Unmasked

Chapter Seven: Becoming Me

It started daisies.

I kicked back in my pink Walmart sweatpants. Those, specifically, abruptly placed Damien into a rage when I pulled them out of my bag after the long flight. And just like that, I strutted through the front doors like I really couldn’t give a damn and perhaps, for once, I actually didn’t. Some people did find it funny. Others, well, some just stared. And a few decided to chat behind my back, “She’s lost it.” And that was okay. I could finally take deep breaths.

No longer did I sit at Damien’s lunch table. Instead, I doodled in the study hall in the art room. Without telling a single soul, I registered for an open call at an art program in my town. And Dominic’s presence quietly filled the scattered gaps. Not always with his physical presence, but rather, with little notes.

“Did you finish the museum girl?” Sketch outside, see how people move. "It changes everything." "Proud of you."

From seemingly polite chatter, “Did you finish the museum girl?” quickly turned into something infinitely more tender. But I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever this was, exactly, it wasn't some elaborate, insincere, manipulative scheme.

Then, well, more Damien. Again and again. I went about my day, completely dwelling on my thoughts after hearing all those vicious rumors until haphazardly stumbling upon several posters plastered everywhere in a school hallway.

“BE CAREFUL OF WHO YOU TRUST. SHE'll SLEEP HER WAY UP TO THE FAMILY.”

It is inscribed next to an old picture of me and Damien, my face cut out.

People burst into laughter, took out their phones and began recording, pretending not to look while looking directly at me.

A giant hole was formed in my chest. But this time, I kept my ground.

I plucked one of the wanted posters and barged into the principal's office and gave it to him.

"I'm ready to make a report," I stated with the calmness of a monotonous voice. “Against the school for harassment and defamation”.

The principal seemed stunned a little too much. “Wait, are you sure?”

I cut him off, stating, “I’m positive, and I have far more evidence needed for a bigger case than this short time frame should take, so start working before I get the legal party involved.”

I had power.

My voice.

And today, I decided to boisterously scream. Unlike all nights, this time, my eyes remained dry. I decided to use my creative side first.

My mind crafted an art piece named ‘Unmasked’ showing a woman standing bare with a mask whose stone-like face was slowly coming off to reveal a pink sweatpants-clad free spirit with wild eyes—a grin, not a smile—and hair packed with chaos underneath.

Girl, the real you need to show.

And I will embody her.

Days like these, he never missed to call.

“I heard what he did,” he resumed from our last code that needed to be breached.

“I’ll not answer.”

But he decided to switch things up, saying, “I’m proud of you,” I say.

Overlapping coldness, “what do you want from ah, never mind, you’re off the hook this weekend. I want peace, you, and your artistry.”

Now, all the questions seemed useless, so I stated the obvious from the norm. I do, I prefer.