Page 54 of The Masks We Break

Never again will I depend on him to feel close to her. No. That ends today.

Two yearsago

Thursday nights are my favorite. It’s the slowest night of the week at my job, Jenny’s smoothies, which gives me all the time in the world to escape in a book. It’s also the only night my dad is off work. So it’s a win-win type of day.

I lean over the counter, tracing my finger along the edge of a cool pink plastic case enclosing my new e-reader. With all the rain we’ve been having, I use it nearly every day during the week instead of risking getting a book wet. It’s also super convenient when customers come in and out. It used to annoy me just a tad having to shove in a bookmark and try to find my sentence when they left, but now it’s just the click of a switch and I’m back in my own little world.

Tonight though, I can’t seem to focus. I went to one of Blaze’s football games last week and still haven’t been able to get him out of my head. He moved so effortlessly on the field. Completely in control of his surroundings, and dominating the field like he seems to do at school. People move around him, like he’s the center of everything, effortlessly at his beck and call. It makes me wonder what else he might like to dominate.

My eyes scan the screen, rereading the same sentence for the third time as I tug at my collar.It’s hot.

“How many books do you read in a week?”

The voice shoots straight into my stomach, cutting loose a gate holding back thousands of butterflies. They take flight, making my heart flutter.

I click the lock button, a blush rising up my neck as I place the e-reader face down and gaze up at the heterochromatic eyes of the boy I can’t stop thinking about. “Depending on school and my work schedule, maybe three.”

With a life like mine, teeming to the brim with school work, tutoring, and my father, there’s an easy explanation for why I read so much.

Escapism.

So many fantasy books revolve around heroes with a broken family, or complete lack thereof. I relate to them on such a deep level that I’m still trying to find out when someone is going to come tell me I’m a princess of some magical land that has dragons. Or witches.

Bonus points if there’s both.

Blaze tilts his head, his eyes roving my face, making me shuffle on my feet. Every time he does that, it’s like he’s reading something I can’t see.

Finally, he nods. “I play ball to get away from this shit world.”

Just that one sentence.

It’s the first time he’s given me a little insight into his life. A reason for something he does. It almost feels as if I saw a glimpse of a tiny piece of him under the statue. I let that thought fill me with hope. Maybe one day I’ll get to see the whole of him.

“What-t can I get you?” I twist the hem of my apron in my fingers, silently wishing my pulse would ease up just a little.

His blue eye darkens, almost matching his stony gray one and the sight makes my stomach clench. His gaze flickers to my lips before he readjusts his watch and clears his throat. “Large mango.”

“My favorite.” It’s only a whisper as I grab an empty blender but his eyebrows furrow.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir. Coming right up.” I let the fib slip, unsure why I don’t just tell the truth, but then Blaze stiffens.

His back straightens and the nerve in his jaw tics. I can’t quite read if it’s anger or annoyance but it forces my eyes down, a swell of embarrassment filtering through my chest, making it tight.

I bite my lip, moving in silence to finish blending his drink. With his normal, impassive face back on, he pays, thanks me, and leaves, letting the suddenly cold air wrap around me.

Just that little glimpse is what I hold on to that night when I get home and find my dad waiting. It’s what I hold on to when the pillow isn’t enough to soak up the tears later in bed.

And it’s all I think about when I finally fall asleep.

TWENTY SIX

Icannot believe I let Amora talk me into this dress. She hyped me up, boosting my confidence to an unreasonably high level that came crashing down as soon as I walked in. All eyes flashed to me when I ambled through the doors of the massive observatory hall, and instantly, I regret listening to her.

Looking at it on the hanger was one thing—long-sleeved black sequin dress, sweetheart top and cinched waist. But putting it on was a whole other story. No, an entirely different genre.

Two long slits run along the center of both my legs, stopping mid-thigh. And no matter how many times I readjust the fabric, it falls open, exposing the skin underneath. It was made for someone of Amora’s height, so she paired it with some six-inch heels to help keep it off the ground. Then proceeded to make me walk around the apartment for hours to not look like “a newborn calf”.

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