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His eye is already swelling shut, his nose gushing blood, and his scalp bleeding in two places. He’s bleeding inside, too, I’m sure of it. “Please…” he whispers, his body heaving in silent sobs.
“Say it. Say you will leave her alone from now on. You are never to go anywhere near her again.” I press the glass against his flesh just hard enough to draw blood, and that’s what snaps him out of his indecision.
“Yes! Yes, I swear. Please, don’t kill me!” The smell of piss fills the air, and I look down between us to find a wet spot growing on his sweatpants.
He lets out a broken sob when I release him, falling back onto the floor with his hands laced behind his head. “Don’t make me pay you another visit, or I might decide to cut off your balls instead of slicing your throat,” I warn before peering out through the front window, then leaving the house and heading down the street.
No one saw me. Even if he dared go to the police, he has no proof—my blood-stained leather gloves are the only thing that made contact with him. I peel them off now with the intention of disposing of them soon. I doubt he would tell any of the neighbors. Even if he did, I could just as easily reveal what I know about his gambling habits. Who’s to say one of the people he owes money to wasn’t the one who turned his face into a horror show?
It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like that. Not since my unofficial retirement, a few months after my whole world fell apart. After I lost the one single light in my life, work was the only chance of losing myself. Burying the pain.
There was one problem: I felt her on my shoulder, my Christine, and she was disappointed in me. Stupid superstition, but I couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t bring myself to harm or kill for money, with her always watching.
She’s at the forefront of my mind when I reach home and step into the garage, where I drop the gloves in the garbage can before turning my attention to the stack of boxes in the corner that haven’t been touched since I packed them up. The sight of her handwriting along the sides stirs something in me that I’ve fought to avoid revisiting.
Christmas decorations. I finally have a reason to go through the memories I fought hard to avoid. Noelle is worth it. Her happiness is worth it.
Eventually, I find the strands of multicolored C9s like the ones she draped along the Santa sleigh. After plugging them in to make sure they still work, I take them outside and close the garage door.
My hope is to get this done before Noelle notices the damage Jake caused. She hasn’t bothered me since I threw her out of the house, and I don’t blame her. I’d be afraid of myself, too, if I was her. She has more than enough reason to be.
“I should have known I’d fuck it up,” I whisper, and I don’t know if it’s myself or my dead wife I’m talking to as I unplug the two halves of the cut lights. “You were the only thing keeping me together. I thought she could fill that hole you left.”
As if in response, the front door creaks open. “What are you doing out here?”
Fuck. “I thought I would replace this busted string of lights on the sleigh.” I force myself to look up from the lights and find her wearing a guarded expression and another of her corny Christmas sweaters.
“Where did you find lights this close to Christmas?” Noelle asks, eyeing the string I’m holding.
“I took them from my own stash.” She raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I do possess Christmas decorations.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s not your responsibility.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So you are the one who has been ruining everything?”
“No, that’s not how I meant it. Just let me do a nice thing, all right? It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” On second thought, I add, “You won’t have to worry about it anymore. You won’t have to worry about Jake Miller in general.”
She winces but doesn’t look surprised. “He asked me out a few times, but I turned him down.” She draws her arms tighter around her shivering body. “So it was him?”
“Like I said, he won’t do it again.”
“What, did you kill him?” She scoffs—but stops when I continue gazing at her with no reaction. “You didn’t, did you?” she whispers.
“No. He’s still alive.” Though he probably wishes he wasn’t.
“Well, thank you, I guess. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. I only wanted to get to know you better, but I get it if you don’t want me to.”
“It isn’t that.”
“Then what is it? Why won’t you let me in?”
She’s fucking killing me. Doesn’t she see it? Every word is torture, tearing its way out of me, ripping my soul to shreds. It’s only for her sake that I push through.
“Because… I’ve never had a lot of friends, to begin with, but this is the hardest time of year for me. You know by now I was married. Christine. She… died last year.”
The last thing I want is pity, which is why the wounded sound she makes sets my teeth on edge. “Oh, Luka. I’m so sorry.”
