Page 17 of The Masks We Wear

He yanks me forward and I almost fall but his grip is so tight on my arm, I can’t go anywhere. Harvey tries to drag me out of the room even though I try to pull back, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than I am and I’m also cross faded. My arm hurts from where he holds me and I wince, “You’re hurting me.”

The look he gives me is menacing. “Do you have any idea what you put me through today? I had to search for you forhours.I only found you because your dumb friends posted a picture of you all here.”

Ivory sits up straight and shrieks, “We are not dumb.”

“Shut up.” He snaps at her, and she coils in on herself, closing her mouth.

“Maybe if you didn’t treat me like a prisoner I wouldn’t have run away. Besides, you have nobody to blame but yourself. Your job is to watch me, and you failed at that.” I grumble as I continue to try tugging out of his grip to no avail.

He leans in so close to my face I’m not sure if he’s gonna kiss me or scream at me, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the former. He keeps his voice low, “Well maybe if you weren’t such a fuck up, I wouldn’t have to babysit you in the first place.”

His words hit home, and I open my mouth to argue but no words come out. He’s right. I am a fuck up. My own parentscan’t stand to talk to me, they’re embarrassed by my lifestyle choices. If it were up to my dad, I’d be working a boring nine to five office job in finance, crunching numbers all day and wishing for something more. My parents unofficially disowned me once I decided not to go to college. Aria and I spend holidays with Ivory’s family and sometimes I fly to Florida to visit my brother, but otherwise, I’m all alone. I’m all alone because I’m the biggest fuck up the world has ever seen and what’s crazy about it is that I. Keep. Fucking. Up. I just can’t stop.

Harvey drags me out of the studio, his grip never loosening on my arm. Not even when we take the elevator three floors down to the lobby. He doesn’t release me until we’re at his sleek black BMW and he shoves me into the passenger seat. I cross my arms over my chest and rest my forehead against the glass, allowing the coolness of the window to seep into my skin and calm my nerves. It starts to rain and drops drip down the windshield. I watch on the sidewalk as people start to hurry their steps, hoping to get to their destinations before they get too wet from the rain. Harvey drops into the driver’s seat and speeds off, cutting in and out of traffic and driving like a mad man. The anger is still washing off of him in waves and I get why he’s angry. I would be angry too if someone went out of their way to embarrass me and make me look a fool.

I knew what I was doing when I ran away in the first place. I knew it wouldn’t end well but I was so desperate to keep the mask on for my friends so that they wouldn’t think I’m a fuck up. I can deal with my parents hating me, but not my friends. I’m so afraid of them abandoning me and cutting me out because I’m not fun anymore. I need to be Sticks and Harvey will never understand that. My career, my friends, my fans, all of it rests on Sticks and Sticks can only be Sticks if she’s in the news for some obscene thing she did while high.

The edibles are wearing off and the sadness is seeping in, theworry with it. Harvey doesn’t look at me once the entire way home. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued to the road ahead, his knuckles wrapped around the wheel and turning white. Once we finally make it home, he cuts the engine and sits still, waiting for me to make a move. I open the door and step out, tripping over my own feet. I’m a little dizzy from all the whiskey still, so regaining my balance takes a bit of effort, but before I can figure it out, Harvey is at my side, gripping my elbow tight but not as tight as he did before. He leads me into the house and to my room and then turns on his heel and walks away, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. His anger seems to have dissipated slightly, but I’ve come to know Harvey well and I know his silence is worse than anything. I’ve never wanted him to yell at me so badly. At least when he yells at me, I know he isn’t this mad.

I sigh as I drop to my mattress and roll onto my side. Footsteps return a moment later, getting louder and louder. Harvey steps into my room and I turn my head to find his black eyes avoiding mine. My eyes drop to his hand next as he places a glass of water on my nightstand. “Drink that.” He commands me.

