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I’m doing her a favor.  She deserves it.  And more.

This room is so cold.  I knew I was making the right decision.  I’m tired of watching her shiver at night, poor thing.  Especially since her space heater broke.  

No, I didn’t break it.  But I know it broke.  I was watching when it happened.  There was a pop and a bright spark and that was it.  I felt so bad.  It woke her up out of a dead sleep.  Scared her something fierce from the look of it.


Ever since then, she’s been piling on the blankets, but it’s still not enough.  I feel so terrible, watching her toss and turn, wishing I could reach through my little sliver of windowpane and hold her.  Soothe her.

She’s so beautiful.  And this is as close as I’ve ever been to her.

This bed is so soft.  It smells so sweet.  I knew she’d smell like this.  I can’t believe I’m lying where she lies.  I’ve dreamed of this for so long.  Of course, in my dreams, we’re together, but for now, for this one act of charity, I’m content to be alone.

I rub my body into the sheets where, soon, her body will sleep.  I slide my legs together, up and down.  I must create as much heat, as much warmth for her as possible.  At last, I practically burn from the friction---in more ways than one.  Maybe now, she’ll have a bit of comfort.  And it will be because of me.

I hear her coming.  I panic.  Without giving a thought to the bedclothes, I scramble toward the window.  Thankfully, I’m out before she comes in, but I look back in dismay at the mess I’ve left.


The bedroom door opens.  There she is.  Miss Beauty Rare.  My heart flutters.  Was ever a creature on God’s green Earth so beautiful…?

She surveys the room and her smile fades.  Slowly---so very slowly---she steps toward the bed.  She bends down, places a cautious hand on the rumpled blanket.

“What the hell?” she utters.

Another hand comes down.  This one touches the sheet, left clumsily wrinkled by yours truly.  My embarrassment burns in my cheeks.

Then her eyes grow wide.  She feels something.  Something she didn’t expect.  Could it be me?  My warmth?

With a gasp, she pulls her hands away and clasps them in front of her chest.  Her gaze darts around the room.  Her expression pains me.

She is not happy.  She is not grateful.

Her terrified eyes land at the window.  For the first time, they meet mine.


I run.  Farther and farther, faster and faster.  I’m already quite a ways off by the time her scream fills my ears.

This was not at all what I intended.  But, with any luck, she won’t have seen enough to identify me.  Thank God for the balaclava.

I will not make the same mistake again.  Next time, I’ll be sure to tidy up before I leave.