Page 41 of The Masks We Wear

Grabbing the one on top, I glance at Remy before opening it. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I got as many as I could find.”

The flyer is the printed photo from the party with a bold print, listing the appropriate time I can be reached for services, along with my phone number, email, and place of fucking employment.

It’s not anger or rage that floods through my body, it’s validation. It’s knowing my suspicions were right, and every bad thing in my life stems from this new Lily. The one I loved isn’t underneath some complicated layers, waiting to be saved.

This girl is damaged beyond recognition, leaving me mourning the loss.

“It could always be worse.” Shrugging, I toss the paper back down and stride up her stairs two at a time.

There’s a pain, one I don’t want to acknowledge, stabbing into my heart. Each breath I take makes it worse, shoving whatever’s poking it, further in. I flop down on her futon in my usual place, and my hand massages the ache.

Remy appears in the threshold, still bundled up. She peers over the rim of her glasses before pushing them back up the bridge of her nose. “You’re not mad?”

“Nope.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m feeling.

“Seems a little much for someone to do just because they want you to do their part of a project, Spencer.” Remy sits next to me, folding her legs beneath her. She almost looks like a little kolache, and it makes me smile.

Her eyebrows knit together, and I realize she’s waiting. When I merely shrug again, she clears her throat. “I’ve thought about things lately, and I noticed something. You know a lot about me. Like a lot an—”

“No, I don’t,” I interject. I know where this is going, and I’m not ready. Having a friend of the opposite sex is easy, but when they know too much, when they knoweverythingand become a best friend, that’s when you have to worry about losing them–about becoming strangers that know each other’s secrets. I don’t want to lose Remy.

“What’s my favorite color?” She’s not going to let this go.

“Pink. But come on, that’s pretty easy.” I gesture around the room. “Your favorite hobby is reading. You always have a book, most of the time, your finger is tracing some part of it. You’re smart as fuck, and low-key a little funny. You stutter when you get nervous and chew on your bottom lip so much, it explains why it’s always swollen. Let’s not forget your bad taste in guys. But those aren’t intimate things, just simple observations of a scientist.”

Remy huffs, leaning back a little. “I see. And are you always that observant?”

I nod. “Always.”

“Okay. Well, it looks like we have a few things in common. Like our poor choices in who we like.”

My head tilts. “You lost me.”

“I mean, this thing with Lily. Crush gone wrong? Or mayb—”

“Crush? Remy, fuck that girl. She’s a psychotic fucking train wreck, and the only kind of crushing I want to do, is my hand around her throat. I can’t believe she’s changed so damn mu— Fuck.” Remy laid the trap in front of me, and I still fell in.

“Changed. The Lily I’ve known about has been the same since she was a freshman. Who’s the Lily you knew?”

I sigh, scrubbing my hands over my face. She doesn’t need to know every detail, but keeping up the vague lie is becoming exhausting. “Her name was Liliana when I knew her.”

After that small admission, the words flow. I tell her everything. How Liliana and I met, our childhood, the time spent in the summers under the stars, and all the days we wasted in the treehouse. My mother’s condition and her parents’ absence. I tell Remy how much I loved Liliana.

I loved her.

The once annoying stabbing in my chest stops. Now, it’s a twisting sensation, and everything inside my ribs seizes. My ribs cave under the pressure, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

I need to leave.

“Remy, I got to go. Thank you for ripping the posters down. But really, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you becoming a target or anything.” No matter how much I try, my voice cracks, strained under the lack of air.

Remy, being the amazing friend she is, just nods and stands, walking me to the door in silence. When we get to the front, the weight has lessened, and I turn on my heels.

“Where’s your snow shovel?”

She shakes her head, “Oh, no. You don’t need to do that, Spencer. My dad should be home in the next couple of days.”

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