Masks Always Fall

Chapter 2

As I dragged myself inside after that draining first day, I hung up my bag with a heavy sigh. All I wanted was a cool drink to soothe my frazzled nerves.

I heard the front door slam followed by heavy footsteps as I pulled open the fridge. My foster brother Dylan appeared in the kitchen, already launching into chatter about his classes.

"Man, algebra is gonna kill me this year," he groaned, stealing my water bottle before I could protest. I rolled my eyes affectionately, snatching it back.

"You'll survive. At least you don't have Ms. Clarke breaking you down bit by bit." Just thinking of my formidable English teacher triggered fresh waves of anxiety within me.

Dylan crinkled his nose sympathetically. "She's seriously still the Ice Queen?"

I nodded hollowly as I chugged the water, wishing I could freeze my own troubles so easily.

I stood sipping my water by the fridge as our foster mom, Susan, walked into the kitchen.

"Dylan, what did I say about leaving your backpack on the counters?" she sighed.

Dylan rolled his eyes good-naturedly and hefted his bag off to lean against the wall instead. "Sorry Susan, won't do it again," he promised.

Susan smiled and ruffled his hair despite his protests before turning to me. "How was your first day, honey? Anything exciting happen?"

Her casual kindness made warmth bloom in my chest, a stark contrast to the stress of school. But behind my returning smile, unwelcome thoughts still swirled darkly.

Would Susan smile so warmly if she knew my secrets? Would either of them look at me the same? I took another long gulp of water, feeling its chill spread through me as I buried those fears yet again.

"It was fine," I assured her quietly.

I watched as Susan carefully grabbed some carrots from the fridge and began washing them at the sink. Her movements were gentle and methodical, a soothing contrast to the chaos in my mind.

Thoughts roiled beneath my careful facade as I studied Susan's familiar routine. She had treated me with such warmth and care ever since I moved in two years ago - a lifeline when I'd had nothing.

While my memories from before were fuzzy, never having known a real mother, Susan's steadying presence filled a hollow place in me. She never pried but always seemed to sense when silent comfort was needed most.

How much she had given without question, at a time when I felt utterly undeserving of kindness. A lump rose in my throat thinking how easily her goodwill could shatter if she knew the mess of secrets locked inside.

Part of me longed to let it all spill out, unburden myself to this woman who gave so selflessly. But I was too scared - of disappointing her, of jeopardizing this fragile sanctuary I'd found. So I kept my mask in place and my turmoil tightly sealed away.

As Susan rinsed carrots at the sink, her back to me, she asked casually, "Have you seen Jolie around, Emma?"

I leaned back against the counter, watching water spiral down the drain. "Think she said something about hanging out in her room after school," I replied.

Susan hummed acknowledgment, still focused on her task. Their happy little family portrait was one I longed to truly be part of, to not feel like an outsider looking in.

But Jolie had never made much effort to include the foster kid, and their bond only highlighted how I'd never know a mother's love like this. A familiar pang of loneliness struck beneath my ribs.