Page 55 of The Masks We Wear

I brush her off, muttering, “No.”

“How’s the sex been?” She whispers back, low enough so that only her and I hear.

My eyes widen. I never told her about Harvey and I hooking up. I never toldanyoneand neither did he. Is it that obvious that there’s something going on between us or did someone see something they shouldn’t have seen?

She rolls her eyes and smirks, “You think I’m stupid? Anyone with eyes can see the way the two of you look at each other and it’s not by any means professional. If that weren’t enough, the sexual tension in the room when both of you are in it is enough to melt my panties, that’s how hot it is.”

My jaw drops.

Ivory plops down next to me and joins our huddle, “What are we whispering about?”

Aria cups her mouth as she whispers back, feigning gossiping, “Brody’s sleeping with the babysitter.”

Ivory throws her head back and groans. “Fuck,” she huffs before she reaches into the back pocket of her pink, acid-wash jeans and produces two-hundred dollars. She slams the cash into Aria’s awaiting palm and Aria grins like the Cheshire cat as she folds the money up and tucks it in her bra.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Aria says arrogantly.

Did they place a bet on me? “Were you two bitches betting on me sleeping with him?”

Ivory gives me a look like she’s a parent talking to a child, “Duh. We knew from the first time you interacted with him it was inevitable. Aria just called the bet first and placed dibs on you guys fucking before I could. Totally corrupt, by the way,” she points at Aria with a scolding finger.

Aria shrugs, “I don’t know what to tell you. I saw a business opportunity and I took it.”

“You guys suck,” I complain as I let my eyes rove over a new sheet of lyrics. I’m doing it to have something to look at because my eyes are rolling over the words but not reading anything. I’m too distracted.

Ivory grins, “But you love us anyway.”

“Unfortunately,” I grumble.

Aria changes the subject, “How is it though? The sex?” She looks at Harvey over my shoulder and then back at us, fanning herself, “I bet he knows what he’s doing. He’s fucking hot.”

My cheeks turn bright red and I look down. I don’t want to talk about this with them when he’s sitting right behind me. “Guys, totally not a good time to talk about this.”

“If not now, when? Because whenever we ask you to hangout with us, you say no and end up in your room but now we knowwhat you’re doing in the room,” Ivory protests knowingly.

I whisper, “Another time. I promise. We’ll hang out soon and it’ll be like old times, gossiping, and laughing, just with significantly less drugs and alcohol.” I realize as I utter the words that I don’t crave the substances like I once used to. I used them as a lifeline, as my mask to cover who I was so that the fans and the entire world would find me worthy. Now? I truthfully don’t give a fuck what they think about me or if I’m worthy by their standards. I’m worthy by my own fucking standards and I don’t care what anyone or their mother has to say about it. The only person whose opinion matters to me is Harvey’s and his opinion of me has always been better than my opinion of myself. I’m starting to see myself the way he sees me and there’s no greater gift that he could’ve ever given me.

––––––––

WE ROCKED THE FUCKout of that audience tonight and I gave them everything I had in me. When the show ends, I hurry to my dressing room, looking for Harvey but he isn’t there. I stop in my tracks, my brows knitting together. Healwayswaits for me in my dressing room. I remember the invisible wall that seemed to be between us at the studio earlier and wonder if it has anything to do with him not being here but I quickly push that thought down. I’m way overthinking this, there’s probably a reasonable explanation for everything.

About ten minutes later, when I’m changed out of my stage clothes and into a comfortable pair of leggings and a matching t-shirt, my dressing room door opens and Harvey enters. His face looks exhausted, mature in a way I’ve never seen it. “Hey,” I say awkwardly.

He raises his chin, “Hi,” before closing the door behind himself.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He nods, “Fine.”

I feel anxiousness swirling around in my stomach. I wrap my arms around myself uncomfortably. “Are you hungry? I’m starving and I could use the company if you want to come with,” I offer, hoping to melt the ice around him.

He shakes his head, “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh….Okay,” I respond. My body stiffens in discomfort. Why does it feel like there’s a huge brick wall between us? I want to ask but I’m worried that it may trigger him if he’s angry.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We need to talk.”

My heart cracks and my chest deflates. I know where this is going and it isn’t somewhere good. “About?”

---