Page 18 of The Masks We Wear

A violent tremor takes hold of my hand, causing me to drop my keys twice. Finally, I’m able to unlock the door, pushing it open as quietly as possible. If she is here, I might be lucky enough she’s passed out, and I can slip into my room.

My face jerks to the right, a sting radiating across my jaw. My hand snaps to the tender spot before I spot her, standing in front of me in a deep red robe. Her dark hair is mussed, and streaks of mascara decorate her flushed cheeks.

“You dumb bitch. Where the fuck have you been?” My mom’s voice slices through the air, hitting me square in the chest.

I close the door and push past her. If I can get up to my room and just shut the door, I’ll be fine. Two feet is how far I make it before I’m yanked back by my ponytail. Her slurred words ring in my ear. “I asked you a question, you fat little slut.”

Maybe if she was ever sober, or better yet even came home, at all, she would remember I cheer. It’s like she only remembers the fact when she’s telling me I won’t make it into Kentucky.

“I was at the game,” I say through clenched teeth. My body struggles against the need to slam my fist in her stomach, but I don’t want to clean up the vomit she’ll inevitably hurl after.

“Yeah, I’m sure you were, pinche puta.” She releases me, shoving me against the banister. My hands reach out immediately, grabbing on and using it to propel me up, taking the steps three at a time, ignoring the sloppy slurs she yells behind me.

Running inside my room, I slam the door closed and lock it before pushing my back against it, sliding to the floor. Every part of my body shakes, a dangerous mix of anger and frustration sloshing through my veins like sludge.

I count my breaths, forcing my brain to slow its erratic thoughts. I haven’t seen her in over a week—I guess my luck was bound to run out.

Luck. Luck was when I was young, and she stayed cooped up in her room, only coming out to eat. Luck was when wedidinteract, and I only had to endure pops to the back of the head or a belt across the leg. Or when my dad was here to make sure she didn’t hit me too hard. I ran out of that luck about five years ago…

Wiping my brow with the back of my hand, I laugh; it’s humorless and trickling with the sadness I wish I could let go of but never do. Instead, I always let it fester in my gut until I throw up and wonder when I’ll ever be good enough for her.

At last, my tremors start to ease when a flicker of a light grasps my attention.

It’shim.A sudden wave of calm washes over me, soaking up the anxiousness and steadying my breath. Pushing to my feet, I move to the window, careful to stand in the shadows of my room so he can’t see me.

Spencer’s curtains are open, giving me a full view of him pacing his room. He’s on the phone, and from the looks of it, thoroughly pissed off. He grabs the hem of his hideous pea-colored sweater before dropping it and threading his hand through dark locks. As he massages the nape of his neck, his eyes suddenly snap to my window, and my heart stops.

I hold my breath, inching closer to the middle of the window. For some reason, I want him to see me—needhim to. An idea sparks in my mind, and I act fast, scared I may think better of it before I actually do it.

Sliding open the pane, I peek my head through. The air is moist and smells like it’s only seconds away from filling with rain.

Slipping onto the sloped roof, I ease myself down on the ledge. The drop isn’t but about ten feet—an easy stunt to a frequent flyer. I fall, bending my knees slightly when my feet make contact with the soft ground.

A few quick steps and I am at the large maple tree nestled in the corner of my backyard. It’s just to the right of his window, only about five yards away, and I know he can see inside of it. One time when he had the flu, I sat inside and talked through the open window.

I hoist myself up the ladder, nailed to the trunk, my heart thumping against my chest with every step.

A year ago, Amora helped me clean it out and give it a new look. She gripped the whole time but ended up loving it. Sometimes we come out here, escape from the day-to-day shit, and just relax. She didn’t know it also served as an escape from my mother’s occasional...outbursts. The inside is now painted a soft white, with a black abstract poster on one wall. A dark plush rug rests in the middle, and two gray poufs sit near the only window.

Positioning myself in the middle of the rug, I gaze out the glass at Spencer’s window. He’s still there, leaning against the frame, his arms folded across his chest.

Heat flares low in my belly as I keep my eyes trained on him, leaning back on the furry floor. My pulse races, and my breathing becomes labored, but I don’t dare look down. Not yet. I wanthimto be the one to break away like he did at the game. I need to see if he’s capable of doing that now.

I pull my tank over my head, exposing my breasts to the chilly air. My nipples pebble instantly, and I move one hand to roll them in between my fingers. Spencer shifts and his jaw clenches, the thick vein on his neck makes an appearance, but he doesn’t stop staring. In fact, his eyes darken, a forbidden desire rolling in them, turning me on more.

My thighs clench together, the sudden warmth deep in my core igniting a fire in my pussy. I want to plunge my finger inside and put my throbbing clit out of its misery, but I need to put on a show. See how far I can push Spencer Hanes before he cracks.

Trailing my other hand down my bare waist, I stop at the edge of my shorts, my head naturally lulling to the side with the small shocks of pleasure. Curling my finger around the string, I pull it slowly until the bow flops open, allowing my hand to slip inside.

A crash of thunder jolts my body upright as my index finger makes contact with the sensitive bud. I rest on my elbow, watching Spencer’s chest rise and fall faster. Biting into my lower lip, I drag my pinky through the slippery folds, moaning at the sensation. I imagine it’s his tongue, licking up and down, exploring every crevice, lapping up all the wetness that’s just for him.

I slip the shorts from my hips, giving him a full view before sliding my hand back up my thigh. I roll my swollen clit, and a flutter descends in my core, heating my body up just as a string of lightning illuminates the dark sky. Finally, my eyes shut, unable to keep up the charade, and I give in to the burning ache.

My fingers massage the knot, moving faster with each rumble of thunder, hungry for release. An electric surge ransacks my nerves, pulling me deeper into the abyss. Breathing becomes impossible as my body tips over the edge. All I need is one last glimpse...

I gaze at the window and see him leaning against his arm that’s resting above his head on the window frame. His hands curl into fists clenched so tight his knuckles are a bright white. He is so incredibly sexy when he’s angry.

A burst of stars steals my vision, and my toes curl in, pulling every tendon in my foot. My head snaps back as the orgasm rips through my body, threatening to kill me with it. Every muscle clenches in uniform, squeezing and releasing until finally, they relax entirely.

---