Masquerade

As soon as I’m straddling the bike, Bee gets on right behind me. I have no idea if she’s ridden before. Her arms wrap around my waist, and her legs squeeze, and suddenly I want to lay her on it, strip her, and lose myself in her. Maybe it would help her fight off whatever monsters she’s battling right now too.

The engine growls, sending a vibration through me, and then I rip out of the parking lot. Masquerade is toward the end of town, so it doesn’t take long before there aren’t lights or stores or anything else around us except space.

Even though she doesn’t say it, I know she wants to go fast. Sometimes I think if I go fast enough, I can leave everything behind. That’s what I want to do for her. I don’t let myself wonder why or even acknowledge the fact that we’re riding together. I just try to help her fly.

Bee’s grip on me tightens as we speed down the highway.

Without pla

And then… I stop. I’m not sure why. There’s no reason to pull over next to a high school football game. Or none that she would know or care of at least.

The stands are full. The scoreboard is lit up, saying it’s the third quarter. At first Bee doesn’t speak. Questions have to be going through her mind, but I think she’s good at that—not pushing. She doesn’t want anyone pushing her, but fuck, I almost wish she would. I almost want to tell her something—something I would never give to another person.

With her arms still holding me, she says, “I’ve never been. To a game, I mean. It wasn’t really my thing in school.”

“It was my life.” My body tenses with the words, but I don’t try to take them back. “Things have changed. I’m not that person and know I never could be. Still, sometimes I like to watch. I watch and pretend that it’s still me and that I’m still the kind of guy who would thrive out there, ya know?” Honesty pours out of me. The same shit that’s usually so locked inside I didn’t even know it was there. I couldn’t be that person again. There are some people who can get it back, who can change. I’m not one of them. That person could never be me. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t wonder how that life would have been different.

“Let’s watch the game.” Bee nudges me with her arm. Without replying, I pull away, skip the front entrance, and drive to the far end of the parking lot. There’s a field on the other side with a chain-link fence separating it from the game.

Bike parked, Bee climbs off and I’m right behind her.

Why are we here?

What are we doing?

It’s so fucking strange, being with someone like this. It isn’t me, but the crazy part is, I don’t want to be anywhere else.

We walk through the open field, stopping about midway in and pretty far from the fence. For a second I wonder why she didn’t go closer; then I realize she’s like me—it’s easier to participate from a safe distance.

Bee sits in the grass and I look down at her. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and Christ her eyes are so green. I never really noticed before.

“I don’t have a blanket or anything for you to sit on.” My brain and my mouth don’t feel co

She shrugs. “I don’t need one.”

Beside her, I sit with my feet flat on the ground, knees up. A tall weed sticks up between my feet, so I grab it and twist it around my finger, not sure what else to do.

“You don’t seem like the football type.”

“I’m not. The old Maddox was.” This is where anyone else would ask questions. What happened to change you? You’re still the same person, ya know? And maybe it’s like that for some people, but not everyone.

“What position did you play?”

“Quarterback. Are there others?”

She grins. “You’re asking the wrong person, Scratch. I know jack shit about football.”

Testing the words on my tongue, I ask, “Want me to tell you?”

Bee looks over at me, probably more seriously than I’ve ever seen her. “Sure.”

And now I really have to fucking do it. I’m the one who asked. Long conversations aren’t really my thing, but once I start, the words kind of flow. We talk positions, offense and defense. She nods and looks interested, though she probably really isn’t. Even though this isn’t the game I love anymore, it still feels good to talk about it.

Glancing over, I study Bee as she looks at the football game. She’s different. So fucking different than any other woman I’ve known. All my instincts are telling me to walk away. I’ve never wanted to be close enough to someone to have to deal with shit in their lives, yet I’ve done it with her. How easy would it have been to walk away this afternoon? Call her out of the office? But I didn’t.

The lines are blurring for the first time in my life and I don’t know how the hell I feel about it. Don’t know why I’m not walking away. It’s not as if I want to end up like my folks. My brain knows I still fuck up and I’ve let people down and that really, I don’t have shit to give away. I’m pissed half the time and I don’t deal with shit well, but… those instincts to run are ghosting away. I want to understand why.

“I’ve never done this before.” An ache lands in my gut at the vulnerability in my own fucking voice. I’ve never heard that. And why? Because we rode on my bike and I’m watching a game with her? Or because her mom came to see her and for the first time I saw real vulnerability in her?

“Me either.”

We’re quiet and I have to admit, I revel in it. Ever since she walked out of the office and asked to go for a ride, things have felt too deep. But then, no matter how comforting it is, my stupid fucking mouth is the one that opens first. “Your mom seems nice.”

Bee reaches over and for a second, everything inside me turns to stone because I think she’s going for my hand. Instead, she pulls that long weed from my fingers that I forgot I even had and starts playing with it herself.

“She is nice. Remember? I told you she’s perfect.” Another pause. “What about yours?”

“She tries to kill herself. The first time she did it so Laney would find her. She likes to hurt my sister.” The coldness in my voice hits me. Words might not be something I do well, but those I can say. I won’t hide from that or let Mom do it.

“Wow… that’s rough. How is she with you?”

The door I didn’t even realize was inside me slams shut. I didn’t tell. I knew what Dad was doing. If anything, I’m as guilty as he is.

“How she treats me doesn’t matter. I don’t matter when it comes to them.”

Restless, I tap a foot, knowing if she asks why, this time I will leave.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she leans her head over and rests on my shoulder, making me tense. Sucking a deep breath into my lungs, I… relax. The tension eases out with my exhale and I wait, wondering if she’ll give me a piece of her or if we’ll start the same old masquerade again.

Chapter Seventeen ~Bee~

I don’t matter when it comes to them.

No matter what I’ve gone through in my life, I’ve always known I mattered. When Rex and Melody looked at me with concern or bandaged my scrapes, I knew I mattered.

When I came home and found out how hard Mom and Dad looked for me and saw that my old room never changed and found all the old newspaper interviews online, I discovered I was important to them too.

Does he feel the same?

What’s wrong with me that I can’t return the love I get? That I can’t understand it when so many people long to receive a little of it?