The Masks We Wear by Lee Jacquot

 

TWELVE

 

It’s funny how predictable people are. How they naturally crave things, and once you figure out what it is, they’re putty in your hands. They’ll do anything to get it, and by whatever means.

For Spencer, it’s the new and improved Lily.

Back then, I was boring, just something to do, nothing. At least, that’s what I recall him saying about me. But now, he sees I’m not that weak little girl anymore, fawning after him anytime he spoke. Or maybe it’s because I’m hot, and the temptation of having something you can’t is too strong to ignore. Either way, I don’t care.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss my boot. And maybe with a little luck, the strong-ass alcohol, plus the sprinkle of something extra Blaze added, will coax him to do more than just put his lips on it.

He tugs at the hem of his shirt, his caramel eyes never leaving mine. He’s still thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons, but never once does he look at the people around him. It’s like he doesn’t know anyone else is here.

A strange combination of guilt and satisfaction swirl in my stomach. It’s like baking the sweetest cake in the world and then devouring it in one sitting.

Two small drops of sweat roll down his temples, and no matter the number of times he wipes them away, they reappear. Finally, he yanks his shirt off, and my core clenches.

His entire chest is glistening like he ran two miles. All eight of his abs are on full display, and even a few passing girls stop and admire what I’m sure is an equally impressive back. I have to stop my eyes from rolling.

Spencer may look good, but inside he’s just as ugly as me.

I lift my foot, leveling it with his chest, and he grabs it accordingly, wrapping his fingers around my calf. My skin burns under his touch, searing it like a hot poker. It feels foreboding. Like if I let this happen, there’s no coming back. I’ll be left with a scar.

But I think I crossed that line a long time ago.

Ignoring the searing pain, I tip my toe out, watching as his eyes darken and flit to my boot. His chest rises higher and falls deeper, and I imagine him standing at the edge of a cliff, weighing what the fall might do. He edges closer, and if I move an inch, it will happen.

Amora clears her throat, and when I snap my gaze to hers, those big blue eyes widen—waiting for the cue. I simply nod and cast my attention back to Spencer.

Out of my peripherals, Amora signals the cheer squad. Within seconds, the football team and others crowd around, watching. Hoots and hollers break through the crowd—some egging him on, others saying how disgusting he is. But still, he doesn’t seem to notice them. Spencer looks at me one last time sending a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.

I shouldn’t do this.

“Will, just shut up. She’s nothing—no one to me. Just a summer friend that makes my summer suck a little less. Now lay off.”

I blink the memory away and smile at Spencer, the same smile I use to get whatever I want, and it works. His lips touch my boot, and the herd behind him goes wild.

Different slurs ring through the air, but he doesn’t regard them. Instead, his grip around my calf tightens, like the smooth patent leather is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. His tongue sweeps out, licking the sides in a way that burns my cheeks. It’s not like he’s licking a spoon. No, this is different.

It’s carnivorous, and for a second, I wonder what he’s seeing. What he thinks he is actually doing.

His tongue swirls around, and he even sucks up the loose string, pulling it through his teeth with a growl. As sick as it is, my pussy quivers at the sight, lighting my nerves up in the region.

I clench my thighs together and snatch my foot away. “That’s enough, you revolting dog, I think you cleaned all the shit off. Now get out of my house.”

I press the tip of my boot right above his collarbone and shove him back, laughing when he hits his ass on the wood floor and his glasses clatter beside him.

The surrounding people jump back, screaming with laughter that finally wakes him up. His eyes flash to me, brows knit together, and then… he smiles.

A wide grin, that makes his dimples deepen profoundly.

It sets off a chain reaction in my stomach and if it weren’t for the dozens of spectators, would have caused me to blush, maybe even smile back.

Spencer grabs his glasses, placing them on his face as though nothing out of the ordinary happened, and stands. His muscles flex with the movement, and even with the disgusting comments thrown his way, every girl I can see stops and ogles his frame.

I fist my necklace, pulling it so hard, I know it will leave marks if it doesn’t cut through the delicate skin first, and watch him.

He slips his thumb across his bottom lip before turning, leaving through the door without saying a word.

I suck in air and realize I’ve been holding my breath. Everyone is still standing near me, crowding my space as though, waiting for me to say something—announce something.

But I don’t. That’s not the MO I’m known for. Instead, I hop off the counter and find Blaze’s steel eyes in the crowd. I tug on his jersey, and he follows.

We take the stairs at my pace, which is slow—the weight of everything finally pushing down on my shoulders, making it taxing even to move. My plan was to make him keep childhood secrets.

But truthfully, it was something else.

Something I can’t admit. Not even to myself in the privacy of my own thoughts.

My phone jolts in my bra, vibrating across my chest.

I pull it out, wondering if it’s him, but instead I frown. It’s an unknown number that’s called me almost every day this week. They don’t leave a message or text me back when I ask who it is, so I assume it’s spam.

We reach the landing just as I press ignore, shoving my phone in my jacket. Turning toward Blaze, I try to read his face. His beautiful eyes are low as if he’s tired, and his lips are clamped together in a thin line. But nothing out of the ordinary suggesting he disapproves of my prior and current actions.

