Page 10 of Silent Night

He spins on the step and I grasp the door’s handle, shutting it halfway to keep out as much cold as I can. The overhead light flicks on with his motion, both of us giving it a considerably long look before he returns to me, his tongue sweeping his teeth.

“Can I ask for one more thing, sweet girl?” His words are frost-lined, leaving his lips in a puff of white.

“What’s that?”

His gaze rakes over me for what should be the final time, landing on my chest. My nipples are hard from the icy weather, but folding my arms over my chest proves he has an effect on me so I resist.

“I want your name.”

Tapering the smile that nearly slips onto my mouth, I silently tell him goodbye and good luck as I shut the door, watching him through the glass. He smirks back, his blinks slow as snow begins to fall in that instant, the million and one unique flakes landing on his shoulder, his dark hair, and his eyelashes, melting when they lower.

With a final tip of his head, he reaches for his hood and throws it over his head, backing away from the door. I watch as Saint, the stranger appearing twice in my life, disappears into the frosty night.

After a few minutes, the sensored porch lights switch off and with them, my dark adventure is over.

FIVE

SAINT

I spendthe 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 thatshe’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. Totakeher. 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?

Iama 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 beforeslipping into their large bed together. A man who’ll treat her like a princess and not who wants to dirty her up.

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