The Masks We Wear by Lee Jacquot

 

SIXTEEN

 

For the first time in forever, I stay home the entire weekend, confined to the four corners of my room, chugging coffee like it’s water. Deadlines are approaching, and these essays won’t write themselves.

Unfortunately, cheer is not recognized as a sport, and a full-ride isn’t guaranteed. My GPA is going to help, along with winning regionals, but I still need to apply for more scholarships.

Dad refuses to pay for Kentucky, saying I have a spot waiting at Solace, but I don’t want anything handed to me. When people give you something, they in turn hold power over you—the ability to either take it away on a whim or hold it over your head.

So instead, I’ve worked my ass off to get it paid for by myself—a big middle finger to the parents who probably won’t even notice. But I’m proud of myself regardless. I may have started cheer for the wrong reasons–cover some bruises, become the hot chick Spencer wouldn’t ignore, and maybe grab some of my mother’s attention. But in the end, it gave me a reason to keep getting up every day. There were girls who needed me, and I couldn’t let them down.

A flicker of white draws my attention to my window. Pulling my blanket around my shoulders a little tighter, I stand, edging toward the sight.

Snow.

The first of the season. Flurries of white dance in the sky on their way down, spinning around one another before breaking off and finding new partners to twirl with. A particularly big one plummets faster than the rest, and when it gets to my eye level, I realize I’m not the only one watching it.

Spencer.

He’s leaning against his window frame, hands in his dark wash jeans and a snug black tee stretching across his chest. His glasses were broken in the fight in the cafeteria, which would explain the fresh raw line across his cheek.

He got off with a warning at school since, technically, he didn’t initiate it and had no prior offenses. I’ve thought about the altercation a few times, remember him lost in the pure fury that shook his body. I was at the edge of my seat, stiletto nails sticking so hard in my palm I still have the marks. Watching him feel something in that moment, something at the hands of my doing was the hottest thing I have ever seen.

Spencer threads a hand through his dark locks and sighs. He doesn’t notice I’m watching him. At least if he does, he doesn’t seem to mind, and something about that sends a spike of heat through my chest.

I hate that.

I hate that after everything, my body still calls to him. Every ounce of my being wants nothing more than to be next to him—while to him, I am nothing. I hate him.

“William. How many times do I have to tell you? We’ve been friends forever, bro. There is nothing going on with me and her. She’s not even my type—too plain, boring. She’s nothing.”

The voice on the phone is so loud I can hear it through his ear piece. It’s deeper than it should be for a thirteen-year-old, and his laugh curls the hairs on my neck. “You’re a dog, Hanes.”

Squeezing my eyes against the burn, my chest heaves. The once dull pain, now alive, radiating through my body with a vengeance. It’s hard to look at him without hearing his whispers from that day.

When I look back at him, his eyes are locked on mine. My breath hitches—no, it stops. Each nerve-ending tingles as we stand, waiting, but for what I don’t know.

Do something. Anything. Urging him with my thoughts, I take a quick breath. Just once, I want to see that same fire in him like from the cafeteria. I want to know I get under his skin the way he does me.

Instead, his gaze flits down before he thrusts himself off the window, turning and disappearing behind his curtains.

My shoulders deflate as I let the air fill my lungs. This is stupid. I’m stupid. Falling back on my bed, letting it curl in around me, sleep comes. The crushing weight of nearing midterms, scholarship deadlines, regionals, and all things Spencer finally taking its toll.

When I wake up, I have too many messages and notifications, but one makes my heart stutter.

Bulldog: Monday, 4:45

I’M EARLY TODAY, but only because I want to get this over with. The quicker we start, the faster we’ll be done, and I don’t have to see Spencer the entire week. Blaze took me out to eat for lunch, so I spared myself the nausea of having to see him while I ate.

Slipping into the worn chair, I sling my bag on the back and begin drumming my fingers on the desk. Waiting is still something that drives my nerves into overdrive, though I’m not sure if it’s from irritation or anticipation.

The door opens a few minutes later, and Spencer appears in the frame. He doesn’t notice me a first, flopping into the seat with a sigh, letting his backpack drop from his shoulder with a dull thud. His ugly confetti sweater hugs his biceps as he runs a hand through his hair, and that’s when I notice he still doesn’t have any glasses. The scratches on his face are starting to scab, and I ignore the twinge of guilt that wells in my throat.

I swallow it down and clear my throat. He deserved it. “Rough day?”

Spencer jerks back, his eyes narrowing, and I assume, trying to get me into focus. I wonder how he managed to get through the day like that.

“Between being barked at all day during the passing period, finding a bowl of dog food in my locker, and a new collar with a ‘Lily’s pet’ tag, I’d say yes.”

