Page 24 of The Masks We Wear

THE TORTURERS OF THEmedieval times used some of the most gruesome and most wicked torture methods of all time.From hanging to boiling people alive, they left no tortuous stone unturned. But they could’ve saved themselves the trouble of all that work and could’ve instead placed the person they were torturing in a room alone with a very handsome and very attractive Harvey Taylor who’s just trying to watch a movie while you ogle him and mentally picture him doing very wicked and devious things to you with little to absolutely no fucking clothing on. There is no torture worse than that!

When the movie ended, I bolted from the room with a quickly muttered “goodnight” and raced to my room and closed the door behind me. That was about two hours ago and while my racing pulse has calmed down, my ability to sleep has escaped me. I’ve been tossing and turning for what feels like forever but every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is Harvey. It’s a curse. A terrible, horrible curse. This has to be karma for something, but what? I mean, I’ve been on my best behavior lately, what did I do to deserve this? Unless it was before the good behavior…Oh God, this must be my karma for putting hot dogs on that old lady’s car in New Jersey. I told Aria and Ivory it was probably not a good idea, yet I was the one who opened the sealed package of raw hot dogs and put them all over her car and in her exhaust pipes. This is totally my karma for that. Dear Karma, I really didn’t mean it and I was under the influence of a lot of drugs and alcohol. Please forgive me and let me sleep. P.S. please stop making Harvey Taylor look so damn fine. Thank you <3. I think mentally and send it up to karma if she’s real.

Another hour and a half later, I still can’t sleep. My brain feels too awake and energized as if I already got a full twelve hours. Frustrated, I sit up and let my legs hang off the side of my bed. I accept that I won’t be getting any sleep tonight right before I push myself off the bed and start walking towards my bedroom door.

Chapter 13

Harvey

Sleep will not cometo me no matter how desperately I wish it would. I have to be up in only a few hours to start my day with my usual routine and it’s irritating me that I can’t get my mind to shut down. This never happens to me, Ineverhave difficulty falling asleep, but for some reason, every time I close my eyes, all I can think of is the little rockstar with a filthy mouth and a horrible attitude that I’d just love to spank out of her. I’d love to discipline her for everything she did and continues to do wrong, in fact the thought is so thrilling that I feel my cock hardening painfully.

I’d discipline her for that foul mouth of hers and for every other thing she’s ever done that irritates me, but I’d especially punish her for throwing me off and making me do things I would never do. She occupies my mind and holds it hostage, keeping me from sleep and in the process, my precious routine and that is unmistakably the largest offense on her very long list of offenses.

No matter how hard I try to force the image of her from my head, the scent of her bergamot and sandalwood shampoo, and that devilish little grin that she gives me before she says something completely out of line or knows she’s about to rile me up, hold a collar of thorns around my neck that won’t loosen. She’s everything I hate yet I can’t shake her no matter what I do or how hard I try. I’d like to tell myself it’s because I haven’t had sex since before I signed the contract for this job with that one night stand from the bar, but I know I can’t when the image ofthat evil little grin comes back to mind.

The sound of a floorboard creaking grasps my attention and I sit up straight, looking around the room. I listen in the silence for another creak or a sound of any kind and sure enough, I hear footsteps falling quietly on the stairs, descending. I leap out of bed and hurry out of my bedroom. Does the little rockstar think she’s going to sneak past me? Does she think I’m sleeping and that I won’t catch her? She couldn’t be more wrong. Whatever it is that she’s about to do, I’m gonna put a stop to it immediately.

I stride out of my room silently, not wanting to tip her off on my presence as I start descending the stairs. I look around the foyer and the sitting room but they’re empty. I continue, in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, through the house. I check the kitchen, the family room, the theater, every room, and she’s in none of them. How could she have disappeared so easily? I continue my search and wonder what it could be that she’s doing that she thinks she won’t get caught. Is she planning on taking drugs of some kind? I’m sure she has some hidden somewhere, but I was almost positive she stopped taking them after I announced she’d be getting drug tested and Selene threatened her. I feel a tug of disappointment in my chest at the thought of her taking a setback on her sobriety. I’d never admit it verbally but she’s somewhat enjoyable to be around when she’s sober. The personality she hides from her friends and her fans comes out and it’s refreshing to see there’s a real human being in there with real opinions and likes and dislikes instead of some dime-a-dozen celebrity.

