Page 27 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

“Don’t you ever get tired of being boring?” I was so tired after the past three days of keeping myself under control, I needed a little splash of chaos to mix things up, and he was my drug of choice. I shifted my hips again in hopes of getting any kind of reaction, and low and behold, I struck gold. He resisted reacting when I pushed up against him, but he closed his eyes for just a minute, as if to steady himself.

“I’m not boring.”

“No, but you’re numb.”

He froze, holding his breath and staring at me.

“Don’t you ever get tired of feelingnothing? Of being so damn in control of yourself that you don’t feelanything? Doesn’t it make you want to slam your head against a wall?”Or your big meaty hand against my ass cheeks?

“I think you feel enough for the both of us, Alice. Don’t you?”

Before I could say anything, he pushed me out of his lap, dumping me on the floor, right as the door opened and the kids came scampering in.

I scrambled to my feet and glared back at him, only to see a subtle glint of humor in his eyes.

Not the reaction I was going for, but hey. I’ll take it. And that little bit of a hard-on was enough evidence to renew my motivation.

The kids lined up to see Santa. Some sat on his knee, some were too shy so they stood beside him instead. Adults stood nearby taking photos, and I waited by the door, collecting the scraps of wrapping paper torn off of the gifts and handing out lollipops to the children before they left.

Mister Weston was a surprisingly good Santa Clause, and it made my heart melt a little. He never made any of them sit on his lap unless they wanted to, and he could tell if they were uncomfortable. There was one little girl who was very anxious, and Cat was trying really hard to get her to go up to him, but she shied away, hugging her leg and refusing to get any closer to him.

Instead of trying to get her any closer, he withdrew the gift from the red bag with her name on it, and handed it to me, motioning for me to bring it over. I did so, and the girl clutched the gift and ran away. Cat sighed, letting the next child go up.

I watched the little girl out of the corner of my eye. For the next twenty minutes, she stared at the wrapped box, unsure if she was willing to open it. She had to be five or six years old, and I knew she was one of the kids who had been abandoned on the doorstep of the church. She was very shy, and I hadn’t heard her speak to any of the other kids. Cat was the only one she would let touch her.

Finally, she began opening the paper, tearing it off bit by bit. I watched her eyes grow wider and her bottom lip start to tremble as she gazed down at the stuffed puppy, holding it tightly in her little hands. She looked back up at Reuben, sitting on the red throne.

Most of the other children had received their gift and left the room, and only a few kids and their parents remained. Reuben was talking with Cat quietly. I watched the little girl drag herself to her feet and tip-toe closer to him, an anxious look on her face. I cleared my throat pointedly, and Reuben stopped talking and looked over at the little girl.

She stood awkwardly, her toes pointed in, clutching the stuffed dog. He motioned with a finger for her to come closer, and she did so, just a few steps at a time. He was patient, watching her, his mouth hidden by his fake beard, but I could see a softness around his eyes.

Finally she stood just a few feet away from him.

“Do you like it,” he asked quietly. His voice was different from the low rough sound I’d grown used to hearing. He sounded gentle and kind.

The little girl nodded, and her lip quivered again, eyes welling with tears. They began to spill over and she hiccupped. She made a fist and scrubbed at her face, then dropped her head and covered her face with her hand.

Reuben stood up and took a single large step towards her, and knelt on the ground in front of her, placing a single gloved finger under her chin to bring up her face.

“Brave, pretty girl. Never be ashamed of your tears, little one. Never be embarrassed for being honest about how you feel.”

At his words, she opened her eyes and met his gaze, her ragged breathing evening out. He didn’t wipe away her tears, he didn’t try to get her to stop. He just watched her until she finished crying, and she wiped away her tears when she was ready.

From behind his back, he withdrew a lollipop. “Merry Christmas, Rosa.”

A soft smile twitched on her lips. She took the sucker, held her stuffie against her chest, and ran off.

I didn’t know my eyes were burning until he looked over at me. My throat felt thick and my whole body was hot. Was it anger? Was it shame? Jealousy over a little kid? I had no idea, but I knew one thing for sure. Reuben Weston would never tell me I was too emotional about something.Reuben Weston would never tell me not to cry.

I felt the tears slipping down my cheeks as he took slow steps my way. It was impossible to keep his gaze as he neared me, and yet I had to. I couldn’t look away.

Never be embarrassed for being honest about how you feel.

As he had with the child, he tilted my chin up with a finger, and then he whispered softly, “You are far too beautiful when you cry.”

I wanted to smack him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fall on my knees and wrap my arms around his legs. I wanted to crawl into his lap and lay my head on his chest. And I wanted to kick him in the balls.

Damn my fucked-up brain. None of this is fair. None of this is valid. It’s all fake. None of it is real.But telling myself that never helped. It just made me angrier because it added ‘useless piece of emotional garbage’ to the list of reasons why I hated myself.

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