Page 77 of Severed Heart
“It’s grim, but that’s the story.”
“Sadly, yes, the true nature of the struggle within everyone.” I turn to him as the streetlights run over his profile. “Everyone wears a mask,” I point out with a sigh.
“Think so?”
“You know this, Tyler. Don’t play ignorance.”
“I’m not. What’s my mask?” he asks.
“You know that too.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Your mask is reliable, Tyler, with the sad, soulful eyes who thinks opinions he does not dare speak. Tyler, who cares for his mother, loyal to his friends.” I unscrew my bottle and sip the last of my pint. “Tyler, who caters to his best friend’s drunk aunt.”
“Whoa,” he says, pulling to a stoplight before giving me a hard stare. “You’re no charity case. I hang with you because I fucking want to.”
“See”—I point toward him, dropping my empty bottle in my purse—“you’re using your mask right now because you’re afraid to offend me, but I often see what you refuse to say. But what happens when Tyler, who is not so okay all the time, gets irrationally angry and releases those words? Reveals his true thoughts in those moments and dark parts of himself. What will happen?”
He presses the gas, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know, but I sure as shit don’t want to go around being some out-of-control, frothing-at-the-mouth, unhinged asshole who acts on his anger only to fuck up my relationships and possibly my life.”
“Hmm, like me?”
His head whips toward me. “No, that’s not what I’m saying ... Jesus, I’m not insulting you. Why are you trying to start an argument?”
“I’m not, but that is what you think. If you are brash like me, you know it will not bode well for you. I’m a good example of what not to do.”
“Stop twisting it.”
“There is no twisting this truth, Tyler. I know what my mouth does to people. I make them uncomfortable. I say things that do real damage that I cannot take back. You stop yourself. I chose not to in my past. Now, I try not to be so brash. Cause less damage.”
“Is that why you isolate so much? Is this what you think about in your long baths?”
I slowly nod as he glances over, knowing my opponent has studied me far more closely than I thought, as the unease spikes again.
“I sabotage myself and make many unforgivable mistakes. My cross to bear as the maskless woman.”
“So, stop doing it,” he says as if the task is simple.
“Do not be so naïve. It’s against my true nature.”
“I know you can. You’re trying every day.”
“You have a fool’s faith,” I warn. “Too much faith in me.”
“You do, too. I’m no fucking angel. I do drop my mask,” he asserts. Maybe not in a way that damns me, yet, but I do,” he confesses. “And it’s far from innocent.”
“Show me,” I challenge.
“What?”
“Show me,” I prompt. “Speak to me as Tyler without his mask.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Because you refuse to,” I counter.
“It’s different ... it’s a different atmosphere, a different circumstance on the occasions I do.” He pauses. “Honestly, I don’t think of it as a mask.”
