Page 23 of Subbing For Santa

“Hmmm.” She hums, taking a moment to choose her words. “I’m a little disappointed it wasn’t me who butchered him in his hospital bed. I would have enjoyed seeing him take his last breath. But knowing he’s gone from this world has made me look over my shoulder less lately.”

“The world is a better place without him and his brand of toxic in it.” I agree. “Are you really doing ok though? Like in all seriousness?”

Rhys is quiet for a beat before she responds, her normally playful tone now gone. “I have my struggles, but the guys are helping me with that. They are patient. Loving. They make me feel worth being loved.”

My eyes well with tears as I hear the pain in her voice. For so long, she wore a mask of confidence to hide how she never felt good enough to be loved. She even tried to hide from herself. I’m so glad she doesn’t have to live like that anymore.

“Youareworth being loved, Rhys. So much.” I don’t normally call her by her real name. The few times we caught up outside the Feasts, we still referred to each other by our sex club names, so by using her real name, I hope she hears how true my words are.

“Thanks, Aggie.” She says quietly. Almost a whisper.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” I ask, keeping my eyes focused on the road and the busy freeway traffic as I drive and try to see past the blur in my eyes.

“Of course, Foxy Moxie.” She giggles, her playfulness returning, which is probably a coping mechanism for her.

“The time we spent together… Did you ever feel… forced? Or like you didn’t really want to gotherewith me, but did it anyway because that was what was expected?”

“Fuck no.” She blurts quickly. “Girl, you do remember who you’re talking to, right? Most of the time I felt like I was the one forcing myself on others and they were too kind to refuse me.”

I scoff. “No one ever felt like that with you, Kitten. Especially me. I just put your age to the back of my mind and pretended like it wasn’t illegal as fuck. I’m sorry for that. I should have stopped it. You should never have been there.”

“Mox! What are you talking about? Stop this nonsense.” She scolds. “You know and I know that if it weren’t for the Feast Nights, I would have gotten myself into trouble some other way, in a not so controlled environment. Hell, I’d probably be dead by now if I didn’t have a place like that to be… me.”

“Maybe,” I say softly and Kitten sighs.

“Are you ok, Mox? You don’t sound like yourself.”

I swallow the lump that forms quickly in my throat and bat the tear off my cheek that escapes. “Yeah. Just been reflecting a lot lately. That’s all.”

“Do you need me to come for a visit? I can get Ty to sneak me to you.” She giggles and I grin.

Ty is her fifth boyfriend, but he also used to be her sponsor at Vixen’s Lodge. Kitten had blackmailed him to get her in to the exclusive club as a member, and I watched for a few years as he internally tortured himself over that decision.

Kitten didn’t see what I saw. He hated her being there. Not because he didn’t like her, but because he did. Way too much for a schoolteacher to like his student.

That part of their relationship had shocked me when I found out. I was angry that as a teacher he hadn’t protected her, but then I realised I was just as complicit. Every adult in the club was.

Ty loves her, though. Fiercely.

He lives across the lake from me, and I often stare over at his house, wondering if Kitten is there with him.

“No, it’s ok. I’m keeping busy with work and preparing for Christmas.” I lie, and that’s when she goes into a whole new conversation about what sexual presents she’s going to give each one of her five boyfriends.

I let her ramble on for another half an hour, enjoying the light conversation and the way her energy and playfulness lightens my mood a little.

When I eventually arrive home, I slip the toy out and wash it, and remove the choker, placing it in my dresser drawer, before taking a long hot shower, my body sinking to the floor as I silently cry. Again.

At this point, I’m thinking perhaps it’s time to visit a doctor. My emotions are crazy out of whack, and I can’t remember the last Christmas that affected me quite like this. They’ve always been hard, but this is on a new level.

Before bed, I decide to try some self-love, and go to my toy drawer to find a willing participant. Only the drawer is empty. My vibrators are gone, and so too are the toys I have specifically put aside for my clients in the spare room.

That’s when I remember Santa promised a punishment for arriving in the city late.

A laugh bursts from my mouth without warning as I nod to myself at what a good punishment it was.

Touché Santa.

I should congratulate him on his cunningness, but then it dawns on me that to get to my toys, he would have had to come inside my house, and I quickly turn anxious.

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