Masking Amaya Frazer

{7} Leader of the Broken Hearts

Jolting awake, I almost smacked my head against the ceiling as I bolted straight up. The familiar tang of salt assaulted my taste buds as tears flooded my mouth, and I pressed a fist to my lips, heaving silent cries so as not to wake Jessi.

Hunched over, I fought for breath as uncontrollable sobs wracked through my body. It was only our second semester together as roommates and I didn't want Jessi to think that I was a cry baby, but the fact of the matter was that more often than not, I woke up in the middle of the night bawling.

As of late, the only thing I seemed to be able to do was cry.

"Amaya?"

I stiffened as the bed creaked and a hand stroked my hair, tucking it behind my ear as the owner of the hand sat up beside me. Transferring his hands to either side of my face, he forced me to look at him as he placed his forehead against mine.

His eyes searched my own as he dried my tears with the back of his hand, similar to the way he had done at the club.

I broke down in his presence as the mask slipped between my fingers no matter how much I willed it not to.

I clutched the sheets in my hand as even more tears broke through the dam. His unyielding concern and need to protect me was all completely new to me.

"I can't take it anymore," I whispered, my grip on the sheets tightening with each word. "Milo, I can't. I can't keep going on like this."

"Shh," he hushed, removing my hand from the sheets as he intertwined his fingers with mine.

I mustered a deep breath and climbed down from the bed, knowing that he would follow as I exited the room, making my way towards the lounge down the hall.

It was just past two in the morning as we entered the modest lounge furnished with royal blue couches, a coffee table, and a television. Curling up on one of the couches, I faced Milo as he sat on the one across from mine.

"Can I tell you something?" I asked, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Anything."

He remained quiet as he intently listened to me.

"I've been having nightmares since freshman year of high school," I confessed, tracing invisible circles on my pajama pants. "My parents don't give me the time of day and don't understand why I lock myself in my room all day long."

Another tear slipped free and I swiped at it, saying, "Sorry."

"Who are you apologizing to?"

"You...myself? I don't know."

"Don't feel bad. It's okay to cry, Amaya. Who's it helping if you keep it bottled up inside of you? You are stronger than anything trying to beat you down so don't ever feel weak for crying, you got that?"

I nodded. "Thank you. I really appreciate this."

He will make a wonderful therapist someday, I thought as I shared my secrets with him.

"What else is bothering you?"

This was the hard part; the part that not even my own parents believed. They couldn't begin to comprehend the reason for my depression. To them, I had nothing to be stressed or worried about; they gave me everything I ever wanted and I lived in a nice house with a loving family.

Or so they thought.

"I was bullied," I disclosed, feeling a portion of the weight being lifted from my chest. "I fell into a dark pit of depression when I consulted my parents about it. They said I was lying and just looking for attention. They were too busy fighting with each other to realize that their daughter was suffering."

Milo shifted with a frown.

"Who would blame them for not believing me? I had lots of friends, I was on the varsity soccer team, and I was liked by all of my teachers. They didn't think anyone had a reason to bully me, but what they didn't know was that the boy who picked on me was the son of the man my mother was having an affair with."

"When was this?"

"Last year."

"And your parents are still together, correct?"

"They've filed for divorce, but they're arguing over who gets the house and whatnot."

"How do you feel about the divorce?"

"Honestly? I haven't thought much about it. I'll live with my dad, I guess. I hate that woman for what she did because her actions had consequences, and those consequences fell on me."

Milo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he kept his expression neutral.

"His name was Greg. He was the one who told me about my mother coming over his house late at night to hook up with his father. Of course, I called him a liar. My mother wouldn't do that, would she?"

More angry than sad, I felt as though I could finally breathe again. Nevertheless, I couldn't seem to stop crying.

"You can stop there if it's too painful," Milo said.

I shook my head.

"No. I can keep going," I swallowed hard. "I became known as the whore's daughter until the nickname got shortened and I was just known as a whore for something my mother had done. Anyway, I adopted the name. I was already labeled a whore, so why not just go with it? I slept with lots of guys, had one-night-stands, and never kept a long-term relationship."

I'd never truly been in love. I didn't even know what it meant to love. I never even had a boyfriend before. Did I love my parents the way I should?

Leaning my head back, I released a ragged sigh and closed my eyes. "I can't go back home for college, Milo. I came here to make a new name for myself; one that didn't include the word 'whore' in it."

"Are you forgetting already? You have a new name, Dove."

I opened my eyes as my breath hitched at the sincerity of his stare.

"You'll get through this, I promise," he said with ultimate faith in me. "Even if you have to transfer, you'll be fine. I know it."

"I don't know..."

"Hey, wings are meant for flying. You aren't meant to stay in one place."

"I thought you said you'd be my wings, though."

He bit his lip, darting his eyes to the side. He didn't say anything for a while which made me anxious.

"It's fine," I said in resignation. "I'm used to flying solo."

Milo stood up and I told myself not to stare at his shirtless chest as he made his way over to me, and sat down beside me.

"When was the last time you..." he trailed off, gesturing at my scarred wrists.

"Two weeks ago? Maybe less."

"The next time you feel like cutting, take a marker and draw on the spot instead. It will help you fight the urge," he said.

"Isn't that dangerous? Like won't the ink sink through my skin or something?"

He shrugged. "It can't be that bad. Anything is better than deliberately harming yourself to bleed."

"Thank you, Milo. I really mean it."

He smiled and leaned over, giving me a quick hug. I returned it, feeling his fiery skin on mine.

"Let's get back to bed," he said, offering me a hand. He winked and my stomach flipped as my cheeks burned.

Giving him a pointed look, I said, "The floor should be dry by now."

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