I make no move, instead staring at him, completely shocked that he’d even care enough to get me water. I thought he’d rather let me suffer and rot. The only thing convincing me that what I’m seeing is real is the fact that weed isn’t a hallucinogen. Otherwise, I wouldn’t believe this sight one bit.

His voice gets deeper, more commanding. “Now.”

I sit up slowly, reaching for the glass and bringing it to my lips. I take a sip and then another, not realizing how thirsty I was. I empty the glass and set it down, expecting him to leave right after but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at me and exhales. It almost seems like the anger is leaving his body and it’s replaced by something else but I’m not sure what. What looks like a flashof pity runs through his eyes before he hardens his expression and furrows his brows. “I don’t know why you do what you do and it isn’t my job to know why. My job is to make sure you stop and that’s what I’m gonna do.” He turns to leave but stops at the door. He looks at me over his shoulder. “You’re so self destructive and you don’t even realize it.” He leaves, closing the door behind himself and leaving me encased in darkness. I curl in on myself, hugging my knees to my chest as sleep slowly sinks its claws into me and pulls me under the surface and into the abyss.

Chapter 10

Brody

Another night of shittysleep, except this time, add a mild hangover to the mix. Who knew not drinking for two weeks could result in my getting hungover? I haven’t had a hangover in years, and I think it’s because I usually drink every day. I wish this were the kind of hangover where I don’t remember anything that happened the night before, but unfortunately, I remember.You’re so self-destructive and you don’t even realize it. He’s right. And so, what if he’s right? He doesn’t understand and will never understand the reason why I do what I do. I have something to prove, and he doesn’t, I could never expect him to get that. The world isn’t relying on him to be someone that he isn’t, but it’s relying on me.

I roll out of bed against my better judgment and trudge into my bathroom, stripping my schoolgirl outfit off and tossing it on the floor. I step into the steaming hot shower after brushing my teeth and washing my face and let the water soothe the aches in my muscles. I must stay in there for thirty minutes before my fingers start to prune and I know it’s time to get out. I stand in front of the mirror and dry my skin off and notice subtle bruising on my arm from where Harvey gripped me yesterday. Something about the way he grabbed me and was so aggressive turned me on and I’m not sure if that’s something I should seek therapy over or should use a vibrator over. I’d like to believe I’m just sexually frustrated, but I know deep down that I’m attracted to him and I’m even more attracted to the aggressive side he has. I imagine him gripping my throat like that while he poundsinto me, and I feel an ache between my legs before I squeeze my thighs together and force the thought from my brain completely.

I change into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top before heading downstairs. I’m starving and there’s a lingering scent of food wafting from the kitchen which doesn’t help my hunger. I don’t want to look Harvey in the eye after last night so I’m hoping we can go back to how we were this week leading up to last night where we barely spoke and looked at each other.

I make it to the kitchen to find Harvey making a plate of scrambled eggs, alongside a smoothie bowl and a cup of coffee. It looks delicious and my mouth waters. His eyes land on me and slowly lower to the bruise on my arm. He clenches his jaw and then looks back up at me. “Good morning,” He greets, his expression and tone neutral.

I feel the tips of my ears turning red. “Morning.” I say awkwardly as I slide past him and open the fridge. He got me in the mood for eggs now so I can make myself some.

“What are you doing?” He asks. I guess we’re not ignoring each other.

I try to avoid his eyes. “I’m gonna make eggs.”

“Why would you make yourself eggs when I already made you some?”

I can’t help but meet his eyes with a shocked and confused expression on my face. I glance at the eggs he’s plated and find that he’s left them at the barstool seat I usually occupy when I eat. I raise a brow, “You made me breakfast?”

He nods once, “Yes.”

“Why?” I ask, suspicion lacing my tone.

He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “Peace offering.”

I walk over to the food and assess it. It looks so fucking good I want to shove my whole face in it but then I remember how angry he was at me yesterday and suddenly the gesture isn’tadding up. “Did you poison it to get back at me?”

“Why would I poison you when my job is to keep you alive and sober?” He asks, doubt in his voice.

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