Unmasked

Chapter Four: Paper and Smoke

The following day, I decided to cut the first class of the day.

Not because Damien suggested it, and certainly not because I was trying to impress anyone. But because I needed to breathe.

Not the artificial air that accompanied club lighting and fake laughter. I walked into the town’s small art gallery and headed straight towards a small quiet corner near a sculpture of a woman holding her own heart.

It always got me.

I sat on the bench and took my sketchbook out. I hadn’t sketched anything in weeks. The pages had grown distant. But the moment my pencil met the page, all the memories came rushing back. The curves, the shadows, and how everything made sense when I transformed emotions into lines.

The first drawing I completed was that of the girl at the bar. Free and wild, shimmying in shame. Then I drew a version of me – at least what I recall. A more hockey wide-eyed sweatpants version of me, lost. I titled the drawing Before. Then, on the next page, I started drawing the girl I turned into. Skin-tight clothes, painted face, and towering heels. I labeled that after.

Before slowly, I began to draw a new version of me — one I had never imagined. And so the process began.

In the process of discovery, I didn’t know how to name her yet. That night, Damien stepped out on the balcony and lit a cigarette. He offered me one which I politely declined.

“You haven’t seemed like yourself,” he said while staring at the traffic beneath him like it was some city owned by him.

I shrugged. “Just tired.”

“I was wondering if this was about Dominic?”

I was stunned.

“What?”

“Let’s be honest here. You didn’t say a single word the entire car ride after dinner. And you certainly haven’t been texting me non-stop like you usually do. You know, heart emojis and all.”

I winced. I was shocked to realize how long it had been since I had to “pretend.” “I just... "I don’t know,” I replied. “School’s becoming really difficult. ''My mom’s stressed.” He nodded as if he were understanding, which was rare, before extinguishing the cigarette before finishing.

“Let me throw one last question at you,” he began. You’re not going to break up with me, right? For once, his voice lacked cockiness and sounded... scared.

I turned my head towards him.

The boy who simultaneously made me feel like me, and no one. Made me lose breath all while not caring about myself at all. Who cherished the facade of me I held close like an exo-suit too, and... and. “I’m not going anywhere,” I had to remind myself I wasn’t

lying. Scene break. A week later, it was a Thursday when I saw Dominic again. I was on my way out of school and the black car was pulling up. I clutched my sketchbook to my chest in anticipation. "Is it a solo walk back home for you?" the man in the car asked. “Enjoy it,” I answered with caution. “Gives me time to clear my mind.” “Leather seats might be better for thinking,” he said suggesting I hop in. I didn’t know what to do, but I hoped in some way.

The scent of cedar and something subtle, perhaps confidence, filled his car. He didn't say anything at first, and I didn't talk to him. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was peaceful. He looked down at my sketchbook. "You're doing fine," he said. "I looked up the artist you mentioned." Klein, Margot. I didn't think a seventeen-year-old would mention her by name.

I gave a small smile. "I thought I would be her." He gave me a look. "What went wrong?" I stopped. "Instead, I began living someone else's dream." He didn't respond. Simply nodded. As if he knew. Perhaps he did. He didn't say anything flirtatious or ask for my number when he dropped me off. "Remember who you are," he simply said. In this city, it's easy to lose her. Then he took off in his car. And I wondered if anyone had ever seen me so clearly and done nothing at all as I stood on the sidewalk with the sketchbook pressed to my chest.