21. Masks On
masks on
Cèsar
N othing could have prepared me for the sight of Deirdre like this, and I hate it.
She just got off the phone with her friend, Alora, who shared she is pregnant, and she seemed so happy, but is now sobbing in bed with her face in her hands.
Her shoulders shake as she succumbs to the emotions, and I’m not sure what to do or if I should let her know I’m here for her.
This is a private moment, and I’m already invading her space by watching, texting her will only make it worse. There’s nothing wrong with crying, it’s healthy. And however she needs to express herself, she should.
I want to comfort her. It’s difficult for me, as a fixer, to see a problem and just leave it alone.
As much as I intrude and have taken interest in finding solutions to her problems, I’m tempted to check in anyway.
I understand that may only make things worse, but Deirdre is alone in more ways than one, and I can’t just sit here without offering to help.
My thumbs scurry across the keyboard as I go back and forth testing various messages to send and delete. I’m unsure of the right words to say but am overcome with the need to say something.
Hey.
You can tell me to fuck off, but can I come over?
Her sobs are halted by the sound of my messages, and she turns to search for the phone she tossed in the mess of sheets.
Once it’s in her hands, she sniffles and unlocks it, staring at it for a moment before her thumb hesitantly hovers over the screen.
I decide to push her, which could end badly or help lessen the awkwardness of what’s happening with us right now.
You’re taking a little long to type two simple words “fuck” and “off.”
She snorts and begins typing.
Doe
Fuck off.
Come over and do what?
Drink your tears, of course.
Or hold you, but I understand how weird that sounds.
Doe
If I said yes, which would be incredibly stupid, could we agree on something?
Easy answer. I agree.
Doe
You don’t even know what the question is.
If I invite you into my space, will you respect it, keep your hands to yourself and never mention this to my family?
I know you don’t know me, but you’ve gotta give me more credit than that.
Why would I mention this to your family? It doesn’t make me look good either.
Doe
Because it’s your job to snitch on me. Fucking rat. lol
I’m sure this would be a good thing to report.
That couldn’t be further from the truth, but at the same time, I can’t exactly share the real reason I’m here. I’m certain I’ll come to regret this later, but for tonight, I’ll pretend that another little white lie can do more good than harm, when used appropriately.
I promise, I won’t mention it.
You have my word.
Doe
Fine. You can come over, BUT you’re not staying the night.
I could use some company, that’s all.
My keys are in hand right away, jingling as I lock up and beeline for my truck. I settle in and fire off a response before she feels embarrassed and revokes the invitation.
I’m on my way.
I turn up my music to drown out the thoughts telling me to turn around and go back home. The drive is a blur until I turn onto her street.
Coming to her home without sneaking around is…
different. Do I pull into the driveway or park on the street as usual?
Do I ring the doorbell or let myself in?
Could she be waiting on the other side of the door to finish the job, or does she really want to talk?
Of course, I didn’t consider any of this until now.
But if I am nothing else, I’m a man of my word.
I choose to park in her driveway. As an invited guest should , I think, killing the engine and almost getting out.
Shit, my mask , I remind myself before I grab one of my many balaclavas in the glovebox and pull it down until it rests comfortably on my face.
I flip the sun visor in front of me for a good look in the mirror to ensure my face covering doesn’t reveal any part of myself that I don’t wish to be seen.
I’m standing in front of my truck when I text her.
Here
My heart races as my eyes follow those three dots blinking on the screen. She can change her mind, and I’ll respect it. There’s nothing remotely normal about what is happening or could happen here.
Doe
I’m upstairs.
Please remove your shoes at the door.
Yes ma’am.
Reluctantly, I stand at the door while my mind and body war with each other. My mind wants to give it more thought, but my body disagrees as the key turns the lock.
Slowly, I open the door and peer around, fully expecting an armed woman awaiting me, but finding an empty entryway instead. Darkness greets me as I shuffle into the foyer, removing my shoes and setting them aside.
The house is silent, and the staircase seems a mile long. Of all the times I’ve explored her home before, this feels uncertain. As if the space I could navigate blindly in is now uncharted territory, every step feels fatal and ominous, each footfall potentially bringing me closer to my demise.
I stop outside of her bedroom and knock softly, awaiting her invitation. “You can come in,” she says, defeat in her voice, followed by a sniffle.
I twist the doorknob to find red-rimmed doe eyes staring back at me. She beckons me over, patting a space on the mattress beside her, and I oblige. The bed sinks beneath me as I stretch my arm behind her, and to my surprise, she scoots closer.
A relieved sigh escapes her plump lips as she settles into my chest, enveloping me in her decadent fragrance of cherry, jasmine, and vanilla.
We sit in a comfortable silence as I rub small circles on her back. For a moment, this feels natural, as if it should always be this way. I’ve never known what it feels like to come home to someone after a long day and embrace them. If it’s anything like this, I have been missing out.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, cutting through the silence.
“No,” she answers abruptly.
“Alright then.”
I expected that and won’t ask for more than she’s willing to share. It’s a wonder she even wants me here right now.
“Scar?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you have children?”
“No.”
“Do you want them?” she inquires, peering up at me.
“Yeah, but my career makes that difficult. Takes up so much of my time and wouldn’t be fair to a kid. That’s why I don’t even have a dog. What about you?”
