Page 75 of The Masks We Wear

This is about closure. Letting go so that I can move on.

I repeat the phrase three times before we enter the hotel.

To say the fire Marshall would be disappointed is an understatement. The entire floor lobby is packed, overflowing with students and projects, and men in white jackets with clipboards. They are all moving to a room behind the tall receptionist ar ea. The majority of everything inside is glass or reflective steel. The nearby elevators are see-through, all full of onlooking spectators. The ceiling in the hotel is enormous, at least twenty feet, and a complete slanted skylight. A light sprinkle has started, and I watch as the water beads and rolls down the windows. Soon enough, it picks up, and watching it feels almost like being on the inside of a waterfall.

Suddenly, a firm hand wraps around my wrist and weaves me through the crowd. When I look down at Spencer’s fingers locked on me, every nerve in my body ignites, and my core throbs in a way it hasn’t since our time in the colored room. I squeeze my eyes closed and remind myself.

Closure.

Finally, we reach our section, and he finds our table quickly. His trifold is set up next to a plethora of others, and honestly, pretty badass. There is data and graphs, pictures, and studies. He even has a binder with colored tabs, which I assume have more in-depth information on his color study. That’s when I noticed the title.

COLORS AFFECT HUMANS, BUT TO WHAT EXTENT?

I huff. Of course. How the hell hadn’t I put that together?

Spencer leans in, his breath tickling the stray hairs on my neck. It sends a shiver down my spine. “Thank you.”

My eyes connect with him, and instantly the world around us drowns out. He’s right next to my face, one deep breath away from his lips touching mine. And for some insane reason, I actually consider rising on my tiptoes and closing the distance.

It would be so easy.

There was a time I thought maybe we just needed to get all the tension out of our system. Just one good fuck to make us feel better. And right now, with his gaze on my lips, his deep erratic breaths, and the clench in his jaw, I think he may feel the same.

Sex. Then closure. Yeah. Totally possible.

“Colors.” The husky voice of an older gentleman draws us apart.

Four men, who I assume to be judges according to their large badges, step closer to us. I back up, giving the floor to Spencer, and mouth my good luck.

I feel bad I can’t really be of assistance on this part, but that guilt only lasts five seconds. Watching him explain the depths of our experiment leaves me in awe. He uses terms and vocabulary about the brain I had no idea existed. He’s intelligent as hell and listening to him sends a heaviness between my thighs that makes me clench my knees together. By the time he’s done, I’m fairly certain I have taken at least two college courses about the psyche, and that’s when it hits me.

Dr. Floren doesn’t use too many colors because of how the brain can react to each one differently. Leaving her room clean and neutral lets the brain decide what they want to feel without exacerbating it.

Thinking about it, how I still have so much to learn, sends excited shivers down my spine. I can’t wait to be in my field. Helping those that think they are alone… forgotten. And be a haven for managed souls tormented by abusive parents.

Mr. Jones appears as Spencer makes his final remarks and asks them if they have any questions. “Miss Conley. Your room key.”

He places the card in my hand, still staring at Spencer. “How’s he doing?”

“Amazing.” The word tumbles out, but it’s the truth. He’s incredible.

“I knew he would do great—an absolutely wonderful idea. Alright, don’t forget. We’re ordering pizza and meeting in room seven thirty-four.”

“Oh, Mr. Jones,” I stop him, remembering to remind him that Spencer and I will be sharing a room, but instead, like any conflicted teen, I don’t.

I’m supposed to be amending my past with Spencer. But I don’t recall Dr. Floren saying how that needed to be done. “Nevermind.”

He nods, smiling briefly before running off to the next table. When I turn around, Spencer is leaning against the table, his mouth slightly ajar.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, those deep brown eyes honing in on me. “They said we are going to place.”

“Seriously? They can tell so soon?”

“I guess. I mean, they got our reports a week ago. This is more for show and presentation. Lily... I didn’t tell you about the prize.”

Lifting my chin, I move closer, fiddling with the edge of one of the binders. “What is it?”

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