Silent Night (Twisted Holidays)

5. Saint

FIVE

SAINT

I spend the night inside their shed, which has a clear line of sight to the back of the house. My sweet girl lets me know precisely which room is hers when, minutes after she kicks me out, the light to the uppermost righthand room flicks on. Her figure moves through the room, but her exact actions are shielded by thin curtains I’d love to burn.

After a few more minutes, the light switches off, and she presumably goes to bed. I picture a large one with silk sheets and a puffy duvet that she’s currently sliding beneath to keep her warm from the frosty night. No doubt, her bare skin is beautiful away from the harsh outdoors. I imagine her sighing as sleep steals her away from reality, her head rolling to the side, those curls spilling over the pillowcase. The blanket will slip off her shoulders, baring the tops of her chest, those breasts naturally falling to the side, her nipples begging for attention I long to give them.

It's the kind of bed, the kind of sleep, a woman like her deserves, in a place like this. A bed for people who live their lives full of greed and wealth. She’ll never know what it’s like to live on the street. To make passing friends wherever she goes, if only for a comfortable bed for a night here and there.

My gaze unwillingly moves from the window with the thought that she’s not greedy at all. She let a stranger stay in her house, fed him, hid him, and gifted valuables away. Younger, she let valued décor walk away without caring.

No, I decide, she’s not greedy at all. She’s different from everyone else.

But she’s making me become so. Because for the remainder of the night, I want what I’ve never wanted before.

Her. To take her. To dirty her up and make her only valuable to me.

Before acting on those fantasies, I pick up the two gift bags and pull the tissue paper out of them, making a mental note to grab all the garbage before I go. Last thing I’d want is for it to be found months from now when spring hits and her stepdad comes in for the lawn mower, and for the missing gifts to be traced back to this night, and to her.

I want to protect her, exactly as she’s done for me.

In the small bag, like she said, is a flat box. Opening it, jewellery shines back; a thick, gold men’s necklace, weighing a hefty amount, making me wonder exactly how much money her mother wasted on this thing. Everything I’ve stolen over the years are already-owned possessions, but this is straight from the store.

I slip it into my jacket’s inner pocket, wanting the treasure closest to me for safekeeping, and open the second bag. Also like she told me, the newest model of one of the most popular cell phone brands is inside. I tug off the box’s lid, stroking a finger along the shiny glass. Resale of this is at least cost, but I know plenty that’ll pay even more because it’s the newest model that only released a month ago and they’ve been backordered due to popularity.

My sweet girl gave me a pretty damn good Christmas after all, and while I should take off now and start my path out of town, I don’t. Not for the night. Instead, I bunk down with my head against the plastic shed walls and watch her window for the remainder of the night.

Despite it being the holidays, the kinds of people I trade with are still active on Christmas Eve, so by midday, I’m a few thousand dollars richer, courtesy of the necklace.

The phone I kept, though. It’s easily worth another two grand, and yet, I couldn’t sell it. Something had me wanting to hang onto it, at least for now.

I walk back toward the broken-down house I’ve been calling home for the past couple weeks, past the garage I sometimes get under-the-table work through. When I skip town and move onto the next one, I’ll find similar work to survive off for the next few months. Nothing permanent, forever moving on, never feeling like anywhere will be right enough to call home.

For a long time, I’ve been fine with that. Preferable even. The three instances I’ve had a home to go to, a family to love me, all have given up on me, so what’s the point in putting down roots? Everyone around me always digs them up anyway.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I find myself in the same ritzy neighbourhood as last night, stopping in front of my sweet girl’s house. It’s Christmas Eve now, so I wonder what her and her stepbrother are doing. Baking cookies and watching movies? Singing carols by the grand tree I’ve seen through their windows? Maybe they’ve gone for a snowy walk.

I wonder what she’d do if I knocked on the door, pretended to be a friend having come visited for the holidays? Would she embrace me and pretend for her stepbrother’s sake that I’m not a criminal, or would she slam the door in my face, label me a stalker, and call the cops?

