I sat for a second, just staring at the apartment. It didn’t look like me anymore. It looked like a place where someone could actually live.
I checked my phone. Still nothing.
I sighed and went to change. I put on jeans and a sweater. If I wanted him to feel comfortable, I needed to meet him halfway. The sweater was one Livvy had given me, navy with a white stripe at the collar. I’d never worn it before. I pulled it on and checked myself in the mirror. I looked like I was trying too hard, but maybe that was the point.
I couldn’t sit still. I made myself go through the fridge again, double-check the dinner plan, make sure there was enough juice for him. It wouldn’t take much preparing. We could work together this time. Share a bottle of wine if we wanted.
I heard the notification on my phone and breathed a sigh of relief. He was late, but traffic would be a bitch.
Except it wasn’t a text, it was a call. Livvy. My phone nearly slipped from my hand. Livvy’s voice was a wreck, the kind ofcrying you could feel through your own bones. I braced myself, but it didn’t help.
“Felix, you need to check MySocial.” She was almost gasping. “Or any social. Please. Please tell me you’ve talked to Clayton.”
My heart jumped into my throat. “What happened?”
She was crying for real now, trying to get it together. “Someone filmed him at the party. With that asshole ex. It’s everywhere. People are making jokes, Felix. They think it’s funny.”
I could barely get the words out. “Send me the link.”
There was a second of silence, then my phone buzzed. I opened it, and for a second, my brain just went blank.
It was a cell phone video. Shaky, bad angle, but you could see everything. Clayton, in the Santa suit, sitting at a table. A man that had to be Jason, red-faced and already weaving as he staggered up and started in on him.
The laughter was so loud it nearly drowned out the audio, but I heard every word. Jason slurring, taunting, sitting in Clayton’s lap, jerking at his beard. Clayton didn’t even fight back. He just took it, face going paler with every second. Even through the screen, I could see his hands shaking.
Then Jason started talking about what Clayton wanted. About being a baby, about not being a real man, about how nobody wanted him. The laughter got meaner and then it died completely when some woman tried to intervene, but the phone never turned away. It caught everything. The way Clayton flinched, the way he kept trying to just finish the job, just be Santa, while this asshole tried to tear him down in front of a room full of strangers.
I couldn’t breathe.
Livvy’s voice was small on the phone. “He’s not answering me. I tried his cell, his email. Felix, I'm really worried.”
I swallowed, but it didn’t help. My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone. “I’ll find him,” I said, and I meant it.
Livvy was still crying. “He’s a good man. Please don’t let him think this is his fault. People are being cruel, but it’s not true. You know that, right?”
I wanted to break something. “I know. I promise.”
She sniffed. “Call me when you find him? Please?”
“I will.” I hung up before I lost it completely.
The video played in my head. Over and over. Clayton, frozen, letting this bastard climb all over him. The way nobody stepped in until the very end. The way Jason ripped the beard off, like he wanted to unmask him, humiliate him in the cruelest way possible.
I tried his phone. Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail.
I texted: Call me, baby. Please. Are you safe?
No answer.
I knew where he’d go. There was nowhere else. The bungalow. Where else would he hide when the whole world had turned into an enemy?
Clayton
The porch light was out. I stood on the step, arms wrapped tight, and tried to breathe through the thick, sour ache in my chest. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the keys.
I let myself in.
The cold hit first, a wall of it, swallowing me whole. It was dark, but I didn't care. I didn’t even bother locking the door behind me. I just stood on the mat, listening to the wind rattle the old glass, and tried to get my breathing under control.
