Page 3 of HoHoHo for You

She nodded again, but tried to look away. I caught her chin again and shook my head. “Shut out the world if you have to, Bridget. But you don’t shut me out, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ve got this, babe. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

“Bridget—”

“I believe you, Sam. I do. I just… I didn’t expect that so soon.”

“Me either, but we’ve got this. I promise.”

Finally, finally a soft smile from her. But it didn’t last.

When she’d stopped trembling, I went and saved the dinner before it burned, then made her take a bath and I dried her and rubbed her down in lotion afterwards.

I knew it was bad when she didn’t try to instigate sex—Bridget used sex to sootheeverything.But that just made me more resolved to get my shit together and get her out of here.

So, that night while she read her book, I went online and finalized dates, made a shopping list, a final packing list, and a hundred other little details. I even texted her psychologist, Gerald.

As soon as I could make it happen, we were getting out of here. And we were facing this demon down once and for all.

2. First Day of Doomcember

~ BRIDGET ~

Doomcember. I named the month that because it gave me a deep-seated sense of dread and self-loathing. And it was finally here.

Fuck.

I had been a prisoner in my own home for the past ten days.

The only bright spot was my husband. I’d had a panic attack three days before Thanksgiving because we were supposed to go to his friend’s house for the day. But I was so convinced that the moment I stepped out the door I’d be tackled by elves and tinsel, I fell apart.

It was stupid and juvenile and… I couldn’t get myself under control until my gorgeous, sweet, patient husband called his friend and said we weren’t going to make it.

He spent the next two hours teasing me out of my self-loathing for giving in to the anxiety.

I wasdevastated.I really thought after my father died I’d finally get better. Instead, it seemed like I’d grown worse.

Sam ordered a meal kit and we spent Thanksgiving day thanking each other for giving orgasms… by returning the favor. It was fun and delicious, and anexcellentdistraction. But every day since felt like the shadow over my head grew heavier.

The only way to keep my heart rate at any kind of normal was to convince myself that I could sit in this house until New Year’s and not step foot out the door.

I’d ordered books online and from the library and sent Sam to pick them up for me so that I had something to do that didn’t require consuming the culture, becauseeverythingwas now painted in mistletoe and holly.

So there I was on the first of Doomcember, reading a book—which was, admittedly, pretty hot—but that creeping, niggling fear kept crawling up my spine.

I told Sam I wasn’t going to leave this year, but I was only hours into the day, and I was no longer sure I could do this for a whole month.

When the door from the garage banged, my body tensed.

God, I was a mess.

I kept my head down, and my nose in the book because I didn’t want Sam to know that I was sulking, but of course, he walked straight into the living room, straight to my side and pulled the book out of my hands so I had no choice but to look up at him.

“How are you doing?”

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