Masquerade - The Complete First Novel

- 17 -

(Dakota)

I follow Sean's orders, letting him sleep on the couch so he can keep me in check. According to him, I'm letting the child get to me. It's 'consuming my life' he says. It's 'taking over' he says. "I know that finding his child may help you deal with your sister's death, but you are taking it too far." That sentence stays in my mind, repeating as it bounces.

My blood boils as he uses the excuse from my sister's death to tell me that I'm taking my investigation too far. I grab a pillow, slamming it into my face and scream. I press the pillow down harder on my face, to muffle the shrieks so my new roommates won't hear my pain.

I loosen the grip on my pillow, as my screams turn into a cry. I can feel my face scrunch up as the tears sink into the white pillowcase. I cry harder now, sitting up with the pillow still covering my face. The face of my dead sister flashes in my brain, bringing the crash of memories onto me.

I make a fist, grabbing the pillow and raising it above my head. I look at the girl that stares back at me, her face wet with tears and broken memories. I shove her way, throwing the pillow at the mirror on top of my dresser. I put my head in my hands, soaking them in my tears. I make a fist full of fire-red hair, my hands daring to rip the strands from their place on my scalp. It doesn't though, I wish it would. I wish I could.

I look back up at the crying girl. She had her knees crammed into her chest, and her red hair was in knots and twist that would be painful to untangle. She tries anyway, setting her knees down and putting her fair fingers in her hair. She tries to brush it, but her fingers become caught in the tangle. She pulls down, trying to forcefully rip the knot apart. I feel no remorse for this girl as a fire starts in her heart, burning in anger. She gives up, removing her hand from her hair and laying it down on the bed. Her head was tilt to the side and seems to be laying on her shoulder. I start to count her flaws.

Her fair skin. One. Her cold eyes. Two. Her slightly crooked nose. Three. Her small lips. Four. Her oddly shaped eyes. Five. Her dead ends that seem to be crawling up her hair. Six. Her personality. Seven. I continue, counting them in total. She's a horrible friend. Eleven. She's shy. Twelve. She's...Dakota. Thirteen. Thirteen flaws.

Redheads are supposed to be soul-sucking monsters. But I don't feel like a monster. I don't feel like a volcano about to erupt. I don't feel like a demon. But I know I'm not an angel either. I'm not happy, or angelic. I'm not perfect. I'm definitely not perfect. I'm far from perfect. I don't know who's perfect. Someone has to be perfect. If someone is not perfect, then how does the idea of perfection exist if there isn't an embodiment of that. I wonder if I'll meet Ms. Perfect. Or Mr.

I thought Sean was perfect. But someone who's perfect is understanding, and considerate. Sean doesn't seem like any of those things. Neither does Ana. She's devilish. The kind of devil that will reel you in into her evil bidding and then blame you afterward for all the flaws in her adventure. She's rude and controlling and...beautiful. And loyal. And understanding. And forgiving. And determined. And a great friend. I lay my eyes off of the flawful girl, thinking of the wonderful devil that is my best friend.

Why do I talk so awful of her? Why do I put her down? Why do I call her something she is not? A devil. If anything, I'm the devil. I'm the kind of devil that will make you pity her and then lure you into her trap. Making you her slave. And the cycle repeats, over and over. Pitty after pitty. And when she doesn't get her way, she cries. Like a wuss.

That phrase that Anastasia uses so much isn't insensitive, it's the hard truth that she is trying to show me. She is an angel. An angel with a nose ring and bright blue hair. An angel that has been in jail multiple accounts just to save the devil from punishment as the angel believes the devil 'can't handle it'. The devil agrees as she sits on her couch while her angel sits on a metal bench with demons around her.

An angel does not belong with demons, the devil does. I am the devil. I guess the stereotypes were true.

I lay back down on another pillow that's behind me, my tears dried. I stare at the ceiling, dumbfounded. Done with everything. I just want to leave. Leave and forget everything, forget Ana. Forget Sean. Forget Clem. Forget my old life, start fresh. Start anew. I remember the angel. If I leave her, the devil will have nothing to suck the life from, the devil will be alone. Again with the...demons. That hide in her flaws. That hide in the dark abyss that follows her around to every destination she goes. They will never leave. She can leave the angel, but she can't escape the demons that haunt her.

Funny, I always thought that demons would be afraid of the devil, not the other way around. However, if I leave, I'll find a new angel. Someone new to lure into my web of secrets and lies. I look back at the girl, how laying down in a ball. She sits up, placing her hand far from her body. Close to the nightstand. Her tears come back, but they weren't tears of sadness; they were tears of anger. I look at the nightstand, watching the lifeless items. A lamp, a book, and a photo. The two people in the frame showed happiness. The angel and the devil.

The angel had pink hair, and a muscle shirt that reads 'Break the Rules'. She was happy. Sticking her tongue out with one eye closed, paired with an 'I love you' hand sign. She had the devil beside her. She had curled fire red hair and a fluffy light blue sweater. Her arms were around the angel's neck, laughing.

I grabbed the frame, chucking it at the weeping girl. She shatters, disappearing from my sight. Maybe I'll gain something I've never had before, confidence. I pull the sheets over me, covering my vision with darkness as I close my cold eyes.