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In a therapy first, I have a dead body on my office floor.
Soren killed my date. “Shit. You’re going to scream,”
“That’s a good girl, Doctor Moore. We can’t let our emotions control our actions, right?”
“Good, Sophie. Also, your date… Not a good guy.” My mouth drops open. “You killed someone.” “A bad someone,”
“My wife wanted a three-way,” Soren says bashfully. I scream behind his hand. “Sorry, honey. Cat’s out of the bag.” “Is that other man okay?”
“Oh yeah, he’s fantastic. Great guy. Perfect really. Found him on a dating site.”
“Sir, that's not necessary,” the cop says. Soren kisses the corpse. I can’t take my eyes away.
“He’s not going anywhere.” Soren walks through lines of bushy firs. The scent of pine fills the air. “Where’s Norwegian spruces?” he mumbles.
“Doctor Moore, I’m going to have to insist that you marry me.” He pets the tree’s branches with gloved hands as my mouth drops open.
“Record it?” I wheeze. “I assume that’s how you’d prefer to do it.” “Why on earth would I record you fucking me?” I ask. Soren goes completely still before he peels me off his chest and holds me at arm's length. He stares at me in astonishment.
“This isn’t kidnapping. We’re getting married.”
“You can’t do that,” I rush out. He looks up at me. “You want to be locked in?” Soren asks in confusion. “Of course not.” “Okay?” He moves towards his door again.
“I’d like to interview you tonight.” I follow him, watching as he pulls a coat on. “I’m busy all night.” “With work?” I ask.
That's what I’m thinking about as I watch the grumpiest therapist in the world guide the next child up for their turn on Mall Santa’s lap. Mall Santa is me. “Ho ho ho!” I call out. Sophie looks like she wants to murder me.
“Mrs Claus is an elf. Interspecies marriage is legal in the North Pole.” I drag Sophie away.
“See the nut guy?” I ask her. She looks around and spots Dick leaving the pagoda before nodding. “Let’s kill the shit out of him,”
“Strike one,” I say, wrenching it back out of the wall. The Santa hat’s ball falls in my face, and I flick it out of the way. “Hey, Dick, if I get three strikes, you get to live!”
“The misses hates a mess,” I tell Dick. The mall music shifts to Last Christmas. “Fuck I love this song.”
“Can you stop singing along to the music?” Sophie growls. “I can’t believe this is really happening.” “This is a great time to show off,” I tell Sophie.
“See, great time to show off,” I say. She looks absolutely exasperated. This is a lot more fun than the last kill. Everyone should drag their therapist along for murders.
Now, excuse me, but the murder weapon is melting all over my glove.”
“Soren, please tell me this is a joke. That you don’t have a pile of Christmas presents in the garage filled with decaying victims.” “Their decay is minimal. Can’t smell a thing. But just in case, I got a pine tree spray.”
“Goddamnit, Soren. You kill people,” I hiss. “That’s definitely a you issue.” “Well, wifey, now it’s a we issue.
“That was a dumb fucking thing to come to,” I groan. I think I’m in love with my therapist.
“Ugh, okay, I’ll take the pastries upstairs while you chop up the body. Do not put any pieces in the freezer.” “Wait, are we really out of wrapping paper?” He asks. “I don’t know.” I wave him off as I lean in his truck.
“You know I'm right,” he rasps in my ear. “You're my person.”
“I need to tell you something,” I blurt. “I’m quitting. I won’t kill anymore. I promise. And I won’t fuck you anymore either if you don’t like it. We can go back to how it was before. Except, of course, I’ll be desperately in love with you.” I chuckle anxiously. I’m a goddamn mess.
“The prospect of drugging my family multiple times makes my husband excited,” she groans.
