Page 11 of Amy's Santa

It’s blatantly obvious, trying to act as if everything’s normal is taking its toll on her. Just after midnight, I suggest she’s had enough. We’ve stayed long enough, no one will think anything of us departing. When her eyes find mine and she nods gratefully, I know I was right. Politely we take leave of her father. I’m not surprised to receive his threat, worded as a promise, to talk with me tomorrow. If Amy was mine, I’d be wary as well and wanting answers.

“Did I get away with it?” she asks as soon as we enter her suite.

“You did,” I reassure her. Doubts that she didn’t quite, which is why tomorrow I’ll be facing Heart, I keep to myself.

“One more full day, then we’ll go home.” She sounds as if she can’t wait for that moment.

Briefly I close my eyes. I hate that this time she should be enjoying with people who obviously love her is being so marred. She doesn’t deserve this, whatever she thinks, but there’s no point me telling her. I’ve tried over and over again to convince her, but she doesn’t want to hear it let alone allow herself to believe.

“I’ll go get ready.” She picks up her bag and disappears into the bathroom.

Patting my pockets, I realise I must have left my phone on the table in the clubhouse. “Amy? Just going back down to get my phone. I’ll be straight back.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back in moments,” I stress.

Christ, I wish I could do more for her, I muse as I stride quickly down the slope, hating how nervous she is. I reach the clubhouse fast, and go in through the door, then come to an abrupt halt, my lips curving. It seems after our departure, the married men, women and youngsters all went to bed, and the single men have come out to play, out in the open, with women who are scantily clothed. One man’s being sucked off, he looks up and gives me a satisfied and totally unashamed wave. Another is fucking a woman on the only available flat surface, the pool table.

A third woman, her top off, is leaning back against the man holding her, while another stands in front, his mouth noisily sucking her tits. Her head is thrown back in pleasure.

I grab my phone, and walk back out into the night, grinning. What I’ve just seen explains a lot about Amy and how she views sex.

When I return, I’ve either been as fast as I’d promised, or she’s slow, but I’m in time to hear the shower cut off, the toilet flush, and then she comes out demurely dressed in pyjamas and a robe which she discards only as she slides into bed. I don’t miss that she looks relieved I’m back.

Knowing how exhausted she is, I make short work of my own ablutions, and soon am lying on the opposite side. Her light’s off, mine is still on. I flick the switch plunging the room into darkness.

“Thank you, Xander.” She repeats the words she said earlier.

Gritting my teeth and fisting my hands at my sides, now she can’t see, I’m at last able to react like I want to. “Goodnight, Amy.”

I stay awake until her breathing evens and then follow her into sleep.

She awakes screaming.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” I make sure to keep my distance from her, comforting her with just my voice. “I’m here, it’s me, Xander. You’re alright, Amy. You’re safe.” I can feel her trembling, so violently it’s shaking the bed. “Shush, you’re safe.”

Gradually her shudders begin to lessen. When I can’t feel them anymore, I hear her say, “Safe?” Her voice sounds so small it tugs at my heart and hurts.

“Safe,” I repeat, as firmly as I can.

“Talk to me,” she pleads.

I settle back with my arms behind my head and think how to get her mind off her nightmare. “How does Christmas day work here?”

She’s quiet for a moment. Her voice starts weak, but gets stronger as she explains what I should expect. “People exchange gifts in the morning, each family on their own. Then we all accumulate in the clubroom, there’ll be gifts for the single men under the tree. Sam, Drummer’s wife, usually arranges that. Most of the men and the lady’s riding club will be going out on a run after all the presents are open. Dinner will be late afternoon, the normal beef and hams and turkeys.”

“Turkey?”

I’m able to hear the fondness in her voice as she enlightens me. “Sophie’s British, though her accent’s starting to go now. She refuses to have Christmas without turkey and all the trimmings.”

She yawns loudly. Wanting her to rest, I ask no more questions. It’s not too long before the sound of her breathing changes, and she’s asleep. I hope for her sake I’m not disturbed again, but sometimes her nightmares reoccur more than once each night.

I stir in the morning before her and go take a piss before returning to the bed. My moving must have disturbed her, as she’s wiping sleep from her eyes when I return.

Still wearing the sweatpants and tee I wore to bed, I lean against the doorjamb leading into the bathroom. “Merry Christmas.”

A weak smile, but in return she repeats, “Merry Christmas.”

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