Page 6 of The Masks We Wear

I shrug, “I didn’t. I said you were permitted to go to the studio. If you behave and fall into line, I’ll consider other places.”

“No!” She snaps, practically tossing her coffee mug onto the counter. Liquid spills over the sides and covers the countertop. “Those rules are unreasonable and you have another thing coming if you think I’m abiding by them.”

“Big word. I’m impressed you know it.” I mock her.

She scowls, “Are you calling me stupid?”

I smirk, “Perhaps. It isn’t like I lied.”

She grimaces, her mouth popping open with her shock. A gleam of what looks like hurt crosses her eyes before she quickly forces the anger to take over her expression. “Fuck you and fuck your rules.” She charges out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to her bedroom.

Once she makes it to the top I shout, “Get cozy in your room unless you plan on going to the studio because otherwise, you aren’t going anywhere.” Her door slams in response and my smile widens. Oh, how easy it is to rile her up. I could get used to this game.

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BRODY HASN’T COME DOWNfrom her room all day. Not to eat or drink anything. I’m sure her stubbornness is to thank for her absence and the thought that I got so deep under her skin that I ruined her whole day appeals to my pride. My job is to babysit her and make sure she stays sober and clean. She’s making that pretty easy by staying in her room. I knew she’d fall in line, but I didn’t expect it to happen this quickly. She strikes me as the type to give me difficulty at every step, so her absence seems a little bizarre. Something seems off, she wouldn’t make it this easy for me. I leap out of my seat where I’m eating dinner and charge up the stairs to her bedroom. I knock in case she’s undressed but there’s no response from the other side. “Open the door.” I command her but still I hear nothing on the other side. No Brody and no footsteps walking towards the door to open it. She hasn’t eaten or drank anything aside from the coffee she didn’t finish this morning, too hellbent on being stubborn and hiding in her room away from me. What if she got dehydrated and passed out? My job is to keep her sober and well and I can’t do that if she’s unconscious and malnourished.Shit. I panic. I shouldn’t have let my pride get in the way of checking on her. I bang on the door one more time and there’s still no answer.

I make the panicked decision to knock the door down. I raise a leg and kick through it with force once, but repeating once more until the door caves in at the middle and pops off the hinges. I leap into the room and scan the area for an unconscious form, my chest tightening in distress, but the pressure dissipates when my eyes land on Brody, conscious and certainly not malnourished as she sits at the electric drum set in the corner, her headphones over her ears and her mind wrapped up in whatever sound she’s creating. The sound must all be in the headphones, flowing the notes she’s creating into her ears and canceling out all other sound. That would explain why I couldn’t hear anything and why she couldn’t hear me either. She hasn’t noticed that I destroyed her door or invaded her space. She’s too wrapped up in what she’s doing with her eyes closed and her expression relaxed and almost…serene.

And here I thought the little rockstar had no personality aside from her band. I guess that’s partly true considering playing the drums is her role in the band along with vocals. But it seems she truly enjoys the instrument. The expression she’s making is one of peacefulness. No tabloid or Instagram photo has ever showcased Brody making such an expression and feeling this way. The look on her face intrigues me and I can’t quite place why. Perhaps it’s because I’ve only ever seen her scowling or grimacing at me, but it feels like something else. I’ll chalk it up to curiosity, not wanting to delve into that further.

I watch her, unable to turn around. My feet are completely planted to the ground. It’s silent in the room aside from the sounds of her sticks hitting the pads but it’s not loud. I should leave her room and give her privacy. While I’m not a very morally correct man most of the time, it doesn’t feel right to watch her. It seems like this is a private moment that I’m violating. It’s just impossible not to watch her. She’s changed since this morning, wearing a new pair of black lounge shortsand a matching crewneck with silver stars on the front. Her chin is tipped up and her brows furrow as her pace picks up and her rhythm becomes more aggressive. Her brows pull in the middle forming a frown line and the sight is so mesmerizing.

A moment later, she abruptly stops and opens her eyes. They immediately land on me and she jumps in her seat, startled by the sight of me in her room when she thought she was alone. She looks between me and her ruined door and shrieks, “What the fuck did you do to my door?”

I look behind me and glance at the door before shrugging, feigning nonchalance. “You weren’t responding to me, so I broke it down. Keep that in mind if you ever try ignoring me again.” I threaten, allowing my usual disdain for her to rise back to the surface. The image of her in her own world, completely mesmerizing me as she gets lost in her melody vanishes, replaced by my usual animosity towards her.

She rises to her feet, squeezing her drumsticks in each hand so hard that her knuckles turn white. “I wasn’t ignoring you, Asshole! I had my headphones on! They’re noise canceling.” She roars, baring her teeth.

I glance between the broken door and her before shrugging. “Consider it a warning.”

“You just destroyed my door for nothing! I didn’t even do anything!”

I roll my eyes, “You’ll get it fixed.”

She growls, “And until then? I now have no sense of privacy.”

“Your bathroom locks.” I raise a brow.

She tosses her drumsticks at my head, but I dodge both of them with minimal effort. “That’s not the point! The point is that I now have no privacy in my own fucking bedroom.”

Do I feel bad? No. Do I regret what I did? Also no. “It’s my job to ensure your safety in addition to being your babysitter. How was I to know you weren’t unconscious on the floor inhere perhaps from drug usage or something else? You weren’t responding, so I made a decision.” That’s a weak argument and even I know it but it’s the truth. It’s also not a valid excuse as to why I was watching her. I don’t think I even know the answer to that.

She rushes towards me and tries her best to shove my chest with two open palms but I don’t stumble or move so much as a muscle. She’s shorter than me and has far less body mass than me. She tries again and grunts when she gets the same result. “How would I have been unconscious from drug usage, when youtookall the drugs?” Her voice cracks as she yells her question.

I raise a brow and don’t react to her anger. She doesn’t get to me the way I get to her. “You could’ve been unconscious from dehydration or malnourishment. You haven’t left your room all day and you haven’t eaten or drank anything.”

She recoils, looking over her shoulder at her window. She looks surprised to find that it’s dark out. “I lost track of time.” Her voice calms, coming out as almost a whisper.

“Well, go downstairs and eat. Your chef made dinner that I’m sure is now cold.”

Her anger resurfaces, “You may think you dictate my schedule but you will not tell me when I eat.”

I lean in closer to her and whisper, “That’s where you’re wrong, Little Rockstar. I dictate every aspect of your life, starting with when you wake up to the minute you go to bed. I let you off easy today but I won’t be so generous tomorrow.”

She raises her chin in defiance, “You don’t dictate shit.” She charges past me and tries to shoulder check me on her way but my mass makes her stumble on her feet, causing her to grunt in irritation. I can’t fight the grin that curls my lips at how riled she is. She stops next to the destroyed door and narrows her eyes, “You just started a war. Gear up because I plan on making yourjob absolutely miserable until you quit.”

She disappears down the hall and once I hear another guest bedroom door shut upstairs, I slide my phone out of my pocket and text Elanor about Brody’s mutilated door. Selene gave me Elanor’s number because apparently, she does all the personal assistant type of things for Brody, Aria, and Ivory. I feel only slightly guilty that Brody’s privacy was breached for nothing, so I’ll fix it by having it fixed tomorrow. I’ll tell the little rockstar that Selene set up the repair. I don’t need her to think that I care because I most certainly don’t, especially after she just declared war between us, one I fully intend on winning.

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