“Bet you never thought you’d end up like this,” he hissed. “Pathetic, washed up, begging for scraps. How’s that working out for you?”
I tried to breathe. I stared at a spot on the carpet, counting the blinking lights on the fake tree. One, two, three. I could survive this. I’d survived worse.
Jason’s hand slid up, grabbing the fake beard. He yanked, hard, almost tearing it off my face. “Let’s see the real Clayton, huh? Let’s show everyone what you look like without the mask.”
The beard came loose, snapping against my cheek. It stung as he ripped it off. My eyes watered, but I blinked fast, refusing to let him see it.
A few people started shifting, uncomfortable now. Someone called, “Hey, Jason, time to go,” but Jason just laughed, swinging the beard in circles.
“Did you know Clayton here used to beg me to take care of him? Said he couldn’t sleep alone, couldn’t even eat unless I made him. Like a little bitch baby.”
The laughter died. The HR lady’s eyes went wide. A couple of people started to look uncomfortable, and someone’s phone dropped to the carpet with a thud. I tried to breathe. I could feel sweat prickling, slick on my palms. My whole body wanted to shut down. Just…shut down and disappear.
Jason leered at me, still waving the fake beard. “Hey, Clayton. Remember last Christmas? When you got those little kid pajamas and thought I'd wanna take them off you? What’s the matter, Santa, do you need a nap now?”
I stared at the floor. I couldn’t move. If I tried, I’d trip, or cry, or both. I’d never felt so exposed. Not even when Jason had thrown me out.
He twisted, grinding his ass down, grabbing my arm so hard I could feel the fingers bite. “You’re not even a real man, you know that? You’re just a fuck-up in a costume. Nobody wants a sad old loser like you. They just pay you to play dress-up.”
My ears rang. The color drained out of the room. I felt like a kid in trouble, frozen in place while everyone stared.
He leaned in, hot breath right in my face. “You know what I want for Christmas? I want you to admit you’re pathetic. That you like being treated like a baby. C’mon. Tell everyone.”
I wanted to die. Right here, right now. Maybe it was the way the room had gone dead quiet. Maybe it was the way a few people actually looked disgusted. Maybe it was just the way my hands shook, or the way my chest hurt, or the way I just wanted Felix, needed Felix, needed someone to just tell me I was okay, even if I wasn’t.
I swallowed and tried to push Jason off my lap. “Please get up,” I said, voice shaking. “You’re hurting me.”
He sneered, twisting tighter, his knuckles digging into my thigh. “You always were a whiner. No wonder you lost your job. No wonder nobody wants you. You’re just a sad little man who can’t even take care of himself.”
I should have fought back. I should have said something. But my brain just went white. I could feel the sweat down my spine, the tears gathering in the corner of my eye. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. Not here. Not for him.
Someone finally stepped in. A woman in a green dress, face set hard. “Jason, you need to stop. Now.” She got her hands between us, pried his fingers off my arm. “You’re drunk. Go home.”
Jason shoved at her, but not hard. “What? You want a turn? I bet Santa here would love that. Sit on his lap.”
My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t hold the sack. It slipped to the floor, spilling the Secret Santa presents. “Jason, that’s enough.” The HR lady’s voice cracked, but she stepped closer. “You’re making a scene.”
He ignored her. “You want to see something funny?” He turned, hauling me after him. “Come on, Santa, it's a party. Let's see you strip.”
He shoved at my shoulder. I stumbled. My knee hit the edge of the table, and I almost went down, but I caught myself. Barely.
The room was dead quiet now. Nobody was laughing.
Jason leaned in, hot breath in my ear. “You’re pathetic. You always were. You’re not even a real sub, you know that? Just a needy, whiny mess.”
He said it quietly, for me alone. Like a secret. Like he was proud of it.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to disappear. I just kept picking up the presents, head down, hoping he’d get bored.
He didn’t.
He grabbed at the hat, yanked it off, sent it spinning across the room. Then he tried for the buttons on my suit, but his fingers were clumsy. I caught his hand, finally, and pushed it off.
“Stop,” I said, but it came out a whisper.
He sneered. “Make me.”
I didn’t even try. I just stood there, shaking, heat and shame burning right through me.
