Page 24 of Silent Night

I run around the bed only for him to move so much quicker than expected. His arm bands around my waist, shoving me backwards.

“Bentley! What the fuck is wrong with?—”

Smack!

The sting registers on my cheek seconds before my back hits the window, the cold glass would otherwise be a bother if it wasn’t for thesituation. He lunges at me, one hand clamping around my neck, squeezing tightly.

“You lied to me tonight, you little whore.”

I tip my chin forward, trying to give him the least space as possible while my hands claw at his arm, seeking freedom. His fingers pinch my throat, cutting off my airways, and my hits are doing little to distract him.

“Bentley…let me?—”

He snarls, his eyes narrowing while his other hand slips beneath the edge of my tank. “I’d like to see what all the fuss is about first.”

My heart hammers as sweat breaks out on my brow and fear consumes me, threatening to lock my muscles. I can’t fight him, not completely, not like this. He’s too strong and his grip is making my vision blurry, my blood rushing through my ears until it’s all I can hear. My focus remains on the meager sucks of breath I’m able to take.

“S-stop…Let…go…”

Then he does. He’s ripped off me with a loud bang. A crash of fury. Of fists.

By a man who says things like, “I protect what little I can call mine.”

ELEVEN

SAINT

Even when Iwalk away from her after preparing her bath, I don’t leave. Why? Because I’m a fucking moron who instead lingers outside her house, watching and waiting for the bathroom light to turn off and for hers to switch on. That’s when I’ll leave for good, I decide. When I see she’s tucked into bed on this Christmas night, visions of sugarplums visiting her dreams rather than me.

When I do see her, it’s an outline hidden behind that fucking curtain I still want to burn. The delicate material reminds me of the kind of woman she is, and the kind of man I’m not. I’ll never be like the people she goes to school with; the future businessmen and lawyers, doctors and architects who’ll make the world a better place. They’re everything I’m not and will never be.

After a few minutes, the light flicks off, but she draws the curtains open. She could very well be only letting the moonlight into her room, but I let myself fantasize that I have something to do with it.

So I don’t leave. Not yet. Soon though, I will.

More minutes pass, my eyes growing heavy when her light abruptly switches on again. I straighten from my slouch, heart beating a bit faster.

Then I see her through the sliver she’s granted me by parting thecurtain. She shoots up in bed, her attention toward her door and that’s when I realize something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

A figure moves into view, leaning over her. Her stepbrother. She shoves him away, but he pushes her down, and that’s all I wait around to watch before I’m cutting through the yard and toward the back door.

Now, having picked this lock a few different times, the door opens quickly and I rush through the house, passing the living room that now holds better memories for me than any other house I’ve been inside or lived in, and up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I don’t stop, throwing her door open, reading the scene for only a second before reacting.

She’s pinned to the window, his hand tight on her throat. Her eyes flutter shut, even while she continues trying to push him off her, her nails imbedded into his wrist and she doesn’t see me burst in.

He does, though. He glances over his shoulder, his mouth parting. I don’t give him a chance to talk before ripping him off her. Hayley moves quickly, ducking to the side of the room and I push him against the window, in the place he had her pinned hard enough the window cracks, just a tiny spider one.

He was trying to hurt her, so I’ll hurt him. It’s as simple as that.

I lunge at him, landing throwing fist after fist into his face. Bentley might be around my size, but his muscles are manufactured with his expensive gym membership. The man doesn’t know genuine work. To live on the streets and fight for what you want, what you own. It’s do or die out there, and more than once I’ve gotten into scraps to protect food, clothing, or other critical items.

And Hayley ismine. On the streets or in this house, against a gang or against one asshole stepbrother, I’ll always fucking protect her.

After my fourth punch, he seemingly wakes long enough to manage to duck the next oncoming one and to dive toward me instead. He staggers, clumsy and injured, alcohol wafting from him.

But I’m quicker. I pause for a moment, crouched, letting himapproach before springing up and jamming my shoulder into his stomach, shoving him back to the window.

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