Page 44 of The Masks We Wear

“Spence, get your fuc—”

His mouth crashes into mine, stealing my words, my breath, my soul.

It’s not tentative or soft, it’s angry and possessive. He bites into my bottom lip, forcing my mouth open in a gasp, and takes full advantage, sliding his tongue inside to fight with mine. Though the wordfightingis an understatement.

We wage war on each other.

He takes my breath and gives me his, but it isn’t enough. Nothing is enough. My fists find his shirt, balling the fabric to pull him somehow closer than he already is. He threads his fingers in my hair, gripping it by the root and tugging our bodies flush. There is no way to tell where his ends and mine begins.

A groan vibrates his body, sending wild tremors down my nerves. My veins throb, threatening to burst at any second. To think I’ve been kissed before is the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought.

Thisis my first kiss. The one that makes me feel like I could combust at any second, but not care, because he would put me back together. Then do it all over again.

He breaks from my mouth, and before I have time to whimper a protest, his lips are on my neck, somehow licking and nipping at the same time. I feel my eyes roll to the back of my head, and I mewl, hoping he doesn’t stop.

“I bet if I slid my hand down here, you would be fucking dripping.” His fingers tickle around the waistband of my jeans, and my stomach tightens.

Everythingclenches and screams, begging for him to just do it.

“Is this what you want from me, Lily?” His lips are back at my ear.

“Yes.” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s breathy, needy, and weak. But he hears it just fine.

“Remember this. Because now that you’ve had your fix, I willneverfucking touch you again.”

And then he rips his body from me in one fluid motion, letting a deep chill wrap around me in his absence. He played me like a damn violin, and I showed him how, singing as he did it. I blink the fire away, curling my hands around my stomach.

How did I let this happen?

“I hate you.” It’s a whisper, but I know he hears it when his eyes narrow.

“Believe me, baby, I hate you more.” Spencer grabs the notebook on the table before sparing me one last glance. “You can parade around here like a queen all you want, but I know the truth. You’re nothing but a fucking peasant.”

With that, he slams the door behind him before I take my next breath.

My chest feels hollow yet heavy, and there’s an insane burn inside my nose. But this time I don’t ignore it. I embrace it. I let every old scab bust open and bleed out, committing this new pain to memory. Because I will remember this and let it remind me why I won’t mess up again. My fingers find the charm on my necklace, clench it, and pull it back and forth until my neck burns from the friction.

Well, Spencer Hanes, welcome to the end. And believe me when I say, what I did before was child’s play.

With my mind made up, I exit the small room, and what little air I have left flees my lungs. Stacy stands with her back against the wall, fingers playing with the hem of her cheer skirt. She peers up at me before smiling.

Shit.

Instead of walking toward her, I click the down button on the service elevator right next to me. If I were to talk to Stacy now, I’m liable to bash her poor head against the locker and of no fault of her own. It’s just because I can’t do it to Spencer.

With a dull wave, a small wish she didn’t hear anything, I clamber inside the elevator and glide down to the first floor.

The elevator doors open, and I swear someone is playing a goddamn trick on me. My mother sits at the entrance with her cleaning cart, drinking from a metal cup.

You got to be fucking kidding me.

Her eyes connect with me, and instantly I know—this bitch is drunk on the job. I’m quick to move around her, ignoring the sounds of the metal hitting the cart. I make it two feet before her cold fingers wrap around my arm, swinging back to face her.

“You’re just going to walk by your mother, you fucking puta?”

“Mother? Bitch, my dad was more of a mother to me. My aunt Mina was more of a mother.Iam more of a mother to me!” I can’t stop it. I try, I really do, but it’s like trying to hold water in a strainer.

And the consequences are instant. The cool metal of her cup crashes into my jaw, spilling its contents all over my blouse. Whiskey burns the inside of my nostrils, and I’m pretty sure she cracked my tooth as the metallic liquid fills my mouth.

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