Page 1 of The Masks We Burn

CHAPTER ONE

Fuck men.

Both literally and figuratively. I would say there isn’t a point in even bothering with the physical aspect, but a good pair of abs and his firm hold supply me with an orgasm my vibrator can’t.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t hate them or anything, I just don’t have time for them past the sex. I tried that once, about two years ago, and he turned out to be pretty fucking scummy. He’d recently been broken up with before his engagement, unbeknownst to me, and I was the rebound. I found out in the most comically depressing of ways when the ex came back mid-lay, and he literally slid out of my body and ran to her at the door.

That was hands down the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened in the history of ways to be broken up with.

Now, don’t be mistaken, I’m a spicy ass female who can bounce back from almost anything, but that did something to me. It fucked with my mind, infecting me with self-doubt I haven’t felt since high school, and has poisoned some of my thought process ever since.

I question things I normally wouldn’t—all of which pertaining to my psyche and personality. Workouts happen five times a week, and my well-paid therapist gets a text from me at least twice in that time span for a quick chat.

Truly though, it’s not all because of the ex that shall not be named. He was more like the catalyst, bringing all my suppressed insecurities to the surface.

I can admit I got issues, and not of the daddy variety. Naturally, that’s the first generalization people make about my erratic life choices and strong opinions, but really it couldn’t be further from the truth. I love my dad. He’s supportive and kind—albeit mostly absent, running high-end hotels scattered around Washington, but he’s still a good dad. The man never missed a recital, a talent show, or a volleyball match. Hell, he even came to football games during halftime to watch my cheerleading performance.

No. My issues stem from my mother. It’s easy to make the admission since hours on a white leather couch have helped me identify the red flags like a pair of fake Louboutins.

She means well, I can sorta see that, butshecan’t see how fucking out of touch her world views are. How absolutely soul-crushing her wishes are for my life.

Mylife.

The one I don’t seem to really even have control of, thanks to her...

Regaining focus on the present, I wind the bat up, the cool metal somehow seeping through the suit fabric and sprouting goosebumps along the back of my neck, and swing. The invisible ball of sudden anger swirls down the stick and into the 1950s TV set, exploding into millions of particles.

The relief is instant, my tight muscles unwinding as I drop the bat at my side.

“Felt good?” My best friend, Lily, peers at me from behind protective goggles, her large brown eyes crinkled in amusement.

I nod, shifting under the slightly itchy hazmat suit and jut my chin. “Yeah. Be a doll and hand me that crowbar over there.”

Lily chuckles, the sound partially muffled behind her mask as she lifts it back over her nose, and hands me the rusty bar. My roommate, Remy, is still standing in the corner, her gaze locked on me in awe.

It was my suggestion to come to Anger Valley, a place designed to release a little tension and safely destroy things. And while it made me appear a little manic in the eyes of my friends, they were initially excited to come. I mean, being in our last semester of college is bound to stir up a little stress, but we all have extra baggage bearing weight in our steps nowadays.

For Remy, it’s the strained relationship with her father. A couple of years ago, she found out some pretty life-altering news, and has had her plate full ever since. She cut ties with the toxic man, changed her degree, and has done well—I mean, she’s a freaking genius after all, but I see the way it wears on her at night when she drags herself into our apartment. Remy isn’t the type to complain, so I try to do small things like making sure the place is clean, picking up our dry cleaning and groceries, but still, I often find her fast asleep on the couch before her dinner is even done heating in the microwave. Luckily her boyfriend, Blaze, forces her to take some self-care days too.

For Lily, it’s being newly engaged. Her longtime boyfriend, Spencer, popped the question at our Friendsgiving last year. She’s excited as hell, but she’s got this dream of a forest wedding that’s driving her insane. She wants it just like the Pinterest pictures and spent all of our December break creating a whole vision board. Now, as the spring semester looms just days away, I know the real action is about to start, and I can feel the moment coming closer when she reels me in.

It should sound like a good time—shopping, cake tasting, and the bachelorette party of the century planned bymoi, but it’s all happening in six months. How we’re going to finish school and do the plethora of DIY projects she has lined up is beyond me, but I guess now’s as good a time as any to learn a new skill.

I huff to myself the moment I think it.A new skill.That’s one thing I don’t need.

Hell, having too many skills is my problem now. Every year, I acquire a new one, and it only adds to my indecisiveness that looms in a cloud overhead, reminding me that I’m running out of time.

We’ll be done with school in five short months, and I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. Which normally, for someone with my financial stability shouldn’t be a big deal. Only it is. My entire freedom comes with invisible strings tied around my body, waiting for graduation day to haul my ass back into reality.

The reality being I’m no different than the woman who raised me.

I drive the crowbar into the frame of the TV and jerk it back as far as it’ll go. The plastic comes off with a groan before cracking and falling to the floor with a bang.

It’s funny how once something is built, it can be destroyed beyond repair in seconds. And no matter how hard you try to fix it, nothing will ever make it perfect again.

Handing Lily back the crowbar, I meander toward Remy and the table holding spray paint. I glance at the array of colors before meeting her bright gaze.

“How is everything, babe?” I ask, trailing a finger over the pink can.

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