A hideous bark of laughter spills from my mouth before I can stop it. I knew when I posted it on social media, things would get a little rough, but this is gold. Part of me wonders if he’s connected the dots. If he’s figured out why being a dog is so significant.

Spencer shakes his head, and his body vibrates with the anger he won’t let out, which makes the prior guilt fade. He still won’t react. Why?

“I’m going to start the timer. Please don’t talk until then.”

My head snaps back. “The only reason I won’t is because I don’t have anything else to say, not to mention I don’t speak bitch, so, ya know.”

The nerve in his jaw tics as he clenches it, but other than that, he says nothing, grabbing the remote from his backpack. He clicks a button, and the room illuminates into a golden yellow, similar to when the sun first starts to set.

We wait in the requested silence, neither of us daring to look at the other. While normally I would feel happy surrounded by yellow, its brightness irritates me today. But maybe it’s because I’m having to wait again. Either way, my pulse increases, and I can feel it in my wrists, tapping against the thin skin. It’s annoying as hell. Clenching the charm on my necklace, I pull it back and forth, paying little attention to the sting of it digging into my fingertips.

Finally, the timer goes off, and he jumps right into it. “Hey.”

Making my voice as bored as I can, my hand waves cheerfully. “Hey.”

“How was your day?”

My eyes flash to his, and a smile creeps across my face, widening when he shifts in his seat. “Marvelous. How was your day?”

“Dumb as fuck. How are you feeling?” he continues, keeping his face impassive, but he can’t stop the nerve thumping in his temple.

“Annoyed,” I chirp, honestly. “How are you feeling?”

Spencer’s eyebrows draw together slightly, and his head quirks, but he doesn’t inquire further. All business. Cool, that’s what I wanted anyway.

He clears his throat and mimics my response, “Annoyed. If you could do anything right now, what would you do?”

“Fuck your mouth,” I reply, hoping to get some type of reaction.

I have no earthly idea why it matters so damn much. Why I can’t just let it go and move on. Why after all this time, I still think about that day I climbed up the rose trestle outside his window to have my heart ripped out of my chest.

Because that’s what he left me with—a mangled piece of meat that barely even beats anymore.

Coupled with the occasional beatings from my piece of shit mother and total neglect of my father, he made me the very thing that’s sitting in front of him now. Losing him, the last person who was everything to me… that’s what broke me. It made me realize that the only person that ever truly, really cares about you is yourself. Everyone else is just a good time or collateral damage.

“If you could do anything right now, what would you do?” The burn behind my eyes is strong now, but not enough for me to give in and let him know he still hurts me even when he isn’t doing anything.

It’s just been me, struggling with making him keep a secret and wanting to fuck his brains out, while he hasn’t done anything this entire time. He’s just sat there, taking it all without a word…

Biding his time…

Like he’s just waiting for this thing between us to pass…

Then it hits me.

Spencer hasn’t done anything. He was enrolled almost three months before I even knew he was here, and even that encounter was by chance. There was no way in hell he didn’t know I was here.

Why haven’t I realized this before?

He purposely avoided me.

An anger I haven’t felt in years rears its head, soaking into my blood like a hot toxin, spewing through my body. My hands shake under the table, but I keep my face as calm as I can.

He doesn’t get to win. Not anymore.

He mumbles something about doing research, and I realize it’s now time for the extra part. I clamp my mouth closed, unable to verbally say anything else. The room is suffocating, full of his scent, and I don’t want to breathe it anymore.

When he realizes I have nothing to add, he leans back. “Stop with the bully act, Lily. It looks like shit on you.”

Bile hits the back of my throat. That’s what he thinks I’m doing? Bullying him, and he’s a victim? Like he’s the one that didn’t rip my heart out like a fucking coward.

I scoff, standing, and shoving the heel of my palms on the desk. Rage continues to flood my system, driving it into sensory overload, coating my words in a venom I hope knocks him on his ass.

“Fuck you, Spencer. Fuck you for thinking I care in the slightest about your meek existence. You are the shit beneath my heel that smells so foul, I just throw them away. You think I’m being a bully? I’ll show you what a fucking bully I can be.” I yank my purse up by the straps, whipping it around, so it hits him square in the face and slam the door closed behind me.

Charging forward through my blurry vision, I don’t stop or look back and let the tears coat my cheeks. They aren’t tears of sadness or hurt. They are from the deepest, darkest part of my twisted soul. The last part that gave a fuck, which is now burning in the fire of my fury.

I hate him, and I want him to feel it. I want him to look down at the shards of his life after I’ve demolished it, leaving it at his feet, and feel it all.

Then he will know what it is to have nothing or no one in your corner. He will know the same reality that I’ve known since I was twelve years old. And I think I’ll start with the thing he does care about.

Remy.