Page 3 of Nice

Both of us turn to Kris. He crosses his arms, stretching the tight coat over his frame. His blue eyes flash as he looks us over before whirling back towards the door and out into the snow.

"I'm sorry you can’t be there. I know how much he meant to you." Red's eyes mist over as he looks towards the open door. "He's just grieving. You can't fault him right now."

Snorting, I make my way over to the door with Red. The cold air steals my breath but cools the heat flowing through me. "He's always been an ass. You know that."

He shakes his head as he eases out the door. "I still don't know what happened to you two. You used to be inseparable."

"You know why."

He lays his hand on my arm, his brown eyes glistening. "Truly, I don't."

Shrugging him off, I remain silent and point outside. "Your master's waiting."

Red's eyes snap and spark, his lips thinning. "Fuck you."

The moment he reaches the threshold, I slam the door and lean against it. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to dispel the images swirling through. I shake my head, trying to toss them out, but they remain. Just as strong as they were all those decades ago. Groaning, I open my eyes, taking in the mess still on my floor - nothing like work to get me out of my head. Shoulders slumped, I shuffle my way into the kitchen to grab the mop. Good thing Fredrick isn't here today. Kris wouldn't have made it out of here alive.

I spend several minutes mopping up the water, making sure not one drop remains. Dropping to the floor, I run my hand over the ancient wood, feeling the grains for warping. Satisfied that Kris hadn't ruined it, I put the mop back up and head back over to the window.

The twinkling lights of the funeral procession winding its way through the drifting snow, catch my gaze. Family. The word doesn't mean much when you're on the wrong side of it.

A cold, bitter wind howls around the massive cabin. I ignore all of it as I stare out into the expanse of white. Gripping the windowsill, I simply watch until the twinkling lights disappear. With a groan, I pull myself away, easing over to the small bar near my work studio.

The clinking of ice is barely audible over the massive gale, it’s like even the weather knows a good man is being laid to rest today. I grip the glass in my hand, trying not to let my mind dwell on it. He’s lived far longer than any would expect. I should remember the joy he brought to everyone instead of mourning his passing.

With a growl, I hurl the empty cup into the fireplace, a satisfied stillness creeping in as the glass shatters into a million pieces. It’s not Kringle’s passing that I mourn; it’s Kris taking up his mantle. Instead of learning at his father’s side, he’s spent his days filled with carousing and drinking eggnog. It’s a wonder the old man didn’t leave him to fend for himself. Jackass wouldn’t last one day out here in the wilds. A smile eases across my face as I imagine Kris going toe to toe with a polar bear.

Unfortunately, Kringle always had a soft spot for kids. Rubbing my hand over my chest, I blink back the sudden tears that threaten to escape. He never once raised his voice to me in anger. To think, my uncle showing more charity to me than my dear old dad. Casting a scowl over at the portrait of my father hanging prominently over the fireplace, I start to rethink where I threw my glass. His haughty visage would have been a much better target and far more satisfying.

Pulling out another glass, I manage to fill it up and take a swig before more murderous thoughts threaten to make me throw it. The burn as the liquid flows down my throat grounds me for a moment. Kringle was always a father to me, and now, at the moment I needed to be by his side the most, I’m turned away. I grip the glass again, and close my eyes, forcing my breathing to slow. At this rate, I’ll have no more glasses and will have to swig the whiskey directly from the bottle. I eye the drink in question but shake my head. That’s a level I would never stoop to.

I pour myself another drink and make my way over to the sitting chair in front of the fire. From here, I’m able to watch as fireworks light up the sky as they send Kringle on to become one with the winter night. I close my eyes and say a few words to the stars, hoping to help ease him on his journey. It’s not fair for such a fine man to leave this earth. Hopefully, he’ll be able to join in with the other Father Christmases before him and bring joy and hope to the word. That any Santa should be so lucky.

Acid burns in my stomach as I watch the display. Nothing but an ostentatious show. Knowing him, this isn’t what he would have wanted. He would want to slip away as quietly as he came. Curling my lip in contempt, I look back up at my father’s portrait and down the rest of the whisky in a gulp. After I salute him with the empty glass, I set in on the small table next to me and pull out my naughty list and flip through until I find Caitlin again.

