He hoods his eyes, shaking his head like I need to leave it alone. I dart out and snatch the picture, holding it up in front of me.
Lyla is naked and wet, her hair soaked and sticking to her cheeks and neck, and she’s posing against what looks like a shower wall, her arms over her head and her breasts on display. Her eyes taunt the camera—or whoever’s behind it.
Trey. If he’s not the one with the camera, he still has the picture of her.
But I’m not fooling myself. They fucked. And recently, too. Lyla’s wearing the bronze wrist cuff she bought when we shopped three Saturdays ago.
I don’t care about him, and I don’t really like her, so why do I feel my eyes burning and my throat aching with a scream?
I’m not jealous he got from her what he wasn’t getting from me, and I’m not jealous they got off on each other. But why did they feel they could do it behind my back?
I feel a warm hand touch my face. “You know what she’s about just as much as him,” Masen says. “This doesn’t surprise you.”
I shake my head, blinking through the thick tears I can’t stop from welling up. “No,” I barely whisper, staring at the photo.
No, I’m not surprised. I just feel like shit for some reason. The whole time I thought I was winning. I thought I was on top. But behind my back, the people I thought I could handle were handling me. They think I’m stupid, after all. Someone they find easy to humiliate.
Just like before.
I knew Trey wasn’t holding out for me, so I didn’t care. But I did think I had Lyla figured out. I thought I had her respect.
What fun she must have had, standing next me and knowing that she’s getting a piece of someone she thinks I might want.
Fat tears spill over, and I feel a weight on my shoulders. It’s not Trey. It’s not Lyla. It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.
“You know, I turned into this,” I tell him, my voice cracking and an ache settling behind my eyes, “because I was a kid and I thought there was something more. I traded friends I didn’t think were good enough for friends who really aren’t good enough.”
I blink long and hard, my wet lashes falling against my cheek. “Even Misha gave up on me.”
Masen cups my face gently. “I’m sure Misha has a reason,” he says sadly. “Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There’s so much wrong with me.” A sob shakes my chest, and I cry harder. “I don’t have any friends, Masen.”
I don’t. Not really. I can understand people at school. I got what I deserved. I chose shallow, I acted shallow, and I got nothing that would last.
I don’t know if Ten will stick with me, and now Misha is gone, too. I don’t know what I did, but it had to be something, because when you find that everyone hates you, it’s not them. It’s you.
“You have a friend,” Masen tells me, his tone hard and sure. “The rest of those fucking losers are deadweight. Do you hear me?” He runs his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears. “You’re beautiful and smart, and you have this fire in you that I’m addicted to.”
Warmth fills my chest, and I raise my eyes to his.
He leans in, forehead to forehead. “You’re an incredible pain in the ass, but God, I love y—” He stops, and my breath catches in my throat.
“It,” he finishes. “I love it. I can’t get enough. I think about you all the time.”
I sniffle, taking some deep breaths and wiping my tears. My heart skipped a beat there. It almost sounded like he was going to say something else.
“Let’s just get out of here, okay?” I pull away, replacing the board in the drawer and closing it. I know he hasn’t found what he needs, but I have to get out of here. I need a shower after those pictures, or I want to do something with Masen and forget coming here.
Gathering up the pictures, I head out of the room and take a left to head down the stairs. But Masen grabs my arm, stopping me.
“What are you going to do with those pictures?”
“Burn them,” I answer. “He probably printed them, because he didn’t want his parents finding them in his phone, so he won’t have copies. I wouldn’t put it past him to be showing these to his friends.”
But Masen shakes his head. Taking them out of my hand, he makes a U-turn and opens the parents’ bedroom door.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.
But then I see him throw out his hand, sending the pictures flying all over the room, falling to the floor and even the bed.
“Oh, my God.” I choke out a laugh and cover my mouth.
“Let the parents sort him out,” Masen says, taking my hand and closing the door behind us.
I laugh quietly, but I still laugh. I can’t stop. The Burrowes will definitely know someone was in their house tonight, but judging from the photos, they’ll probably just assume it’s a disgruntled girl pissed at Trey.
We leave the house, going out the same way we came in, and hurriedly hop into his truck, looking around to make sure there’s no one around.
The street is dark and quiet, and Masen starts the engine, getting us out of there.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted.”
He gives me a weak smile. “I got what I want.”
Flutters hit my stomach, and I bring up my hand, running my fingertips over the top of his hand that’s resting on the console.
After a couple minutes, he pulls up in front of my house and puts the truck in Park, leaving the engine running.
I sit up and lean over to him, not wanting to say goodnight.
Never wanting him to leave, actually.
“There’s a tree house in the back yard,” I look up at him teasingly. “You game?”
He smiles. “I would love to. But I have something to do right now,” he tells me, whispering in my ear.
I feel disappointment, but I brave it and plaster on a flat expression like I always do.
“Do me a favor, though?” he asks, kissing my cheek slow and soft. “Make sure the key’s under the pot. And don’t touch yourself tonight. Save it for the morning when I can watch.”
My body warms with excitement, and I smile. If it weren’t so dark in the truck, I’m sure he’d be able to see me blush.
“Be early,” I beg. “I might not be able to wait.”
He kisses me, and I linger for a moment before pulling away. Climbing out of the truck, I look back at him once and then unlock my door, entering the house.
As soon as the door’s closed, I hear him pull away.
How easy it is to get lost with him. A few minutes ago I was crying, and now none of that seems to matter. I want friends, of course. I want to know Ten will stay by my side, and I want Misha back, but…
Masen just makes everything seem smaller. Like I have a new perspective. He’s becoming a part of my heart, and I feel good when he’s around.
Almost like none of my fears matter as long he’s there.
Tomorrow he said he would tell me everything, but honestly, part of me isn’t sure I want to know anymore. Of course the more I know about him the more I’ll feel like he’s real and the more I’ll be a part of his life instead of him just being a part of mine, but I like him. A lot.
I walk up the steps and down the hall, entering my room. Switching on the lamp, I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the bed, hanging my head off the end and staring upside down at all my chalk wall scribbles.
My eyes feel heavy with exhaustion, but I’m not tired.
Misha’s words and my words mix together, running into each other along the wall, and I can’t even remember whose are whose anymore. His thoughts and lyrics, my dreams and musings, his anger, and my confusion about everything in my life… Misha is everywhere, and I miss him. For a long time, he was my savior.
But Masen makes me feel courage, too.
I don’t need him to fill the void Misha left, but I like how he pushes me and expects more. He’s a reminder of what I want to feel every day, whether it’s with him or on my own. He’s taught me that who I am when I’m with him feels too good to sacrifice for the approval of everyone else. The way I dress, the guys I talk to, the games I play…it’s all plastic, and when I’m with him, I’m gold.
My eyes fall on the list of words I drew over the past couple of weeks.
Alone
Empty
Fraud
Shame
Fear