Holly Garland on Santa's Lap [COMPLETE]

Chapter 22 ~From dusk till dawn~

I try to keep my eyes shut and ignore the metal demons staring at me from every corner.

Ugh! No way.

It feels like they're just waiting for the moment I fall asleep. As soon as I do, they'll come alive for sure and slice me up with their sharp claws while I'm out cold.

In the darkness, I push off the cozy throw blanket and sit up on the couch I've been crashing on—again.

Nick wouldn't answer me. He just said he was sorry and needed more time. He always pulls that move. It's like his go-to now. Then he locked himself in some kind of brooding silence and left me alone in the bedroom.

Fuming, I kept packing up all my stuff from his closet—except my favorite t-shirt, which I refuse to put on ever again—and dumped it on the couch. It's all piled up while I figure out what the hell to do.

I can't walk home since I don't have shoes, and I don't have a cent to call a cab. I don't even have a freaking purse! I'm totally dependent on Nick. How did I let it get to this point?

It was already dark, way too late to try anything else, so I gave up. Well, temporarily.

Nick cooked dinner. Guess what he made? Pasta. And boiled eggs. What an idiot! I don't know if he was trolling me or if that's literally all he can cook.

Probably both!

I didn't eat. I didn't shower. I just kept my clothes on and laid down, feeling like I was back in prison. Except the door isn't locked. I know—it's the first thing I checked.

I could call my parents or my brother Drew. They live nearby, unlike my other brothers. But to do that, I'd have to explain why I'm barefoot on the street. And if I do that, I'll have to tell them everything.

I don't think I can handle it. Facing the fallout. Hearing my dad and brothers chew me out for not speaking up sooner. For trusting some stranger who got me into this mess.

I'm already struggling not to blame myself.

So here I am, like some bratty kid refusing to do what she's told. Or like a wife mad at her husband, refusing to share the bed.

But no! What am I even saying? If Nick and I were really Mr. and Mrs. Paxton—like I've fantasized a dozen times—it's Nick who'd be on this couch, not me!

And he'd be the one stuck dealing with these creepy, horror-movie sculptures.

In the faint glow coming through the blinds and the standby lights of the electronics, I can see just enough to get up without tripping over everything. I decide to toss some clean clothes over those freaky things.

Then I try to sleep, even though I'm still low-key freaking out.

Sleep finally comes, but it drags me into exhausting nightmares. I'm running, nonstop, with Nick. We're being chased by monsters with metal tentacles. One of them wraps around my ankle and trips me. I hit the ground, flat on my back—and I'm alone.

Nick's gone.

The creature creeps closer, and I'm scrambling backward, trying to get away, but it's got me. Its hideous face is right up in mine, breathing this nasty, toxic air that makes me turn my head.

Sweat trickles down my back as its cold, metal tentacle touches my throat. The sensation is so real, so terrifying, that it jolts me awake instantly.

But when I open my eyes, it's still there. The cold, hard pressure on my neck isn't a dream—it's real.

For a split second, I think those cursed sculptures finally got me. But my dream fades, and my nightmare becomes reality.

Glowing eyes stare at me in the dark, and I let out a scream—immediately muffled by a brutal hand over my mouth.