The Masks We Wear by Lee Jacquot

 

THIRTY FOUR

 

He sees it.

The charm to a bracelet I found a couple of years ago when Amora and I made over the treehouse. It became clear immediately it was from him, and I think it was the second time my heart broke.

I hated him for what he did, but I missed him so damn much I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. It felt like I still had a piece of him here, comforting me when I was surrounded by the dark. When I was lonely and broken at the hands of my mother. So I kept it, attaching it to a delicate chain long enough to keep the small charm hidden, right next to my heart. Every time I feel overwhelmed, upset, or sad, I latch on to it, and it always anchors me down.

After a few lingering seconds, he snaps out of his daze, moving quickly and wrapping the blanket around my shivering limbs. He strips off his hoodie and sweats in one fluid motion, leaving him in basketball shorts and a dry white tee.

Spencer flops down on the beanbag beside me and hoists me closer, draping my legs over his lap and my head into his chest. Even through the blanket, I can feel his warmth. It reaches through and circles my body, acting as a second cover. He returns to stroking my hair and rubbing the goose bumps from my arm.

Everything about what he’s doing fuels the fresh rain of tears streaming down my face. I never told him when my mother would hit me. I was too embarrassed and thought maybe things would get better.

I guess that’s why it’s taken me so long to feel the effects of my mother.

Like the frog in tepid water—merrily swimming inside, not realizing the temperature is slowly rising. Then all at once, the water is in a roiling boil, and the frog is dead. I was almost the frog tonight.

My aunt found herself a date. A nice banker guy that set up her new account and went out—the first time since making her stay here permanently. And since the bed was calling my name after being up for over thirty-six hours, I went to it, drowning in the sweet bliss immediately.

When I woke up, the smell of smoke encroached on my airways. Not like the house is on fire, but like a basic pack of Marlboros smokes. I crawled down the stairs, cautious, the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck standing at attention, not really knowing what would be waiting for me. Whatever it was I imagined, had nothing on what was found.

My mother, dressed in her nicest black dress, was dancing in the kitchen. Her hair combed back in the perfect bun, a pearl necklace dangling from her thin body as she moved. A cigarette stuck out from the corner of her lips, a cherry appearing at the end as she took a long drag.

She heard the stupid stairs creak from my weight, and she snapped her face up to meet my gaze. My lips pulled into a vicious snarl, anger licking up my spine and settling between my shoulder blades. “Why are you here?”

My mother looked at me, wiping away a streak of mascara I hadn’t noticed before, and smiled.

After that... everything blurs into punches and kicks. And it wasn’t me who was at the receiving end this time. I’m relatively certain I blacked out, succumbing to the built-up rage that resided beneath my skin, waiting for its chance to wreak havoc.

But then, my Rook, my Sun, the guy that’s taking over my life, appears at the door, leaving the rest to be forgotten.

When I return my mind to the present, Spencer is kneeling in front of me, his glorious eyes searching my face, trying his hardest to read my thoughts. I decide not to speak and instead reach up, planting my hands on the side of his face and drawing him to me. His lips cover mine in the sweetest, softest kiss yet.

He’s hesitating. As though he’s scared he’s going to hurt me.

It strikes a match of irritation, and I push into him, deepening the kiss and nipping at his lip. He moans in my mouth, and my core tightens.

“Love me,” I whisper against his mouth, too caught up in his web to worry about the missing ‘make’ and ‘to’ in my request.

“I already do, baby.”

We freeze. His hands are locked in my hair, mine are wrapped around his back. Our lips sit inches apart, the staggered breaths we exhale whirl between us, drowned in the storm surging outside. So many reasons to keep going and never look up, but we stop. Our eyes look into each other as if they hold all the answers in the world.

And maybe they do.

At least the questions I want answered.

We are what we need more than anything in the world. Today, yesterday, tomorrow, and I’ll be damned if I wasted another minute not wrapped in his love.

I reconnect our mouths, arching, so my body is flush against his, our lungs taking and receiving the same small puff of air, making me dizzy. Grinding into him, I hook my hand in his shorts, pulling them down, greedily searching for his length currently pressed into my leg.

He hisses when my cold hand wraps around it, smiling into my mouth. It’s wide as hell, and for a second, I wonder if it will hurt. Besides some fingers, nothing else has been inside me.

Shit. Am I supposed to tell him...

No. Well, maybe, I should.

But what if he stops?

“Where’s your head? Come back to me.” His throaty whisper travels right to my core, turning my thoughts into incoherent whimpers.

He kisses my chin. Once. Twice, and then descends to the column on my throat, taking care to be as soft as possible. My pulse throbs under his tongue until it moves down, sliding between the valley of my breast and down to my navel.

I keep my eyes on him as I take his dick and drag it through my soaked folds, crumbling when he growls below me.

“Lily,” he hisses through clenched teeth, moving back up to nip at my bottom lip.

Whether it’s a warning or challenge, I’m not quite sure, but I’m ready to find out. Lining him up with my entrance, his beautiful eyes snap to mine, dark, hooded, needy. His eyelashes flutter, and a shiver shakes through him as I tilt up, pushing the tip of his head inside.

“Fucking hell.” Spencer slides in more, digging his hands in my ass. My eyes flare, a little pain spiked with immense pleasure as I stretch around him to accommodate his width.

Then, out of nowhere, he pulls out. Chocolate eyes flitting back and forth, brows furrowed with what looks like rage. My body mourns the quick loss of him, and I automatically reach out, pulling him back to touch me.

He sucks in a quick breath, his throat bobbing from his harsh swallow. “Lily. Have you had sex before?”

I groan, tilting my pussy up, so it rubs against him. “Why does it matter?”

His eyes disappear, rolling in the back of his head as he feels me. His words are strained, and it’s easy to see he’s holding on by the thinnest of threads. “Please, just answer me. Have you?”

“If you promise, you won’t stop,” I clip, wrapping my hand around him again. He’s somehow harder now, and it’s pulsing under my fingertips.

He nods.

So I answer.

“No.”