Christmas Pet

I wanted blood and guts and pain. I flicked through the collection of old movies until I came to The Day After Tomorrow. A film about the second ice age and the world as we knew it ending fit the bill perfectly.

Hammering on the door woke me up from where I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. In my groggy sleep state, it took a few seconds to remember where I was and what had happened, and when I did, my stomach clenched in pain.

“Pearl, I know you’re in there. Open the door. We need to talk.”

The hammering continued, shaking the entire trailer. I didn’t want him here. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t care that the temperature outside was subzero. He could get frostbite on his dick for all I cared. It would serve him right.

“If you don’t open the door, I’ll kick it in. I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

Good. I hope they drop off.

My conscience got the better of me, and I opened the door. If he froze to death because I refused to let him in, I could get charged with first-degree murder.

The second I saw his face, the ice encasing my heart started to thaw, but I steeled myself against showing any reaction.

He looked as wretched as I felt.

“Can I come in?”

Since he’d come all this way and since his face was wind chilled and red, I would let him in and hear him out.

I stood back and gestured for him to come in.

When he did, he brought a small avalanche with him. He yanked off his jacket and gloves and stood in front of the fire, rubbing his hands and holding them out to the warmth.

I slammed the door shut but didn’t say a word. I glared at him, waiting for him to talk. In this situation, he wasn’t my master, and I wasn’t his pet. He was a prick, and I was pissed.

“Pearl.” He reached for me, but I jerked away. “You need to tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

“You lied to me about the fundraiser.” There was no hiding my rage. There was no hiding my hurt. “You lied about things being over between you and Lyla.” I briefly closed my eyes, firmed my lips. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t break down. I wouldn’t scream and shout. I wouldn’t waste my emotion on a man who saw me as a joke.

He shoved his fingers through his hair so it stood on end. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s how you want to play it, huh? I’ll spell it out for you. You, Lyla, Lincoln Center.”

“Lyla and I went to the fundraiser last night. I’m on the board. We’d RSVPed together. If I hadn’t gone, the Children’s Hospital could have lost millions in donations.”

“Would the Children’s Hospital still have lost millions in donations if you hadn’t fucked her?”

“You’re not making any sense Pearl. I didn’t fuck her.”

“Yeah, right. The Christmas presents you sent me with pictures of you kissing told a different story. They were dates stamped. You both looked very loved up outside the car. In fact, one of the close-ups showed her tongue shoved down your throat.”

His shoulders slumped like all the fight had gone out of him, but I didn’t stop.

“I didn’t realize you were a sadist, James. I didn’t realize that you were just like Daniel and enjoyed inflicting emotional abuse.”

He stumbled back like I’d sucker-punched him. Good. I hoped my words hurt him as much as his actions had hurt me.

He gritted his teeth. “I’m nothing like Daniel Chastain. I don’t know what Christmas presents and photos you’re talking about. If I was with Lyla and if we were playing some kind of sadistic game at your expense, do you think I would be here? Do you think I would have driven the whole way up here in another blizzard? Do you think I would have brought you to Vermont to meet my friends?”

What he said made sense. The rational part of my brain could see that, but the irrational part of my brain didn’t want to listen. The anger inside was a storm of pain and hate. I didn’t want a glimmer of hope.

“Maybe you’re trying to continue playing your game.”

He shook his head. “Pearl, pet—”

“I’m not your pet, James. I’m Pearl Holmes. I’m angry, and I’m pissed, and I’m hurt.”

“Think rationally, Pearl.” He sounded exhausted, his voice cracking.

“I don’t want to think rationally. I want to think about sitting by the tree this morning and opening twelve wooden boxes, each of them holding a picture of you and Lyla kissing passionately. And even if you’re telling the truth and nothing is going on between you and Lyla, you lied to me about the fundraiser. You could have told me the truth yesterday and said it was something you couldn’t get out of. That you and Lyla were going together. I am not a timid little mouse. I get that you have commitments, and I get that you have things you have to do that won’t include me. I don’t deserve to get treated like I’m fragile and won’t understand.”