Page 15 of The Masks We Wear

The next hour consists of new poses and new outfits for the girls and with each picture snapped I can see Brody drifting away further and further. By the time the shoot ends, and the photographer is satisfied, she looks almost…defeated. The look of defeat on her face causes a very small and very minor stinging sensation in my chest, one that I’ve never experienced before. I blame the excess of caffeine I consumed this morning rather than the dangerous territory of all things Brody Drake.

Once we’re back in the car, Brody rests her head against the window in silence, just watching the sidewalks and people passing by. She hasn’t uttered a single word, hasn’t made any irritating noises to rile me, and hasn’t cursed at me once. Something is definitely wrong with her, and I want to know what but then I remind myself that her emotional state isn’t within my jurisdiction. I’m not an emotional man and I never will be. I don’t care about the emotions of others, especially not spoiled rockstars who choose to pump poison through their veins. I don’t care about Brody Drake.

Chapter 9

Brody

There’s always a methodto my madness. Well, at least when I’m sober, though the madness I’m often trying to achieve when sober is getting violently high or drunk or both, exactly what I’m trying to achieve here. In this very specific situation however, the method to the madness is putting up a front and letting Harvey think that I’ve given in to him and his stupid ass rules. I’ve made myself scarce around the house this past week since the photoshoot and have limited conversations with him as much as possible. The reason for doing this is simply to ensure he doesn’t suspect the plan I’ve concocted.

You see, Selene has Satan’s Angels scheduled for a music video shoot, another thing I’m not looking forward to, especially considering I’ve barely spoken to the girls since my outburst at the shoot. I’ve been cooped up in my room for a week, bored, miserable, and so painfully sober even though I have a nice baggie of edibles hidden in my tampon box. I haven’t taken them yet not because of Harvey’s random drug tests -something he hasn’t yet forced me to comply with- but because I’m waiting for the right moment. And the “right moment” is the video shoot.

“Brody, let’s go.” Harvey demands from downstairs.

I grin as I exit my room with the bag of edibles in my boot.

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I LOUNGE ON THElittle leather couch in my personal dressing room, Harvey seated in the corner on his phone. He does thata lot. Texting, and I often find myself curious to know who he’s texting. I’ve never asked because like I said, I’m trying to limit interaction, so he doesn’t suspect anything. I sigh as I stare at the ceiling. Aria and Ivory are shooting guitar scenes right now so until it’s my turn, I have to just sit here and wait, staring aimlessly at the ceiling and wondering how my life got to the point it’s at right now.

My hair is styled in messy curls with chains and charms embedded into a few small golden braids that are only a quarter of an inch thick. My eyes are smoky like they usually are on tour and in last week’s shoot, and my outfit consists of a lace up leather corset and matching lace up pants. Harvey has barely spoken two words to me and I’m unsure of his reasoning for being silent. Usually, he likes to argue back with me, but I also haven’t initiated any arguments of late. The desire to do so has been there, but the execution hasn’t in fear of messing up my devious plan. When I had to change, I left the edibles in my boot where Harvey would never find them. I don’t want to get high; Ineedto. I’ve drifted so far from my friends in just one week and I’d give just about anything to go back to how things used to be before all the lawsuits and the very sexy babysitter moved in. When I get high today, I’ll be sure to hang with the girls so they see I can still be fun. I’ll fight tooth and nail to remind them I’m special and I’m not replaceable.

I glance at Harvey who’s still typing but there’s a faint smile on his lips as if he’s enjoying speaking to whoever he’s texting. My brows pull together. I’ve never seen him smile like that and a small seed of jealousy plants in my stomach and sprouts. His job is to pay attention to me, and he hasn’t been doing so, he’s too busy talking to the girl on the phone. I know I should be happy to not have his attention on me but for some unknown fucking reason, I’m not. I want him to smile at me like that and not ather. I’m not usually one to get jealous but I choose to blamemy deep-rooted hatred for Harvey. I love arguing with him and riling him up and I can’t do that if he’s focused on someone else.

I clear my throat to get his attention, but he doesn’t look up. I clear it again and he looks up, his smile falling and his brow raised in question. “What?” He grunts.

I frown. “I’m bored.” I complain, knowing that isn’t why I interrupted him.

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head as he continues typing, his eyes dropping from mine.

I huff out a breath in defeat. A moment later, I’m still unbearably bored. I decide to roll off the couch and leave the dressing room. I’ll walk around to pass the time. He rises from his seat immediately, “Where do you think you’re going?”

I look at him over my shoulder with an annoyed expression on my face. “To walk around. I’m bored as fuck and you’re not entertaining me. You’re too busy texting.”

He exhales and slides the phone into his pocket. “Sit,” He demands, pointing at the couch I vacated.

I cross my arms but don’t sit. “No.”

He shakes his head. “What do you usually do at these things?”

I raise a brow. “Get fucked up.”

Harvey gives me a disapproving look. “Of course, that’s all you used to do, but that isn’t how it’s gonna work anymore.”

I roll my eyes and plop back onto the couch. “Yeah, yeah, we know. No drinking, no drugs, blah blah blah.” I roll onto my side and face the back of the couch, so I don’t have to look at him. I’m so painfully bored.

“You’ve been on good behavior lately. I told you I would have you on a leash in no time.” He says arrogantly from his seat. Usually, I’m the one that starts in with him but I have a gut feeling him starting in with me is the only way he knows how to extend an olive branch and keep me entertained. This is probably his way of being nice.

I roll over onto my other side to face him as I prop my head up on my arm. “You totally got me. I’m practically a new woman,” I answer sarcastically.

He snorts a laugh, “Better than the circus animal you were before.”

I can’t help but chuckle. Who knew he had a sense of humor? His phone pings with a new text and he slides it out of his pocket to answer, all of his attention on the phone. I frown. “Who are you texting all the time?” I ask, unable to keep my curiosity contained. He looks up at me with his black eyes, but they shine with protectiveness. Whoever it is, he loves her. Is she a girlfriend? Awife? Oh my God, is he married?

“Someone important.” Is all he says.

I sit up straight, “Are you married?” My stomach drops in anticipation.

He gives me a repulsed expression. “No.”

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