I am a fucking stalker. Never before, never until her. Not a person anyway. Houses, yes.

I shake my head of the grim thoughts because regardless of what she’s doing, she’s a woman too respectable for me. She deserves someone who lives in houses like those around us. A man who works at his full-time job with benefits, drives their fancy car home, and kisses her forehead before slipping into their large bed together. A man who’ll treat her like a princess and not who wants to dirty her up.

I should walk away now. By New Year’s, I can be far away from her, and next Christmas when I pick my mark, I’ll ensure it’s no one related to her. Twice is a weird twist of fate. Three would be a goddamn sign of my budding obsession.

Instead of walking away, I find myself crossing the road, pulling my hood over my face in case anyone sees me sulking around. I follow the same path I took last night so there’s only one set of footprints in the fluffy snow. Thankfully, more snow is soon forecasted and will completely cover my tracks.

I slip inside the shed again, peering through to the back of the house, skimming over every window. The kitchen’s lights are low, her bedroom’s turned off. By my third pass, movement catches my attention in the large living room bay window, the giant tree taking up most of the space. Behind it, though, a man moves toward a woman, his arms gesturing as he talks.

I’d die to know what her and her stepbrother are talking about. I didn’t like how he touched her last night. Seemed way too familiar for family, step or not, but then I figured I might not be the best judge of character, considering my lack of family and understanding of familial ties.

I stay there all day, watching the two of them move throughout the house, until finally evening falls and with it, the sun. Lights switch on upstairs, and then off, my sweet girl getting comfortable in her bed once again as she lies down, readying for what I’m sure will be a happy Christmas morning.

I slip out of the shed, knowing I should go before I find myself unable to leave her. Before an obsession kicks off, or I find a reason to intervene on her life.

I tell myself I only want another present. More cash to hold me off.

I head for the back door, jimmying the lock once again, kicking snow off my shoes with help from the bricks before entering. The kitchen is dark and déjà vu hits, but instead of going to the fridge, I quietly tread down the wide hallway until passing the living room, that damn huge tree glowing its signals of domestic happiness.

White lights wrap the fake branches, colourful and sparkly ornaments hanging from them. Tinsel drapes much of it too, strands falling onto the obnoxious number of gifts, but it gives me an idea.

I walk to the tree, knowing I could very well get the answer I crave from the gift tags, but would prefer she tell me herself. I tug a few strands of the tinsel off the tree and a bow from a wrapped gift before turning back toward the carpeted stairs.

At the top, I turn toward the right side of the house, heading for the area I know her room to be. The door across from her is also shut, the light off, and I presume it to be her stepbrother’s.

Watching his door, I grasp her doorknob and twist slowly, waiting for the crack to allow me inside. When all remains silent from the other room, I slip inside hers and shut the door, closing it as gently as I opened it.

She makes no noise, and I wait for my eyes to start adjusting to the dark before moving toward her. She’s tucked in bed, looking even more innocent than when she found me in the kitchen. The blanket dips low on her chest, one arm beneath, the other resting to her side, exactly how I’ve pictured her sleeping. Her head faces the window, strands of hair resting on her cheek. Her curtain is drawn, lighting up a strip of her.

I approach the bed, lowering down on one knee beside her and reach out to stroke a finger along her smooth cheek. She makes a low noise, moves slightly but doesn’t change her position.

My thumb drags along her bottom lip, wondering if she tastes like sugar. It’s the holidays, and sugar is almost as vital as presents for people like her kind, no? I long to test the theory for myself.

She shifts in her sleep, turning her head to the side, so I continue stroking down the column of her neck until reaching the top of her tank. She’s so fucking soft, and better wake soon because I don’t think I’ll be able to stop unless she demands I do.

I draw the blanket down, letting the change in temperature wake her. She shifts again, but still doesn’t, so I find the patch of skin between her shirt and shorts and pet it, dragging the pad of my finger along her skin before trailing over her shorts, pressing a bit harder in the place between her thighs.

She moans, shifting her legs before tensing. I smile into the darkness. Finally, she’s awake.

“What—?”

