Masks

Chapter one

     "Jess."

     My voice bounced off the walls of her room. Jess' red hair was a matted mess, and her eyes, though blank, were pointed at a shirt that had been carelessly strewn onto the cream coloured carpet.

     The room was a mess. Jessica's clothes and shoes littered the floor, her duvet-which was normally reserved for colder months-laid in a wrinkled heap at the foot of her bed, and makeup covered the white desk in the corner. Books about the judicial system, and the laws of America were meticulously placed throughout the room, and though they bared a semblance to clutter and disorder, the books were the one thing in Jess' life that was actually organized.

     "Jess-i-ca," I said, snapping my fingers with each syllable."What are you thinking about?" Slowly, her eyes moved from the shirt to meet my eyes. "Why is it," she said, "that in cases of sexual assault unless the victim clearly tells the assailant to stop, or no, it doesn't count as a felony? Why is it that choruses of 'what the hells' and 'what the fuck are you doings' simply get piled in with circumstantial evidence?"

     I sighed. She'd been like this for months, thinking of nothing of her books and bodies, but who could really blame her? About six months ago, her boyfriend shot himself in the head, and ever since she's been reading up on criminology and the government in general, trying to convince people-and I reckon it's mostly herself she wants to convince- that it was a murder, that Ryan Stone did not kill himself.

     "I don't know," I said. "But what I do know, is that it's one in the morning, and you have a science test tomorrow. Go to sleep." She looked to her bed. "Alright" she muttered, and jumped onto the mattress. She pulled the pink duvet up to her shoulders, and shut her eyes.

     As I walked out of her room, I switched the light off. "Goodnight Jess." i half-whispered. I turned to leave, when I heard a quiet "Night Robyn." I smiled to myself.

     I brushed my teeth to the muffled sounds coming from my parent's room. Mom was working night shift today, so I wasn't surprised when i was serenaded with a quiet duet of moans and mattress springs that came from down the hall-with the amount of nameless women that snuck into the house through the back door, to be surprised would to be insane. Or oblivious. But when you really think about it, those words are interchangeable aren't they? Obliviousness=insanity, and vice versa. 

     As I tried to sleep that night, a trio of thoughts ran repeatedly through my head.

My life is a shitshow

I'm pretending to be someone I'm not in front of my own family

I've been pretending for so long that I don't even know myself

*     *     *     *    *

     I woke to the birds chirping. I got out of bed, and looked out the window to find a robin singing it's song in a high up branch of our birch tree. My mother said I was named Robyn because my hair was a dark chocolate brown, while Jessica's was bright red, and when she saw her two daughters together, she thought of the bird. Needless to say, the fist time i heard this, I was thoroughly disappointed. Until three years ago, when fourteen-year-old me heard this, I had secretly hoped my name had an epicly fascinating  backstory to it, like some great-great-aunt of mine, who had died uncovering Russia's darkest secrets via airplane and espionage was named Robyn, or that I was named after Baskin Robbin's, or something else amazing. I wasn't interested in the overall aspect of avian wildlife, but I had hoped that even if I was named after the bird, that It was because of their recklessness and bravery-I mean, robins casually stroll across the lawns of grouchy old men without considering, or caring about the consequences. You've gotta give 'em some credit.

     The smell of coffee filled the room, and I hastily got dressed, knowing I couldn't get through the whole day without a reasonable amount of caffeine; last night I had barely slept.  The sound of my footsteps boomed as I clamored down the stairs.  I walked into the kitchen, and my dad was sitting at the table, sipping from a large Dallas Cowboys mug (even though we live in Buffalo, and he doesn't watch football). "Mornin' sunshine!" he said when he saw me.

     Ever since I stopped seeing my dad as just my dad, and started seeing him as the man who cheated on mom, I've noticed something I'm surprised I didn't notice before: Andrew Williams, my father, is a really, truly, inconceivably ugly man. Okay, I may have exaggerated a bit, but he was grotesque nonetheless. He had a receding hairline, and an unnaturally large nose. His eyes were small, and his ears were big. The only things I got from him appearance wise, are my brown hair and eyes, and Jess didn't get any of her looks from him either,thank god. When I looked at him, I could never help but think-how does he get so many women to sleep with him? Actually, I should revise that statement. How much does he pay them?

     I poured myself a cup of coffee, and put two pieces of bread into the toaster. I checked my phone for the time, and it read 7:49. We still had twenty minutes before we had to catch the bus. Jess walked in at the exact time as my toast popped. She hugged Dad good  morning as I reached for the peanut butter. Seeing her touch him made me sick. I loved my older sister, and I loved my mom, so seeing her even touch the person that lied to both their faces every other day repulsed me. How was it that he'd gotten away with this for so long? How is it that he'd tell mom he loved her, then screw another person in the bed they shared? And most importantly, why the fuck haven't I told Mom? I pictured her sleeping upstairs, happy and peaceful, and then I knew. How could I take that away from her? How could I rob a person I love of a person she loves?

     "How did you sleep last night Robyn?" my dad asked. " I took the seat opposite him at the table. "Just fine," I said. "you?"

     I continued to act oblivious for the rest of the morning. Sorry, did I say oblivious? I meant to say insane.