Page 2 of Masked Sins
Except it’s hard to find a place that doesn’t know me—either because of my father and the Ravage name or because of what recently happened to my mom.
“Listen,” he says, his voice gentler now. “I get it. I really do.”
Pressing my lips together, I glare at him. “You have no fucking idea,Gary.”
“I do, actually. And I’m sorry for your loss?—”
Before he can finish his sentence, I grab a nearby glass and throw it down onto the floor. Another person screams, and rage boils just beneath my skin.
Stop feeling. Push it down. Keep going until you don’t feel a thing.
“You all really need t-to come up with a better s-slogan,” I slur. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Your family is in my prayers. We’re thinking about you during this difficult time. For fuck’s s-sake, who came up with those?” I shout, stumbling backward.
Gary reaches out and takes my hand, but I can tell by his flared nostrils that he’s pissed off.Good.
“I broke things too, kid. But you’ll soon find out that while it can feel good to break something, it doesn’t make up for the broken heart you get when you lose someone.”
The instant the words are out of his mouth, I feel remorse for what I did. Not only did he know my mom well, but he also lost his wife a few years ago.
Of course he can relate, and here I am, acting like a fucking teenager throwing a tantrum.
Shame casts a web around me, suffocating me. It feels like every fucking thing is falling apart around me.
Everysinglething.
I pull out of his grip and twist around, storming to the exit and shoving the door open. I don’t turn around, but I keep walking down the street past all of the familiar shops and storefronts in downtown Crestwood. It doesn’t matter that it’sraining. I can’t feel it—just like I can’t feel the open wound on my palm.
I hate this. I hate everything about this town except for one person. The one thing that keeps me tethered to this earth is the one person who grounds me. My cheeks are hot and wet, and I realize I might be crying.
Fuck this.
Everything spins around me as I pull my phone out, and I have to steady myself on a nearby wall. After requesting a ride on my phone, I sit on a nearby bench. My phone is almost dead, so I open the text that Layla sent a few minutes ago.
Layla
Wish me luck!
My heart skips several beats when I open the picture. It’s a reflection selfie. Her hair is in a tight bun, and she’s in her black leotard, posing in front of a large mirror. And just like every other time I’ve laid eyes on her, my throat catches. The raw beauty, the large smile, the way I know she’s nervously chewing her nails down to the quick…
I go to text her back and let her know that I’m on my way, but my screen goes dark.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
I tuck my phone away as I begin to shiver. It’s cold for March, and I don’t have a jacket. Inspecting the wound on my hand, I decide it doesn’t need immediate attention. When a red Toyota pulls up, I assume it’s my car, and I stumble into the back seat.
“Orion?” the driver asks, dark brows pinching as he takes in my soggy, drunken appearance.
“Yeah,” I answer gruffly. “Hey man, do you have a phone charger?” I slur.
“No, sorry.”
“’S okay.”
“West Hollywood?” he asks, checking the address of Layla’s audition on his GPS.
“Yeah.”
The rest of the drive is quiet despite the pelting rain. I let my left cheek rest against the cool glass, dozing on and off. All I want to do is see her. All I need is…her.As we pull off the freeway, my injured hand begins to throb.Great.