Suddenly those eyes narrow and I freeze.

Shit.

He moves in closer, grabbing my chin with his finger and thumb, adjusting my head to look at the wounded side. After a beat, the nerve in his jaw tics. “When did this happen?”

“Today.”

“And you didn’t call me because?”

I sigh, more guilt piling on what’s already pulling me down. “Amora walked in when I was cleaning up.”

He clenches his teeth. “Where is the woman now?”

Blaze is the only one that knows the truth behind my scars. Not too long after I met him in eighth grade, I lied about one my mother left on my arm. Told him the same thing I tell everyone else—a mark from a cheer incident when it was really a bruise from the end of a broom. But that’s the thing about abused children. They can spot the lie in a heartbeat.

He came over later unannounced, barging into my house as though it was his, with a metal bat in tow. That’s when he found out I live alone, and that same night, he learned my mother lives almost an hour away. Ever since then, he’s taken care of the aftermath of her random visits.

“She’s gone,” I answer, softly moving my face from his grasp.

His chest heaves with his sigh before he nods. “Well, Amora didn’t clean it well. I’ll do it after the party, so it doesn’t get infected.”

My lips turn up just slightly, and I nod to the door. “Ready?”

“When you are.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. Even if Remy doesn’t know anything about my secrets today doesn’t mean Spencer won’t decide to spill his guts tomorrow, and I’ll be back to square one. The thought makes me realize the real reason I want to talk to her so badly. The whisper in the back of my head, I want to shut up once and for all. Shit, how far the mighty have fallen.

Hopefully she’s too drunk to even remember this.

Running a hand through my green ends, I yank, forcing myself to calm down, and open the door.

Remy stands near my desk, in almost the exact spot Spencer stood a few weeks ago. Her face is buried in a psychology book about managing the effects of childhood traumas. When she notices us, her eyes widen. “I-I’m sorry. I came up here for the b-bathroom, but came in the wrong room. Then I saw this b-book.”

I nod, walking over to my night table and flip on the lamp. “Got some daddy issues you need help with?”

Remy ignores my comment, her gaze stays on Blaze, who’s still standing at the door. He’s leaning against the frame, his large arms folded across his chest, but he’s looking at me.

There’s something floating in the air. Something tingling, yet suffocating, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. He may be uncomfortable because of who she is, and considering he’s going to Solace after graduation, this is a delicate situation.

Even so, I need to know if Spencer has told her anything.

“I’m sorry I’m in your room-m. I can leave now.” She puts the book back on my desk and wraps her arms around her middle. Remy’s face blooms a bright pink, and finally, her hazel eyes find me.

I grin, waving my hand as though dismissing her comment and flop down at the end of my bed. “That’s not a problem at all, Remy. I’m actually glad we ran into you. Stay.”

She stiffens, wiping her nose as her eyes bounce between Blaze and me. “I don’t-t want to i-interrupt.”

My brows draw together. “You’re not. I don’t recall you having a,” I pause, not wanting to offend her.

“A stutter-r?” Her hands wrap around her core tighter. “It only manifests when I’m extremely stress-ed. Or—”

“Drunk,” Blaze cuts in. He’s observing her intently now, almost as if he’s watching her mannerisms to commit to memory. Remy’s blush deepens, and I almost worry it’s from lack of air.

“So you and Spencer?” I cut to the chase. I’m mentally exhausted now and want to get this over with.

I massage the muscles in my right shoulder, tilting my head when I hit the worst knot. I don’t want her to feel like it’s an interrogation, so I try to keep my face neutral, focusing on the ache radiating across the blade.

“N-no no. Nothing like that. We’re f-friends. Co-workers too.”

Hmm. Spencer works?

I vaguely wonder why either of them needs jobs with their parents’ financial status. Spencer’s dad is a doctor, and Remy’s owns a university.

“So you spend a lot of intimate time together?” I finally look at her directly in the eyes. I ignore the burn in my chest and the lack of moisture in my mouth. “Share a lot of things with each other?”

An odd sort of chortle shakes her body as she looks at Blaze again. She’s fidgeting now, gripping the hem of her orange sweater and straightening her posture.

I huff inwardly. Of course. Who doesn’t have a crush on Blaze.

Remy swallows hard, eyes fixed on a spot on my bedspread. “No. Not r-really. I mean, I tell him loads of things, and we talk about-t school stuff all the time. But we aren’t intimate.”

I grace her with a sympathetic smile. She doesn’t know anything. The irrational jealousy I had dissipates but leaves an unwelcome warmth in my chest.

“Blaze is going to take you home now.” I stand, walking toward my door. The girl doesn’t respond and instead stares at him, eyes as big as golf balls.

I stop when I reach my friend, placing a hand on his still folded arms. “Take my car.”

He nods, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be back soon and fix your eye.”

When I look back, it’s not to look at the girl, but at the dark house in my backyard. The light in Spencer’s room flickers to life, and I can’t help but wonder.

Do I really want to win this game of Chess?

Is it worth what I’ll lose?

In the end, it is because you can’t lose what you never had.