“I do, but I am having a hard time accepting that may not be possible,” she says softly.
“And why is that?”
“Many reasons. Like the man who stalks me,” she quips, pulling from my grasp to sit up.
I miss the contact immediately, as if her touch soothes me in the same way. Enough of that , I think, returning to the conversation with a comeback in hopes of lightening the mood.
“I disagree. If a baby is what you want, I could provide. So, that’s not a valid reason,” I tell her with a chuckle.
Her hand playfully slaps my arm as her laugh swells. An intoxicating sound that I vow to add to my daily responsibilities during my time with her.
Make her laugh, if nothing else.
“You are really annoying. You know that?”
“I could say the same about you,” I add with a quirked brow.
“Feeling better now?”
She nods and clears her throat. “I am,” she says with confidence. Whether it’s false, I’m unsure.
Oh. The job is done, then. I should leave.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair, then,” I state, shifting off the bed and heading toward the door.
“Wait,” she says, stopping me in my tracks.
“Yes?” I turn to face her.
“Would you stay? I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she murmurs before quickly adding, “I understand if you have plans.”
I almost never have plans.
The words fly out of my mouth. “I can stay. Don’t think I should sleep in a mask, though.”
“I agree. You might suffocate to death.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” I tease.
“I don’t know anymore,” she replies, avoiding eye contact as she rifles through her drawers.
She retrieves a pair of pajamas and disappears into the en suite.
“Make yourself at home,” she orders, followed by the sound of running water.
“I’ll be back,” I call out.
She pokes her head through the doorway with a toothbrush in her mouth. “Where are you going?” she asks around a mouthful of toothpaste.
This is all so domestic and not at all what I expected the night to be.
“I need my overnight bag,” I inform her, pointing my thumb toward the door.
“Okay,” she offers her garbled response and ducks back into the bathroom to resume brushing her teeth.
Fresh air greets me as I walk back out of her house, and I hope I come to my senses soon, because once again my mind and body aren’t on the same team.
It’s not like I wasn’t hugged enough growing up.
Thankfully, I am surrounded by affection, but she triggered something that I’m not ready to part with just yet.
So, I open my trunk and sling the duffle bag over my shoulder to return to whatever the hell this is with Deirdre. She ripped the mask off tonight, and she’s not at all what I’d expected her to be.
Strolling through the house a second time is easier than the first. The air is still heavy, but the energy is lighter.
I enter her room to find her in a bonnet and lavender silk short set, setting out her outfit for tomorrow morning. Her generous curves and smooth brown skin are on display, and I avert my gaze when she catches me staring.
This is the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done.
Awkwardly, I slip past her to head to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me so I can get ready for bed.
I often get hot at night and opt out of a shirt, but I don’t think being both shirtless and maskless is a good idea in this situation, so I put on a white tee and some sweats.
Thoughts run rampant through my head as I brush my teeth, so many questions I don’t have answers for.
When I step out of the bathroom, I witness her doing the nightly routine that I’ve familiarized with through a screen.
She pulls the curtains closed, circles the bed to unmake it, and climbs in on the left side.
Usually, she lies in the middle of the bed, but with company, she appears to prefer the left side.
Noted.
The silence makes me nervous. The entire night feels like I’ve stepped on a landmine. Accompanying her to bed, even innocently, will be something I pay for.
Here I am doing it anyway, regardless of consequence.
I blurt, “I was thinking of a way to not scare you whenever I drop by. I’ll do a coquí whistle whenever I’m around, so you’ll know it’s me.” Anything to offer her even a semblance of comfort.
“What’s a coquí? ” she asks softly, tilting her head.
“It’s a frog that’s native to Puerto Rico. Their mating call is a whistle, and they sing at night. I love hearing the coquí frogs whenever I visit.”
She watches intently as I whistle, giggling to herself after a failed attempt at it. I can’t help but smile at her, and it’s a good thing she can’t really see it.
She is absolutely beautiful and can’t whistle worth a damn.
“You can take off your mask. I won’t look at you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she suggests.
“And how do you suggest I avoid being seen?” I question, not fully trusting that she’ll manage to keep her eyes closed.
She holds up a finger and turns to sift through her bedside drawer.
“This,” she states, holding up a pink silk eye mask.
That is a good idea.
“Okay, but don’t expect anything kinky to happen with that blindfold. I know you have unique interests,” I tease, climbing in beside her.
She rolls her eyes playfully. “Says the peeping Tom.”
“Call me by another name again, and I will take the couch,” I threaten, but there’s no bite to it.
“Anyways,” she says, pulling the sleep mask over her eyes, turning opposite me. “Goodnight, Scar,” she says through a yawn.
“Goodnight, beautiful,” I whisper, yanking off my balaclava in the dark room.
Dios mio . It feels amazing to be out of that hot-ass mask.
I glance over, fully expecting her to be stealing a glimpse, but she hasn’t moved.
I tug the blanket over my legs and turn to face her back.
Instinctively, my arm wraps around her waist, bringing her closer.
Soft snores interrupt the silence, and I smile to myself as I drift off to sleep.
Tonight, the deer wins, but the lion cradles her in his arms as consolation.