I didn’t want to see myself in the hallway mirror. I didn’t want to see the suit, the beard half torn, the red mark blooming acrossmy jaw where Jason had yanked the beard off. I didn’t want to see the tears.
I shut my eyes. All I could hear was the echo of Jason’s voice in my head, over and over.You’re not even a real man. 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 feet moved on their own, straight to the bedroom. I dropped the Santa suit on the floor. The boots after. I didn’t even get the jacket off all the way before my knees buckled and I sat, hard, on the edge of the bed.
I stared at the wall. The scent of vanilla still clung to the air from the candle. It should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. It just felt like a reminder that I didn’t belong anywhere.
I thought about texting Felix. I really did. I'd even turned my phone off because if he called me, I didn't know what to say. Sorry I embarrassed you? Sorry I made a scene? Sorry I’m exactly as pathetic as everyone thinks I am?
I set the phone on the nightstand, face down.
The tears started then. Hot, silent. I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes and tried to stop, but it was useless. I couldn’t get the sound of the laughter out of my head. The way Jason’s fingers had dug into my thigh. The way nobody had stopped him, not really. I’d just let it happen. I’d let him say those things. I’d let the whole room see exactly what I was.
I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
I got up. My hands didn’t feel like they belonged to me. I finished stripping out of the Santa suit, let it puddle on the floor, didn’t even care that the hat was crushed under my heel. I tried to get the beard glue off my face, but it just left red streaks that hurt when I touched them. My chest ached. My stomach rolled. I couldn’t breathe.
I needed somewhere small. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere nobody could see me.
I opened the closet. The light inside was broken, but the dark was good. The dark was safe. I crawled in, leaving the door half open, and pulled my knees up to my chest. There were still a few of Mom’s old shirts shoved to the back, faded and soft. I burrowed in, dragging them down over my head. The smell was mostly dust, but underneath, I could catch the edge of Mom’s perfume, old and powdery, like mornings when she’d hug me tight before work. I pressed my face into the fabric and tried not to shake. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel.
I wanted to disappear.
It was just dark enough in there. Quiet. I pulled my knees up, curled tight, and tried to slow my breathing. If I made myself small enough, maybe the world would stop laughing at me for a while. My chest hurt. My hands ached. I clutched at the shirts and let the tears come, silent, hot, sticky on my cheeks. I didn’t even care. There was nobody to see it. Nobody to hear me.
I could still hear Jason, the way he’d said it, like he was proud of knowing all the places I was weakest.You’re not even a real man. You’re just a sad little man who can’t even take care of himself.The words burned.
I pressed my back to the wall and let the darkness have me. I didn’t want to go back out there. I didn’t want to see the Santa suit, the ruined beard, the mess I’d left behind. I didn’t want to see myself.
I didn’t know how long I stayed like that. Long enough that my head started to throb, and my face was tacky with dried tears. I tried to breathe slowly, but every time I thought about Felix, the ache got worse. He’d see it. He’d see the video. He’d know I was a joke, just like Jason said. All the people laughing, all the phones out, everyone watching me just take it. I’d never felt so sick. So ashamed.
The house creaked. I flinched, burrowing deeper. Maybe if I stayed here, I could just wait it out. Maybe if I stayed quiet, Felixwould never have to see me again. He’d forget all about the mess I’d made.
The front door slammed. I froze, breath locked in my throat.
Footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful. Then silence, just long enough for me to think I’d imagined it, and then the kitchen light flicked on. I heard the scrape of shoes on old linoleum. My heart hammered. Shame burned hot and thick in my stomach. I curled tighter, hands fisted in the shirts, and prayed he wouldn’t find me.
But Felix wasn’t the kind of man who gave up.
It didn’t take him long. The bedroom door creaked open. I could hear his breathing from the other side of the closet. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to make myself invisible.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there. I could feel the weight of him in the room, the way he filled up all the empty space. He was always like that. Solid. Unstoppable.
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. Gentle. Not angry. “Clayton?”
I wanted to answer, but nothing came out. I pressed my fist to my mouth and tried not to sob.
He crouched down, slow and quiet, like he thought I might bolt.
The closet was tiny, barely enough space for one, but Felix didn’t even hesitate. He crouched, then sat right there on the floor, not touching, not talking, just waiting for me to breathe. The silence hummed. It was almost worse than the yelling. I hugged Mom’s old shirt to my face and squeezed my eyes shut.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t even lean in. He just waited until I could taste the dust and shame on my tongue.
“Clayton?” His voice was barely there. He didn’t sound angry. Not even disappointed. Just…soft.
I tried to answer, but the words stuck. I pressed my head into my arms and hunched tighter, face burning. All I could thinkabout was people laughing. Jason's hands. The way I’d just sat there and let it happen.
He reached out, slowly, and set his palm on my knee. Warm, heavy. I didn’t flinch, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My whole body was locked. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered.
