Page 22 of The Masks We Wear

I’ve never written lyrics to a song in my life. I’ve never tried and never had to because my friends do it all. But for some reason, words are coming to me as I’m playing and I stop to write them down, alternating between playing and writing. In about an hour, I’ve come up with the first verse.

The red and blue lights shine right in my eyes

She stops and demands I say my goodbyes

Anger arises as I learn I’ll never be coming back

The Devil sends temptation as a form of attack

They told you I’m the serpent in disguise

But you know you’re not in danger when you look in my eyes

I pour my heart into those words. It’s my story and I feel like there’s more to add to it, I just have to find the rest of the beat first. I stop the beat and think for a second. The guitar portions of this song can be left up to Aria and Ivory but even then I feel something would be missing from it, but I’m not sure what.

Just as I feel like a lightbulb is about to go off above my head, my phone rings from where it lays on the black leather couch at the other side of the room. I get up and walk over to it, curious to know if it’s Ivory or Aria. I hold my breath in anticipation and once I finally get to it, the name that flashes on the screen has me jerking back in shock. I was most certainly not expecting to hear from Beatrix Banes right now. I lift the phone off the couchand press the green answer button. “Hello?” I greet.

“Sticks, my favorite American!” Beatrix exclaims in her British accent, amused on the other end.

I grin at the sound of her voice and at the background noise. It sounds like she’s in a club packed full of people but it’s only two in the afternoon. Leave it to Beatrix to find a party at any and all times of day. God, it’s one of the many things I love about her. She’s so fucking cool. “What’s up? You sound like you’re having fun.” I chuckle, trying to be a good sport even though I’m green with envy.

She laughs on the other end, “I’m at a fucking party, Love. You have to come, I got the best blow you’ll ever have.” Her voice gets louder as she yells into the phone over the noise of the party.

I sigh, my face falling. “I would love to, Beatrix, but I’m on lockdown right now.”

“Bloody hell, Love. Do you need me to send someone to bail you out?” She queries.

Does she think I’m in jail? How would I be able to answer my phone from jail? “No, I’m not in jail. Selene is making me stay clean and sober. I have a babysitter living with me to keep me in check and he’s very strict, so unfortunately, no parties for me.”

She gasps on the other end, “Darling, I could have him killed for you if you’d like.”

Technically, I could have him killed if I wanted to. All it would take is one phone call to Ivy in New York and she’d fly here on her private jet with her gun fully loaded and the safety off. I never got a clear grip on what it is her and her fiance do, but I know whatever it is, it isn’t legal and the girl has a lot of blood on her hands. But I’m not having anyone killed. I’ve grown to tolerate Harvey and I don’t want him dead as much as he does annoy me at the best of times. I’m slightly concerned to know that Beatrix has lethal connections to people and I makea mental note to never, ever get on her bad side. “That’s okay. Thank you though.”

“Find a way to come here, Love. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” she complains.

I frown, my free hand reaching up to flatten the hair on top of my head even though there’s nothing wrong with it. “I wish I could, but I really can’t. I’ll tell you what, I’ve only got two and a half months left of this so when I’m free, we’ll party.” I promise, hoping a rain check will be enough for her. I can’t deal with my friends thinking I’m boring but Beatrix thinking I’m boring would send me over the edge. I look up to her and don’t want to disappoint her.

She pauses on the other end, the only sound coming from the speaker, the muffled murmurs of partiers and upbeat music. Those sounds may be loud but nothing is louder than the disappointment in her silence. I squeeze my eyes shut in humiliation and feel my chest tighten.

A moment later, she finally speaks, sighing into the phone, “Fine. You owe me a good party, Darling.” Her voice sounds genuine and not at all disappointed, but I know it’s there. I heard it in the silence.

“I promise.” I assert, my grip tightening around the phone.

“Alright, you enjoy sobriety, Love. I’ll party for both of us.” She chuckles from the other end.

I force a smile even though she can’t see me. “Sounds good. Have fun.” My voice chokes and I force myself to hand up the phone before tears threaten to fall. I don’t want to be overly emotional and over dramatic crying over not being able to party but it isn’t about the party. It’s about what the party means. There’s a reason Beatrix doesn’t call me to go shopping and that she calls me to party. It’s because my entire persona revolves around being a reckless troublemaker who snorts blow like nobody’s business and always has run-ins with the cops. That’swho I am to everyone and that’s who they want me to be. I’d never be in the news for being charitable or well mannered, I’d only be in the news for the list of offenses Selene read off that sheet of paper what feels like ages ago.

I sigh and force the emotions at bay. I’m not crying over a stupid party. I walk right past the drums and sit at the bench of the piano. I rest my elbows on the keys and a dark and almost gothic sound escapes as I drop my head in my palms. My exhale gets cut off by that sound my elbows made. I remove my elbows and stare down at the keys. I haven’t played the piano in years. My signature instrument is the drums, there’s no room for piano in metal and rock. I learned piano when I was a kid, my parents wanted me to play what they considered to be a “classy” instrument -you can only imagine their reaction to my playing one of the most obnoxious instruments out there. -

I watch the keys in silence as if they could move at any moment of their own accord. What I love about the drums and all instruments is that they don’t play themselves. They require a master, someone to play them, to command them. I place my right thumb on middle c and my other four fingers on d, e, f, and g. I keep my other hand in my lap for now, not sure if any notes will even come out of my fingers or if anything will come to me.

I press the keys and listen to the sounds but nothing piques my interest or inspires me. I exhale a disappointed breath. Not only did I completely disappoint Beatrix, but now I’m disappointing myself. I let my mind waver into the uncharted territory of self-loathing, of everything that’s happened these last few weeks and how my entire world has completely turned upside down. My thoughts center around one thing in particular, someone. Harvey Taylor. Before I can think, my fingers start to create sound. The notes start flying out of me and before I know it, I’ve created thirty-four beats. The notes are melancholy and cased in a serene sound that doesn’t exactlyfit the image of Harvey I have in my mind but reminds me more of myself and my lifebeforeHarvey stepped into it.

“Brody, come up!” Harvey’s voice calls from the top of the staircase leading to the second floor. I didn’t even hear the door open.

I rise from the bench, the faint whispers of my song playing in the back of my mind on a loop. The song I made on the drums still feels like it’s missing something and so does the mixture of beats I created on the piano. I start to go down a rabbit hole in my head of just what could be missing as I march up the stairs and to the kitchen. The entire time I walk, the drum song and the piano song play in my head simultaneously. I stop a couple of steps away from the top as my eyes land on Harvey who’s standing at the door just watching me with an amused expression on his face. The music dies in my head. “What?” I ask.

He shakes his head and forces a tiny smile away. “Nothing. You’ve been down there all day; you need to eat something.”

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