inducing vest... It was always like this. The only fun times we had being photographed was when we were doing our own press shots, or when a half-credible music magazine interviewed us. Then we could be who we really were; James, shy and hidden in clothes four sizes too big for him. Me, messy hair and an enormous hoodie. Neal, egotistical and shirtless. Actually, Neal seemed to be shirtless in a lot of photographs...

~OoO~

Alima seldom saw Tate smile any more. When they first met, it had seemed like a grin had never left his face. Everything he'd said had been punctuated with a laugh, and at the end of every joke he had expressed a little giggle, making him sound ridiculiously flambouyant.

She missed it. Actually, she missed Tate in general. She still loved him, really, even though she'd never let him know it. Every time she saw him her stomach did a little flip, or she felt the hot heat of a blush spread across her face - she felt like she was still a sixteen year-old girl.

~OoO~

Tate sat outside in the garden, a cigarette dangling from his right hand and a glass of wine held in the other, screaming children surrounding him and Alima glaring at him from the kitchen window. He could feel a migrane coming on, but he shook it off, stubbing out the cigarette and giving his wife a casual wave, as if to say 'Yes Darling, back on the job.'

The job in question was to keep an eye on the ten children in the backyard, one of whom was his daughter, celebrating her sixth birthday. Raissa was dressed in a dress so pink that it literally hurt the eyes to look at it - Tate wasn't exactly sure why Alima had brought the dress in the first place.

~OoO~

Time seemed to freeze into place. From the sitting-room he could hear the high pitched voices of the cartoon characters on the TV, and the accompanying giggle of his daughter, Raissa, as she watched them. She was six years old now, and he loved her more and more with each passing day. Everytime he saw her do something new, like climbing a tree and writing out her name perfectly his heart felt as though it would burst with pride. He had helped create her. He never thought he could be a part of anything so wonderful.

Tate looked across the kicthen table at his wife. Alima, with her big brown eyes and full pouty lips, with her wavy brown hair and caramel coloured skin, her wit and her charm. He knew her well enough that he could tell what was coming. He knew. He'd known for months.

For a moment her hands clenched a little tighter around the cup of tea that she was nursing in her hands, knuckles turning white. She bit on her bottom lip before she said it. Before time finally began again.

"Tate, I think you should move out."

~OoO~

Neal woke up screaming.

He was laying on a bed, with no idea where he was and no idea why he was screaming. He wore nothing except for his boxer shorts and a thin layer of sweat. The sheets upon which he was sprawled felt clammy and grotty underneath his skin.

Enormous black spiders were crawling all over his body, digging underneath his skin and writhing in his flesh. The pain was unbearable. He desperatly tried to raise his hands to attempt to fling the arachnids away from himself, but he found that both his arms were strapped to the bed he was laying on, as were his legs.

~OoO~

A man walks past us, looking as though he wants to bash the shit out of us and then steal our car. He sneers at us and we hear him mutter "Fucking faggots." Neal leans out the window, screaming out, "COCKSUCKER!" and then winds up the window frantically so it closes just as the man throws himself against it, beating at the glass with his fists, and expression of anger on his face, the signs of meth lingering in the pupils of his eyes.

Neal turns to me and grins, shouting over the banging of the man, "See, I told you visiting this part of town would be fun!"

~OoO~

I stopped in the carpark, glancing at the motorhome we'd rented for the tour. There was yelling coming from inside and whatever it was, I wasn't paticularly keen to become involved with it. At the moment I just wanted to sleep, and not wake up again for a good ten hours. Irritatingly enough though, the only place that I could possibly sleep (without getting mugged and raped, at least) was inside that motorhome, so I knew I would have to face the screaming sometime.

With a gentle sigh I started towards it, wondering why I always seemed to be the one to walk in on Neal and James when they were drunk and fighting.