Page 3 of The Masks We Burn
She releases a scoff, and I envision her perfectly pristine head shaking. “Women are never safe.”
“What were you calling about?” The words come out a little too snippy, but the high from smashing things is beginning to fade the longer I stay on the phone with her, and I’d wanted to ride the carefree wave just a little more.
“Ah, yes. I was just wondering what kind of flowers you wanted for your bouquet.”
And there it is. The reminder that sits in the corner quietly, waiting for the moment to make its presence known and suck the life from my body. “I’m not getting married, Mom.”
Slight shuffling in her background stops. “Ah, so you found a decent job, then?”
I turn my back to the car, pressing into the cold glass, and squeeze my eyes closed. Anxiety winds through my nerves, and an unwelcome burn stings the corner of my eyes.
Of course, I haven’t found a job. She knows this. But I am not the only fucking twenty-three-year-old who doesn’t have their life figured out by the end of college. Maybe if there wasn’t pressure from the impending ultimatum she gave me when I left for school, I would have discovered what I want to do.
My lips thin as I roll them together tightly but manage a quick, “No.”
“Well then, I need to know what kind of flowers. Unless you’d like to find a new way to pay for, well, everything.”
I swallow back the bile in my throat and groan.
My mom has the indisputable notion a woman needs a man to protect her in this life. That without one, or a lucrative job where she’s sure I’ll marry my boss, I’m a lamb to the slaughter—a bunny in the path of a wolf.
Why haven’t I run to my all-supportive father?
Well, it’s the only thing he and my mom agreed on in the end. Initially, he was the reason she let me go off to college instead of becoming a housewife straight out of high school—something I would have begrudgingly agreed to because being young and dumb, luxury would have won out. Dad figured I might pave my own path, maybe even go into hotel management and work with him, but when I realized it wasn’t what I wanted to do, I began the slippery slope toward my doom.
He says that with the amount of money we have, he doesn’t want me to be susceptible to the evils lurking under our suburban streets. Whatever the fuck that means.
“I have five months. I’ll figure something out.” Slapping the red button on my phone, I slide into the front seat, a dilapidated sigh streaming from my lips.
I refuse to return home to a loveless marriage and never find my own fucking purpose in life. Plus, if I’m candid, one dick for the rest of my days isn’t a good look either.
But I don’t say that, or the dozen other things I want to say, because the truth is, no matter how shitty it sounds, I’m used to a particular type of lifestyle, and I’m not ready to give that up until the last damn second.
So, for now, I’ll continue searching for something my heart can call a passion and hope it finds me soon.
CHAPTER TWO
Ilove women.
Both literally and figuratively. Each one is so unique from the other, with different quirks, habits, attitudes... desires.
And if I’m anything, I’m a man that aims to please.
Having been blessed with the best fucking parents ever, they gave me the means for a pretty good resume. Tall, strong, dark, and handsome. A smile that brings out joy in even the angriest of women and eyes that make their panties uncomfortably wet. Not that I’m overconfident, I’m just not blind, and I think it’s important to know what you bring to the table. Like how even when I grow old and the looks dwindle, my personality is concrete.
My mom taught me to cook like a mini Gordon Ramsay and instilled manners as though I went to a private school. At the same time, my pop ingrained the importance of demanding work and loving a woman according to her love language.
Together, my parents are a force, true role models who have given me everything in life to be a good man—a good husband.
But marriage isn’t in my cards. At least not anytime soon. I admire my parents and the beauty intheirmarriage, but I can’t settle on what they have just yet when there are too many incredibly divine women out there to experience life with.
Yeah, okay, I sound like a dick, but honestly, all of my encounters with women are a consensual one-time act that leaves us both out of breath, satiated, and fulfilling our calorie deficit for the day. I say consensual because wherever I meet them, whether it be a bar, club, or the cereal aisle of a grocery store, it takes minutes to read the vibes she’s giving off and only a minute more before agreeing to a good time later that night. And forthat night only.
I’ve found that when you’re real with a woman, treat them to things they want, what theytrulywant, it makes everything run smoothly. I take them out, sometimes to a restaurant, or a carnival, or bowling, then give them whatever sexual desire they’ve ever dreamed of. They think of me as the vacation from any stress they have in the day-to-day, while in turn, they supply me with the need to feel...
It’s sad when you can’t even admit something to yourself. But then again, we can’t all be perfect, and there’s always room for improvement and growth. Mine just so happens to be the need to feelalive.
There. I said it. Well,thoughtit. And that’s a step in my book.
