He’d been the first man ever to call me pretty in that deep, approving voice. The first to tilt my chin and make me feel seen. I’d mistaken attention for care, control for affection.
“Stay there,” he’d ordered that night, lounging on the couch while I knelt on the floor, naked but for the collar he’d bought online. His drink sweated on the table beside him. I’d wanted to reach for it, to clean the ring it left behind, but that wasn’t allowed. Not unless he told me to.
The TV droned on. Some sitcom laugh track echoed, cruelly bright. My knees had started to ache. The air had grown thick with the smell of gin and Jason’s cologne—sharp, expensive, cold.
After twenty minutes, my back had stiffened. I’d shifted, just a little.
He’d noticed instantly. “Did I tell you to move?”
“No, sir.”
“Then don’t.”
I’d whispered an apology, but he’d already turned back to the screen. I’d stayed still. The carpet bit deeper. My legs had gone numb, then burned again.
When the credits rolled, he’d finally looked down at me—not with tenderness or pride, but annoyance. “You look ridiculous. Get up before you start whining.”
My knees had trembled when I tried to stand. He’d sighed, muttered about how much work I was, and gone to bed without me.
That night, I’d sat on the edge of the sofa rubbing my bruised knees, telling myself that this was what devotion looked like. That maybe next time he’d notice how hard I tried.
It took years before I understood the difference between service and suffering.
He’d wanted me on my knees so I couldn’t see how small he really was.
I gave out candy canes and posed for too many pictures. Adults wanted selfies. The Santa suit was better quality, though, and I enjoyed entertaining my audience. Even adults, it seemed, wanted someone to tell them they’d been good.
I could do that. I could do it all night if they needed me to.
The money wasn’t bad. Not enough to fix the crumbling plaster, but I got a handyman to fix the window, and I managed a visit to the dentist. Heat, too. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t have to count change to see if I could buy more than milk and cereal.
The elf gig at the mall faded, almost overnight. I was barely scheduled anymore. Pete texted me dumb memes “gnome for the holidays lol” and the manager said the new hires were fine, but they’d call if they needed me.
I didn’t miss it. At all.
The office parties were bigger, brighter. Excited and awed children with presents they actually wanted.
The first party was at some real estate place downtown. I got the suit on, checked my beard in a bathroom that smelled fresh, and walked into a conference room full of people who actually cheered when I walked in.
They loved me. They really did.
I handed out joke presents from under the tree. Listened to people get drunk and tell me their Christmas wishes. I gave one of the admins a “Best Assistant” medal and she almost cried. I had to keep from crying myself.
Afterwards, I sat in the empty break room, feet up on another plastic chair, letting the buzz linger. I’d never felt so…seen.
Jenny booked me again. Then again.
One night I was suiting up in a brewery break room and a woman with red hair knocked on the door. her smile reminded me of someone I was trying to forget.
“Hi! Santa? I’m Olivia Peterson. My brother’s company has a Christmas party next week, and the Santa has let us down. I wondered if you were available?”
My eyebrows rose. “What day?” She smiled so wide it was almost contagious. “I should warn you, it’s a family-run company but it's a large one. My father used to run it, but now it’s my brother. He’s…well, let’s just say he’s determined to keep the place going, even if it kills him.”
I nodded. That was the thing about the red suit, people told me all sorts of things. “When’s the party?”
“Next Wednesday. Five until seven. It’s at the company offices, and it's the first year we've done it. You’ll have your own break room, and they’ll make sure you’re loaded up with food and drinks. There’s a costume, and I know it will fit. They’re particular about Santa looking just right.”
I almost laughed. “I’m used to costumes.”
