What Perfection Breaks

Marcus learned very young that being loved came with conditions.

Get good grades.

Smile at the right people.

Say the right things.

Wear the right clothes.

Be perfect.

And maybe—just maybe—his father would look at him with something other than disappointment.

Unfortunately, “perfect” was never enough.

⸻

“Why was this answer wrong?”

Marcus stood beside the dining table while his father examined a test paper.

Ninety-eight percent.

The highest grade in his class.

Yet somehow it still wasn’t enough.

“You missed two points.”

His father’s jaw tightened.

“Sorry.”

The slap came so quickly Marcus barely saw it.

His head snapped sideways.

Pain exploded across his cheek.

His mother didn’t even look up from her wine glass.

“You apologize too much,” his father spat.

“Maybe if you acted like a real man for once—”

Marcus looked down.

He already knew the rest.

The insults.

The slurs.

The accusations.

Words designed to make him feel smaller.

His father always seemed angrier whenever Marcus wasn’t exactly who he wanted him to be.

As if being himself was some kind of failure.

⸻

Later that night, Marcus sat on his bedroom floor.

His cheek still hurt.

Across the room, his mother slipped on expensive heels.

“You’re leaving again.”

She smiled.

A cruel smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marcus laughed bitterly.

“You never do.”

She stepped closer.

“You should be careful.”

His stomach dropped.

Because he knew exactly what she meant.

She knew.

She knew he snuck out every night.

Knew he disappeared for hours.

Knew about the abandoned chapel.

Knew he waited there hoping Xander would appear.

“I won’t tell your father.”

Her voice was sweet.

Dangerously sweet.

“If you don’t tell him where I go.”

Marcus clenched his fists.

Blackmail.

Again.

His mother leaned forward.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Then she walked out.

Probably to meet another man.

Marcus listened to the front door close.

And hated both of them.

⸻

The next evening, Marcus found himself sitting on the chapel steps.

Waiting.

The stars glittered overhead.

The wind whispered through broken stained glass.

Eventually footsteps approached.

Xander.

Marcus smiled immediately.

The practiced smile.

The charming smile.

The one everyone expected.

“Thought you got lost.”

Xander rolled his eyes.

“You wish.”

For the next hour they talked.

School.

Teachers.

Random nonsense.

Marcus laughed at the right moments.

Made jokes.

Acted normal.

By the end of the night, Xander seemed relaxed.

Marcus considered that a success.

Because Xander never noticed his bruised cheek.

⸻

A few days later they met again.

This time near a small creek behind the chapel.

Xander skipped a stone across the water.

Marcus sat beside him.

“You’re unusually quiet.”

Marcus grinned.

“I could say the same thing.”

Xander snorted.

“Fair.”

The conversation drifted elsewhere.

Books.

Dreams.

Places they’d never seen.

For a moment Marcus forgot everything waiting for him at home.

But when they stood to leave, Xander paused.

“You okay?”

Marcus froze.

Only for a second.

Then he smiled.

The perfect smile.

“Always.”

Xander stared at him.

Like he didn’t believe that.

But he didn’t push.

Marcus was grateful.

And strangely disappointed.

⸻

The third time happened two weeks later.

And everything fell apart.

⸻

His father had been drinking.

That was never a good sign.

Marcus arrived home late from school and found him waiting.

No greeting.

No questions.

Just anger.

“You embarrassed me.”

Marcus blinked.

“What?”

“A parent called today.”

His father stepped forward.

“Apparently you weren’t charming enough.”

Marcus felt something inside him crack.

Not break.

Just crack.

Like glass under pressure.

“I said hello.”

“Not well enough.”

The slap knocked him against the wall.

His ears rang.

His father kept yelling.

Marcus barely heard the words.

Only the anger.

Only the disappointment.

Only the message he’d heard his entire life.

You’ll never be enough.

⸻

That night he ran.

Not walked.

Not snuck.

Ran.

Straight to the chapel.

⸻

Xander was already there.

Sitting on the steps.

Waiting.

The moment he saw Marcus, he frowned.

“Marcus?”

Marcus forced a smile.

It looked wrong even to him.

“Hey.”

Xander stood immediately.

Something in his expression shifted.

Concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Lie.

“I’m fine.”

Another lie.

Xander crossed his arms.

“Marcus.”

“I’m fine.”

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

⸻

The silence stretched.

Heavy.

Painful.

Then Xander stepped closer.

And quietly said,

“You don’t have to keep pretending.”

Something shattered.

Completely.

Marcus laughed.

Except it didn’t sound like laughter.

It sounded broken.

His eyes burned.

His chest hurt.

And suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

Years.

Years of pretending.

Years of smiling.

Years of being perfect.

Years of never letting anyone see him.

Gone.

Just gone.

Tears spilled before he could stop them.

Marcus covered his face immediately.

Ashamed.

Humiliated.

Pathetic.

“I’m tired.”

His voice cracked.

“I am so tired.”

Xander didn’t say anything.

Marcus kept talking anyway.

Words pouring out faster than he could stop them.

“My dad hates me.”

A sob escaped.

“He wants me to be perfect all the time.”

Another.

“No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

His shoulders shook.

“My mom doesn’t care.”

The confession hurt most.

“She just uses me when it’s convenient.”

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The wind drifted through the chapel ruins.

Stars shined overhead.

Uncaring.

Distant.

Beautiful.

Then Marcus felt something.

A hand on his shoulder.

Not pity.

Not judgment.

Just support.

Xander.

“I’m here.”

Three simple words.

Marcus closed his eyes.

And for the first time in years—

He let himself cry.

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