Page 38 of Masked Sins
You sure? Because it’s hard to believe you just walk through life without anyone noticing.
Oh, he’s good.
I’m smiling as I reply.
No one I notice, at least.
Starboy1997
Ah, I see. Well, I can guarantee people are noticing. You said before that you don’t date much. Is there a reason?
I chew on my lower lip while I debate how to answer him, because I’m still trying to figure it all out myself.
What the hell.
Do you know what demisexual means?
Starboy1997
I do.
That’s how I identify. I need to develop feelings for someone before I can be sexually attracted to them. Makes it hard to date when feelings usually develop long past when other parties lose interest.
Starboy1997
I understand completely. I’m going to keep reading. I’ll message you when I finish.
Looking forward to it.
My cheeks are hot as I lock my phone and pocket it again. I try to concentrate on the movie, but my phone vibrates with another notification.
Starboy has posted a new video, and my thumb hovers over the notification. As much as I want to watch it right here and now, I’d die of mortification if Orion found out. I’m tempted to leave—to walk to my house and watch the video in private like I want to—but I’m also enjoying the rare camaraderie with Orion, and it wouldn’t be fair to my dad if I ate and left. I’d intended to spend the day with him, and though I wasn’t expecting Orion to be here too, I can’t help but miss the way we used to hang out like this.
“Here you go,” he says, handing me a glass of room-temperature water with a lemon slice.
I snap my eyes to him. “You remember how I like my water?”
He shrugs. “Of course I do.” I notice he’s drinking water too, and curiosity gets the best of me, so I ask the question I’ve been thinking about for weeks.
“Are you not drinking anymore?” I ask as casually as I can.
“I haven’t had alcohol in over two years.”
My eyes go wide. “Really? I had no idea.”
“I’d rather not repeat the hell that was rehab,” he admits, looking at the TV rather than me.
“Do you miss it?” I ask without thinking. “Sorry, that’s really personal. You don’t have to answer,” I add, looking away from him.
“It’s okay. And not really. I miss not thinking and not feeling. But I fucked a lot of things up when I was drinking. I ruined job opportunities, friendships, relationships… I mean, I’m still living with the consequences of my actions while I was drinking around the clock,” he says, turning to face me.
His regret is so evident that it almost feels like physical pain. I sip my water to dispel the emotion clogging my throat—to distract myself from the absolute hurt and longing that lay naked in his darkened eyes.
“I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, La-La,” he murmurs.La-La. He hasn’t called me that in years.
I give him a small smile, and he looks surprised for a second before he smiles and turns to the TV.