I move up the bed, placing my hand over her mouth before she can shout and ruin everything I have planned for her.

“Shh.” I lower myself so her wide, fearful eyes can take me in. If she had more self-preservation, she’d be even more scared now, but instead, her gaze softens before flicking to the window. “I came in through the back door,” I answer her silent question. “Will you scream if I let go of your mouth?”

She shakes her head so I slowly release her, testing her truth-telling ability. She props herself up on her elbows, staring down at me. “Saint.” My name on her lips is better than any dessert they have downstairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Came back for another present.” I shift to kneel at the end of her bed, pulling the blanket completely off her before reaching into my pocket and sprinkling the tinsel over her chest, amused at my gift-wrapping ability. “Merry Christmas, sweet girl. Ho, ho, ho, and all that shit.” And Happy Birthday to me. Twenty-six opportunities to celebrate my cursed birth, and this is about to be the only time I do.

Her legs fall open, though I’m not entirely sure she realizes she’s done it. Her shorts are tiny, granting me a peek of red cloth beneath. The perfect little gift. I want to determine if she’s as sweet down there as her nickname suggests .

“I thought you left.” She glances at the tinsel on her body but doesn’t remove it.

I should have. “You sound hopeful.” Give me a reason to leave now before I dirty you.

“I-I…” She trails off, biting her bottom lip before sucking in her cheeks. Even in the dark, I can spot her cheeks darkening as she blushes with the truth she refuses to admit.

“It’s okay, my sweet girl. I gave you a taste of danger and that’s why you were hoping I’d come to finish the job. You want to play on the wild side, and I give you that perfect, ideal opportunity, right?”

Her brows furrow, almost hurt. “No, I was worried about you.”

I hum, reaching over to shift her arms until she thumps back to the bed, her head on her pillow once more. I crawl up her body, holding myself above her, one hand on either side of her body. “You’re too caring for your own good. Someone’s gonna hurt you one day.”

“Will that someone be you?”

She’s smart to ask that, but looking at her, imagining harming her in any way makes me sick. How can I hurt the person who’s becoming my entire addiction? “Never.”

Her lips curl up in the corners as she tentatively smiles, still too scared to let herself go to her desires. “What present have you come for?” Lust tinges her tone, her hope that she’s to be my gift.

She’ll be one of them, but there’s something else I want too.

I dip my head into the curve of her neck, doing what I wanted to in the pantry yesterday, and drag my lips over her pulse, feeling it jump with my touch. She’s scared or excited and I can’t wait to test her restraint for both. My teeth scrape over her skin, the sudden urge to bite down and leave my mark on her becoming stronger. Maybe I will before I go, so she has something to remember me by.

For now, I nip down to the curve of her breast, and she arches her back, a low breathy gasp filling the room with sounds she’ll soon likely regret .

“Me?” she incorrectly guesses.

“No.” I kiss down her chest, skipping over her top as I slide farther down the bed until I’m lying between her legs. I hook fingers into her shorts and slowly tug them down, waiting for the moment she wakes up from whatever fantasy I’m fulfilling and realizes what’s happening. When she kicks me out her room, screaming for the police.

Instead, she lifts her hips so I can slide them off her, leaving her in a red pair of panties. I trail my hands up her thighs until my thumbs get the sensitive skin at the top of her leg, listening for changes in her breathing.

With two fingers, I pet over her core, not stopping until I feel the area growing wet. Fuck, I hope she gives me what I really want so I can taste her—so I can reward her. So I can unwrap her.

From my pocket, I take the bow and place it above her hood.

“God, you look delicious. The prettiest little present.”

She whimpers, and while I wasn’t planning on touching her quite yet, not until I get what I want, I just can’t fucking help myself. Not when she’s not pushing me away. Not when she looks like this .

I dip my fingers beneath the material, stroking over the silkiest fucking thing I’ve ever felt. Her head falls back into the pillow, her legs to the side.

“I want your name. Don’t tell me, and I’ll have to stop. I’ll leave and you’ll never hear from me again. Tell me, and you’ll be allowed to come.”