Exhale

Chapter 20 - Mask

"Al... what's that on your face?" Phil asked, reaching out.

"What do you mean?" Gently, I touched my face. Roughness—nothing out of the ordinary. But the coming tension and the clamminess of my hands was unordinary. Forcing a smile, I asked, "What's wrong?"

Silence once more. And once more, I felt the dread in my heart begin to overwhelm me. From the inside of my ear, I could hear the thump of my heart and it kept... pressing... forward. I glanced at each of their faces. With their faces twisted and sweat pooling on their foreheads, I knew that it was quite contrary. Evident to them, frankly, something was wrong; I was simply out of the loop.

My eyes met Phil's. Desperately, he looked away. He remained mute. Like he did so many times before, I reached out to him. Instinctually, his foot slipped back, and he pulled himself away from me.

Somewhat hurt, I said, "If there's something wrong, please tell me."

He still didn't look at me. None of them did. It was as though I was the elephant in the room, and they had all unanimously decided to avoid me.

Becoming more annoyed, I reached out once more. This time, before he was able to pull away, I got a strong grip of his shirt. Pulling him toward me, I forced him to look at me face-to-face. "If there's something wrong, tell me," I said, a slight tint of venom laced my tone.

He looked at me for a good minute or two, staring straight into the orbs that were staring right back at him. Then, like before, his eyes darted from side to side, seeking reassurance and advice. But that didn't make them not fall back on me again.

He began to chuckle nervously, his mouth stretched horizontally while remaining pursued. "Nothing's wrong," he gritted behind clasped teeth, "it's nothing, Al."

"Bullshit," I replied, gripping him tighter, "I can't believe someone who is stiff and has such a fucking fake expression on their face."

Sweat began to trickle down his face. Yet for some reason, he refused to budge. The boy, who usually fell under pressure, was refusing to now, right at the moment I wanted—no, needed—him to fall the most. For that reason, the strands of hair on my skin had began to perk up, sprouting like trees in a meadow of green.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned. Esmae was there. She was holding a broken glass from the door screen. Without a word, she rose it until it was leveled to my face. And then, I saw it. Finally, I understood why he was mute.

Foreign marks marked my face. The long and thin swirls stretched from the corners of my chin to underneath my bangs, tracing the perimeter of my head. Although they were faint against my pale skin, they were glowing, making them apparent. Interestingly, the marks had no texture to them. They were gently inscribed, and brushing against them didn't tingle my fingers in an unfamiliar way. With the intricate form and shape, they were beautiful—still, I couldn't shake the unwelcomed stares.

All around me were familiar faces that held unfamiliar expressions. Although there were no glares, there were plenty of stares—a rather atypical amount. All their eyes—all nine of them—were glued to me like I was some exotic monster. With their eyes on me, I only felt my guts churn and throat tighten.

Breaking the silence, I asked, "What's wrong?"

No response. The thudding sped up.

Slightly cocking my head, I asked, "Why are you all looking at me like that? Nothing is particularly wrong with me—I'm certain they're just marks from my mask."

"Adair, I've seen thousands of people take off that mask. I know that those doesn't appear," Luckas said. "Exactly how much X.Q. gas did you inhale? And for how long?"