Page 25 of The Truths We Burn

But something about the soft yet firm tone has my ears peaking with familiarity.

I follow it all the way to the end of the hall. My hand presses into the door of the auditorium carefully. These old fuckers creak when you breathe on them.

Several rows of empty red cloth seats fill the theatre. All the lights that normally light the stage are off except for one single beam.

It glares from the balcony onto the dark wooden stage, allowing nothing but what hits the light to be seen in any direction.

There is only her.

She stands alone, just her and the light, wearing this plaid school skirt number that makes her legs look like they travel for miles.

Quietly, I slide into one of the seats in the back, leaning back and plucking my freshly rolled blunt from behind my ear. I use my match to light it, making sure my movements don’t disturb this little actress.

“Gah, I’d almost forgot how strong you are, John Proctor!” she says confidently, her eyes wide and sorta dreamy, like a woman with an infatuation.

Calling her a good actress would be an understatement, because I thought it was impossible for Sage Donahue to look this smitten.

She pauses for her imaginary co-star to say his line before her body shifts and she continues.

“Oh, she’s only gone silly somehow,” she giggles—literally fucking giggles.

Smoke rolls off my lips as I watch her move across the stage. Gilding, like she was a swan born on water.

Graceful, comfortable, belonging.

It almost makes me forget what she said the last time we talked or how close I was to showing her what it’s really like to piss me off.

“Oh, posh.” She waves her hand, stepping closer to the man I’m assuming she’s talking to. The wickedness in her body language makes me smirk. “We were dancin’ in the woods last night, and my uncle leaped in on us. She took fright, is all.”

She mumbles the next few lines, both hers and her partner’s, pacing back and forth in the spotlight like something is building inside of her.

I’m not one to be interested in things that don’t excite me, but something about how real she looks up there is fucking with me.

“She is blackening my name in the village!” She says the words as if she’d swore. “She is telling lies about me! She is a cold, sniveling woman, and you—” Her eyebrows furrow, sadness creeping up her throat. “You bend to her!”

I hate theatre, and I think I’ve been inside of this one maybe twice, but there wouldn’t be much that would move me from this seat.

She shakes her head aggressively, like her partner had said something she couldn’t stand to hear. I lean forward in my seat, squinting as I catch the tears that glisten off her pale face.

“I look for John Proctor who took me from my sleep and put knowledge in my heart! I never knew what pretense Salem was, I never knew the lying lessons I was taught by all these Christian women and their covenanted men!” she spits, her voice sizzling with emotion, like a betrayed woman in pain.

“You loved me, John Proctor.” She steps closer to the front of the stage, eyes begging without even saying the words. “And whatever sin it is you love me yet!”

I inhale, the smoke trying to make me cough, but I hold it in, resting the blunt on my lips as I raise my hands.

“Bravo!” I shout, clapping my hands slowly, echoing in the room that is otherwise filled with silence. “What a performance.”

She freezes, busted in the act of being something other than queen bee by the one person she can’t boss around.

I push myself out of the seat, making my way down the aisle towards the front of the stage with heavy footsteps.

“What was that?” I plant my hands flat on the stage, vaulting myself up so that I’m standing in the shadows while she continues to gawk at me from the spotlight. “Romeo and Juliet?”

It takes her a moment to realize what is going on.The vulnerable girl who seemed to be enjoying herself on this stage retreats, and out comes her protector. We all become something scary in order to protect our true selves and the ones we love.

I see her mask.And I’m tired of her keeping it on when she’s around me.

I want to see the ugly pain beneath. The secret scars she covers, the monsters eating at her flesh. Those are real, and life is too short to focus on the fake.

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