Brody actually made me laugh tonight and she made me enjoy being around her. I liked seeing that side of her but what I didn’t like was the side of myself that she brought out. I didn’t know I had an awkward side to me. I’ve never asked anyone to watch a movie with me aside from Lucy, but that doesn’t count because she’s my little sister. I’ve never asked a woman to watch a moviewith me and I’ve never offered to make a woman popcorn before. What is Brody Drake doing to me? My jaw clenches as I look in the garage to see if any of the cars are missing. They aren’t.

I unlock my phone and check the security footage from outside to see if she slipped outside like she tried to do what feels like ages ago, but there’s nothing. There aren’t any blindspots she could’ve maneuvered herself around so that means she’s somewhere in this house. With every step I take, the disappointment in my chest at her setback sinks deeper and deeper until it plants a seed in my stomach and starts sprouting.

I’m about to check one more room when I hear a distant sound coming from the basement. Someone is playing the piano and the notes are dark and depressing. Not someone, but Brody. She must’ve gotten inspired or something in her sleep in only the way Brody Drake can and decided to start creating. Relief washes through me and kills the plant of disappointment inside of me, wilting it in the process. She didn’t try to sneak out and she didn’t do drugs. She’s still on the right track. I should take that and go to bed, forgetting my wandering thoughts over her, but I’m incapable of the feat. Instead of turning around and putting as much space between myself and the little rockstar as possible, I continue towards the basement and open the door, walking down the stairs. She is temptation and I am unable to resist.

I keep my footsteps silent, curious to hear the melody she’s creating. I’m fascinated and impressed by the way she works. I don’t know how she does it, but she hears a note or a tune in her head and she builds and builds on it until she strings a song together. Her dedication and pure love for what she does is admirable. She’s passionate about her music. She loses herself in it and time escapes her. I like watching her when she’s in her own little world of music notes and songs, which is why I findmyself standing right now, a few feet away from her as she plays a part of a new song she must be working on, but what I find most interesting about it, is that she isn’t playing the drums.

Brody Drake is a drummer, everyone knows that. Satan’s Angels have never played a song with a piano in it. Pianos don’t usually fit in with rock and metal as far as I’m concerned, so I’m confused as to why she’s creating a song on the stereotypically gentle sounding instrument. I didn’t even know she knew how to play but I’ll never question her talent again. I watch as her fingers fly over the keys. The song started lighthearted and almost playful, but she stopped it and shook her head at herself as if she was irritated by the sound.

I smirk as I watch her grow frustrated with herself. It’s quite entertaining. A moment later, she brings her left hand up this time, and starts playing new notes that sound foreboding and gloomy. It almost sounds gothic in a way. The dark sounds contradict the lighthearted and pure ones she just created before she got annoyed with herself. She starts to hum a completely different tune while she continues to play this somber one and it almost sounds like she starts whispering, but I have to be wrong. Brody doesn’t write lyrics and Aria’s lyrics have been shit lately. Brody wouldn’t be singing anything Aria wrote.

She stops abruptly and slams her fist down on the keys, making a mess of sounds. I can’t help but grin at the sight of her frustration, amused. “What happened? I went to bed, so you had to take your anger out on the piano?”

Brody practically leaps off the bench with how startled she is. A gasp escapes her as she turns and faces me with a shocked expression on her face. She isn’t used to people interrupting her or watching her create. “What the fuck?”

I walk a few steps closer to her and cross my arms over my bare chest. “Did I scare you, Little Rockstar?”

She raises an angry brow in the way I’ve grown quite fond of and flares her nostrils, “Who the fuck sneaks up on people in the middle of the night?”

“I wasn’t sneaking up. I was making sure you weren’t sneaking behind my back to do drugs.” I defend even though I know it’s a lie. Just because I know it, doesn’t mean she has to.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m not. You can leave now.” She waves her hands in a shooing motion towards the basement steps.

I should take the chance to get as far away from her as possible, but I just can’t. Instead of doing what I should be doing, which is leaving, I walk closer to her and sit on the piano bench beside her, our thighs only inches apart. I’ve always prided myself on my self-control but it’s all out of sorts tonight, yet another thing I can blame the little minx next to me for. “What are you doing?” Her big blue eyes widen even further in clear astonishment. It seems I’ve taken us both by surprise.

“Play.” I nod at the piano with my chin.

She crosses her arms, the tension in her body coiling tighter. “No. I don’t let people watch me when I’m making songs, it’s distracting.”

“Pretend I’m not here.”

“No.”

I don’t speak for a moment, curious to see if she’ll give in on her own, but she doesn’t. I decide to shift the focus onto something else, something I’m curious about and have been curious about for a while. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” I ask.

She immediately avoids my gaze and looks at the shiny white keys. “I’m not tired.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

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