Page 27 of The Masks We Wear

Brody

In the fourth grade,I puked all over myself in front of everyone on sloppy joe Friday. In seventh grade, I got my first period at school and had a bloody little butt until my mom picked me up but by then everyone had already seen it. They called me “Bloody Butt Brody” for months. Fuckers. In high school, I had braces after everyone had already gotten theirs off.

Why am I sharing my most embarrassing moments you may ask? Well, simply because in each and every one of those moments, I thought I would never experience humiliation any worse. I thought that was as bad as it could get but boy, was I wrong. Nothing and I mean nothing is more embarrassing than getting finger fucked on a piano bench and then getting walked out on after you come on someone’s fingers.

In the days since Harvey humiliated me in my own home, I’ve barely seen him and when I do see him, he won’t make eye contact with me and tries as hard as possible to leave the room. Do I find it rude? Yes. Does it make me self-conscious? Yes. Does it drive me absolutely fucking insane? Fuck. Yes. Every time I see him, I remember what we did. I remember how good it felt and I also remember letting my guard down with him only for him to completely betray me after. It feels like we went back and completely erased all progress we’ve made. The distance between us reminds me of our relationship when I first met him, when I came home that day to find him in my kitchen, jaw clenched and a cocky expression on his face.

He makes himself scarce around the house and out ofembarrassment, I’ve been hiding in my room all morning. You’d think the awkwardness would go away or at least dull down since it’s been a few days, but nope.

I have to be at the studio in an hour and as mad as I am at the girls right now, I’m relieved that I have to be there. Not only will it distract me from the awkwardness under my own roof, but it will be a good buffer between me and Harvey.

I wear a pair of low-rise jeans that have red stars on each butt cheek, and a red spaghetti strap tank top that stops right above my belly button. I style my hair in my signature, half up, half down messy bun and finish the look with some layered chain necklaces. Once I’m dressed, I hold my breath as I stride down the stairs and to the garage. I don’t run into Harvey on my way, but once I spot the driver waiting for me, I know he’s already in the car.

––––––––

THE DRIVE IS SILENTand I want to gouge my eyeballs out with a fork. I hate awkward silence. Harvey types messages out on his phone but his face betrays no emotions he’s feeling. I assume he’s texting Lucy, as he usually is, but I don’t comment on it. The only interaction I’ve had with Harvey these last few days was the little plastic cup he left outside my bedroom door yesterday morning.

I assume I must’ve passed the drug test since I didn’t get a scolding and also considering I haven’t taken any drugs. The car stops and security appears at my door, ushering me out of the car as paparazzi swarm us with their flashing photos and their bullshit comments. “Brody, over here!” One yells from somewhere to my right. I ignore him of course, the same way I ignore the rest of them. It’s one in particular that I find it nearly impossible to ignore. “How does it feel to know you’re irrelevant? Your bandmates have been seen on multipleoccasions without you, are you getting kicked out of Satan’s Angels?” The pap questions and I grit my teeth so hard. I’m normally pretty good at ignoring the paps. Well, minus that one incident where I shattered that pap’s windshield and fucked his car up with a crowbar. But there’s something so triggering about the questions he asks me. Maybe it’s because they hit close to home or maybe it’s because they’re true or at least, they will be soon. My anger bubbles up inside of me and I suddenly lose control over my emotions, I shove away from security and charge towards him, ready to do God only knows what to him, until a firm arm wraps around my waist and secures me to a burly chest.

I kick and prod, trying to slip out of the hold but the arm never lets up. I know from the strength alone my captor is a man and it isn’t until he’s carried me inside by just my waist and sets me on my feet that I realize it’s Harvey. I shove his chest hard, “Don’t touch me,” I snap.

He flares his nostrils but keeps his mouth shut and it only infuriates me more. He starts walking ahead of me, expecting me to follow and I make no move. He stops by the elevator and turns to glare at me, finally opening his mouth after days of silence, “Let’s go,” he demands.

My hands curl into fists and I open my mouth to argue but the words just won’t come out. What am I gonna do? Argue and go home? I can’t really do that when the paps are still flooding the streets just dying to snag a bad picture of me or to catch me doing something. I’m sure there’ll be a headline tomorrow with a picture of me charging at that pap. “Brody Drake, Hostile from Pregnancy Hormones” or “Brody Drake, Blacklisted from Satan’s Angels and has Hell to Pay.” That last one actually sounds pretty cool if I’m being honest, even though the idea of being blacklisted throws me over the edge. I storm into the elevator and cross my arms over my chest when the metallicdoors close in front of us. I stand as far from Harvey as possible, and he must have the same idea as he stands as close to the wall as he can. I’m almost positive his arm rests against the wall.

Once we finally make it to the studio, I’m not surprised to find Aria and Ivory already here. I am, however, surprised to find that they are higher than Mount Everest. I was sure after Selene’s lecture and scolding at our last session that they’d actually listen. Once their eyes land on me, Aria grins and outstretches her arms, “Brody!” She greets excitedly as she rushes towards me and takes me in her arms. I awkwardly return her hug, completely confused with her all over the place emotions. I pat her back as Ivory joins our hug, wrapping me up in her lanky arms from behind.

“We missed you,” Ivory says affectionately into my hair.

I pull out of the hug and wrap my arms around myself, uncomfortably. “I missed you too,” I lie. I haven’t missed this version of them. I miss my friends sober even though we haven’t been sober all at once in a long, long time.

“I wrote some great shit!” Aria cheers as she prances over to her purse and grabs a folded-up sheet of loose leaf. She rushes back over and hands it to me.

I unfold it and skim over the lyrics and while I do, I feel Harvey’s black eyes on me from across the room. He sits in the corner, shrouded in darkness and it almost seems like he isn’t here, but I can feel his presence anywhere. It looms over my head like a dark cloud that feels like raining sometimes but prefers to just keep its presence known while it acts in silence.

The song isn’t half bad. With a few tweaks, it could be good. It’s playful and tells a story of a night in Vegas with flashing lights and I could see the fans enjoying it. “This is good.” I compliment her, forcing a smile. I don’t know why it feels so hard to smile at her.

She beams, “I knew you’d love it!” She turns to Ivory andbumps her shoulder. “I told you she’d love it.”

Ivory smiles wide, flashing her perfect teeth, “Aren’t you so excited for the tour! It’ll be just like old times.”

I fold the paper up, so I have something to do with my hands and keep my eyes glued to the thin blue lines on the page. I walk over to my drum set and sit at the seat, shoving the paper into my pocket. “Yeah, so excited.” My smile twitches and falters altogether.

They come closer to my drum set, “Are you okay?” Aria asks.

I nod. “I’m good. Can we just start playing? I’ve been working on some new stuff I want to show you.”

Ivory’s eyes light up. “Show us.”

The next forty-five minutes consists of me playing the new beats I’ve been making on the drums the last week from my basement. I leave out the song I was working on when I was switching between my drums and the piano, not wanting to share that with anyone just yet. The girls go all business and start playing different guitar sounds that pair well with my songs. In no time, we’ve managed to string two whole songs together, though both still require lyrics.

We take a lunch break, but I find I’m not really hungry. I pick at my food and ultimately decide to leave it unfinished on the table. While the girls eat, I work on perfecting the songs we’ve made. “So, tour next week.” Ivory starts.

I sigh, my chest deflating. “Yeah.”

Ivory shakes her head, “What’s up with you? Do you not want to go on this tour or something?” Her voice holds a note of defensiveness to it.

I shake my head. “I never said that.”

---