Her beautiful face beams out from the pages. She looks so innocent and fresh, someone I’d expect to find in Kris’s harem, not in the dregs of my dungeon. Smiling, I close my eyes and slide my fingers down to stroke myself through the leather. Yes. She’s exactly what I need. She will be the perfect distraction for me.

Chapter Two: Caitlin

Work parties always suck, but for some reason, the Christmas ones are even worse. Everyone is in just a “holly jolly” mood, paying no mind to those of us that don’t want to be a part of it. Christmas always comes too soon. In a blink of an eye, it’s Christmas again. There’s no escaping it. Sighing, I look around the cluttered office building. Even being at work doesn’t mean having a moment of escape. The entire office is festooned in mistletoe, Santas, and reindeer. It’s like they raided the biggest department store and threw it up into the offices and cubicles.

Closing my eyes, I try to remember what Christmas was like before. There were always trees, decorations, music, and laughter. Now, all that’s there is an empty house, pathetic tree, and haphazard ornaments strung about. Shaking my head, I rub at my temples and force myself back to the present. I don’t know why I torture myself like this.

Why do I even attempt to act like Christmas is a big deal when it’s not? Now that my parents are gone, what’s even the point? They were Christmas. They were the magic. Without them, it’s just one more excuse to get drunk on festive alcohol. Shaking my head, I go back to the idea of just escaping and taking a vacation. Somewhere far away from Christmas and its merriment, but, just like all the years before, I just can’t bring myself to do it. A half-assed Christmas is still something.

A niggle of guilt worms its way into my gut. Neither of them would want this for me. They didn’t do anything halfway. Yet, here I am, one foot in Christmas and one foot out, completely sucking at both. Guilt be damned. This year, things are going to be different. I just need a good, hard reset, and a vacation is just the thing. As soon as I make it back to my office, I’m going to research destinations that are anti-Christmas. Surely there are others like me that don’t want to think or feel this time of year.

The loud, raucous noises become too much for me. I need to get out of this hell and back to work. Shoving away yet another drunk guy, I smooth back an errant lock of hair and pat down my clothes. Thank god he didn't spill his drink on me. The shoes can be saved, but this is my favorite skirt. They don't pay me enough to just go out and get another one. Jerking my head about, I narrow my eyes at my coworkers. This morning, they were respectable people; now, they're basically humping anything that moves and some things that don't. With a groan, I ease my way around people making out and head back to my office. If I must be here, I might as well do something productive.

It's not like I'll be missed. My lips thin as the bitter thought crosses my mind. Everyone seems to have someone, and as always, I'm the odd one out. I yank my office door open and tromp inside, ignoring the bitter ache developing in my chest. Just because I like my job doesn’t mean I can’t unwind and have fun like the rest of them. I toss another glance at the bacchanalian scene and shake my head. Maybe I am too different. I just like to know who I'm about to fuck and not just jump on someone with a dick. Apparently, that's too prim and proper these days.

I make my way over to the desk and start shuffling some papers about. Do I want to start planning my trip? Or should I try to get some actual work done? With a groan, I click about on my computer. Glancing about, I click on a folder in the center screen, revealing three other folders. With another quick glance, I click on the middle and keep going down the folder rabbit hole until I reach the program I want.

Clicking on it, I wait with bated breath as it loads, exhaling sharply when it does. There's so much wrong with the company that could just be fixed with the right set of eyes. Words, names, and data figures fly across the screen. I follow them, clicking on inconsistencies. Once this program is finally bug-free, I can submit it to the head boss. Maybe then he'll finally take me seriously.

Squinting my eyes, I look across the desk at the "World’s Best Secretary" mug. My lips twist up in a scowl as I reach over and push it off the desk. The soft plunk as it hits the carpet is not nearly as satisfying as I want, but it will have to do. Eventually, I will shove it off enough times that it will break, and I'll be rid of it for good. I sit there for several minutes, my fingers flying across the keyboard. Intent in my work, I don't even hear the door open. It's the loud throat-clearing that grabs my attention.

My eyes fly up to a nameless coworker, his face far too red and jovial for my liking. I shut down my program and slide a touch back. "Can I help you?" Jovial's face lights up. Fuck. I'm encouraging him.