It Goes On - Book l

Two Targets

Simon's Point of View:

I still wasn't getting used to this, nor was I planning on it – my third Christmas with my family. I still couldn't fucking believe it, and I know that I never wanted to get used to this as I loved the "butterflies" I always felt, feeling like things were still new within my relationship even though I was already comfortable. I didn't want to "get used" to being married and being a father in fear of becoming "numb" to it.

I would never get tired of the happy feeling I got when I'd help Kiera decorate the Christmas tree, picking out clothes for our children, help her plan things for us to do, help her make dinners and treats for us and the family – pretty much everything to do with her and our children. It was still so new to me, yet I didn't want to get enough of it.

I could finally enjoy a holiday after I had gone thirty-eight years of my life without experiencing it, and formerly never wanting to as I had never had a reason to, until now. I looked forward to every holiday: Valentine's Day, the Fourth of July (mainly so I could shoot abstract fireworks because I love shooting things off), Halloween, although it was never a favorite time of the year for me due to those many years Roba had ruined my life, Thanksgiving, and my personal favorite, Christmas.

I had gone so many years with spending the holiday alone in my flat, looking at the decorations people had put up along the streets, hearing bells and different scents that littered the air from various shops, the seasonal food, the snow, and all-around happiness that people spent with their family, wishing that I could be a part of it instead of going to bed at an early hour just so I could sleep through it instead of being sad about it.

But now, I have been fortunate enough to get to experience the one thing I thought I didn't deserve – family... happiness... fucking love.

I've never been much of a religious man, but I thank God every fucking day He lets me wake that my life had turned around. He blessed me with Kiera – sprinkled her right into my path just so I could escape the harsh reality I had been living in, knowing that she was the very thing I needed to prevent myself from a dead end.

And now, never once in my life, would I be excited about the new title I have earned now that my twins were over a year old. Not only am I titled a father (the best father ever, in my opinion), I am now holding the title of "Santa."

Fucking Santa.

So that means not only am I to stage gifts under the tree every year, but I have to eat the cookies and milk that was left out and take the bag of trail mix to the fucking reindeer.

Can you tell I'm rolling my eyes?

Just in case you can't, I am as I say this, but I have the biggest fucking smirk on my face, and I'm not denying that.

I'll happily be a fat man for the entire month of December if that means my kids will wake up on Christmas morning with a smile, jumping on our bed to wake us up so we can see what "Santa" brought them, pointing out that he ate the cookies they had helped Kiera make the night before, to ripping open their gifts so we can act surprised even though Kiera and I were the ones to place the gifts at four in the morning, reminiscing on how we peppered each other with kisses after we set out the gifts in our matching pajamas.

Fuck, I can never describe how happy I am – how happy she makes me, and how happy my family makes me. I finally have someone to come home to – a reason to fight harder to ensure I come home.

A reason.

Kiera tells me that I must be "Santa" for years... at least until my kids grow up to know that he's not real.