Page 19 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)

Brody

I haven’t spoken to the girls since our issue at the studio five days ago.

We’ve had arguments before as all best friends do but it hasn’t been that bad before.

Aria and I have never physically put our hands on one another, and this feels like it’s put a rift in our entire relationship.

I haven’t called or texted them to talk about anything, ranging from our fight to just life, and they haven’t called me either, but I’ve seen on social media that they’ve been out publicly and hitting the clubs.

I never harp on what people say about me or my music on social media but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sit and read comment after comment asking where I’ve been and if I’m still relevant the other night for three hours.

The fans are getting used to Ivory and Aria being alone together without me present.

Some have theorized that we aren’t friends anymore, some even said that I got pregnant and fell off the face of the earth because my baby bump started showing.

Totally untrue but creative so I didn’t reply to the comment.

Now, I’m in my basement in the studio, coming up with new beats because we’re on a time crunch.

Usually, we can make about five songs in three months’ time without any contracts or labels rushing us or reminding us of contractual agreements, but now we have to double that in the same amount of time.

So, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t stressing me out, especially when Aria and Ivory keep coming up with shitty lyrics.

I do what I do best. I allow my emotions to escape me, flowing out of my body and into my music.

That’s why I’m not surprised when my song comes out angry.

It starts off slow and basic, an uncomplicated beat, and I keep it going, not sure what to make of it.

Thoughts rise to the surface of my brain as I create the song, Harvey at the forefront of them.

I think of the way he consoled me the other day and did his best to reassure me even though it required him to step out of his comfort zone so completely.

He did that for me and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel something aside from hate and irritation for him.

I’ve never written lyrics to a song in my life. I’ve never tried and never had to because my friends do it all. But for some reason, words are coming to me as I’m playing and I stop to write them down, alternating between playing and writing. In about an hour, I’ve come up with the first verse.

The red and blue lights shine right in my eyes

She stops and demands I say my goodbyes

Anger arises as I learn I’ll never be coming back

The Devil sends temptation as a form of attack

They told you I’m the serpent in disguise

But you know you’re not in danger when you look in my eyes

I pour my heart into those words. It’s my story and I feel like there’s more to add to it, I just have to find the rest of the beat first. I stop the beat and think for a second.

The guitar portions of this song can be left up to Aria and Ivory but even then I feel something would be missing from it, but I’m not sure what.

Just as I feel like a lightbulb is about to go off above my head, my phone rings from where it lays on the black leather couch at the other side of the room.

I get up and walk over to it, curious to know if it’s Ivory or Aria.

I hold my breath in anticipation and once I finally get to it, the name that flashes on the screen has me jerking back in shock.

I was most certainly not expecting to hear from Beatrix Banes right now.

I lift the phone off the couch and press the green answer button. “Hello?” I greet.

“Sticks, my favorite American!” Beatrix exclaims in her British accent, amused on the other end.

I grin at the sound of her voice and at the background noise.

It sounds like she’s in a club packed full of people but it’s only two in the afternoon.

Leave it to Beatrix to find a party at any and all times of day.

God, it’s one of the many things I love about her.

She’s so fucking cool. “What’s up? You sound like you’re having fun.

” I chuckle, trying to be a good sport even though I’m green with envy.

She laughs on the other end, “I’m at a fucking party, Love. You have to come, I got the best blow you’ll ever have.” Her voice gets louder as she yells into the phone over the noise of the party.

I sigh, my face falling. “I would love to, Beatrix, but I’m on lockdown right now.”

“Bloody hell, Love. Do you need me to send someone to bail you out?” She queries.

Does she think I’m in jail? How would I be able to answer my phone from jail? “No, I’m not in jail. Selene is making me stay clean and sober. I have a babysitter living with me to keep me in check and he’s very strict, so unfortunately, no parties for me.”

She gasps on the other end, “Darling, I could have him killed for you if you’d like.”

Technically, I could have him killed if I wanted to.

All it would take is one phone call to Ivy in New York and she’d fly here on her private jet with her gun fully loaded and the safety off.

I never got a clear grip on what it is her and her fiance do, but I know whatever it is, it isn’t legal and the girl has a lot of blood on her hands.

But I’m not having anyone killed. I’ve grown to tolerate Harvey and I don’t want him dead as much as he does annoy me at the best of times.

I’m slightly concerned to know that Beatrix has lethal connections to people and I make a mental note to never, ever get on her bad side. “That’s okay. Thank you though.”

“Find a way to come here, Love. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” she complains.

I frown, my free hand reaching up to flatten the hair on top of my head even though there’s nothing wrong with it.

“I wish I could, but I really can’t. I’ll tell you what, I’ve only got two and a half months left of this so when I’m free, we’ll party.

” I promise, hoping a rain check will be enough for her.

I can’t deal with my friends thinking I’m boring but Beatrix thinking I’m boring would send me over the edge.

I look up to her and don’t want to disappoint her.

She pauses on the other end, the only sound coming from the speaker, the muffled murmurs of partiers and upbeat music. Those sounds may be loud but nothing is louder than the disappointment in her silence. I squeeze my eyes shut in humiliation and feel my chest tighten.

A moment later, she finally speaks, sighing into the phone, “Fine. You owe me a good party, Darling.” Her voice sounds genuine and not at all disappointed, but I know it’s there. I heard it in the silence.

“I promise.” I assert, my grip tightening around the phone.

“Alright, you enjoy sobriety, Love. I’ll party for both of us.” She chuckles from the other end.

I force a smile even though she can’t see me.

“Sounds good. Have fun.” My voice chokes and I force myself to hand up the phone before tears threaten to fall.

I don’t want to be overly emotional and over dramatic crying over not being able to party but it isn’t about the party.

It’s about what the party means. There’s a reason Beatrix doesn’t call me to go shopping and that she calls me to party.

It’s because my entire persona revolves around being a reckless troublemaker who snorts blow like nobody’s business and always has run-ins with the cops.

That’s who I am to everyone and that’s who they want me to be.

I’d never be in the news for being charitable or well mannered, I’d only be in the news for the list of offenses Selene read off that sheet of paper what feels like ages ago.

I sigh and force the emotions at bay. I’m not crying over a stupid party.

I walk right past the drums and sit at the bench of the piano.

I rest my elbows on the keys and a dark and almost gothic sound escapes as I drop my head in my palms. My exhale gets cut off by that sound my elbows made.

I remove my elbows and stare down at the keys.

I haven’t played the piano in years. My signature instrument is the drums, there’s no room for piano in metal and rock.

I learned piano when I was a kid, my parents wanted me to play what they considered to be a “classy” instrument -you can only imagine their reaction to my playing one of the most obnoxious instruments out there. -

I watch the keys in silence as if they could move at any moment of their own accord.

What I love about the drums and all instruments is that they don’t play themselves.

They require a master, someone to play them, to command them.

I place my right thumb on middle c and my other four fingers on d, e, f, and g.

I keep my other hand in my lap for now, not sure if any notes will even come out of my fingers or if anything will come to me.

I press the keys and listen to the sounds but nothing piques my interest or inspires me.

I exhale a disappointed breath. Not only did I completely disappoint Beatrix, but now I’m disappointing myself.

I let my mind waver into the uncharted territory of self-loathing, of everything that’s happened these last few weeks and how my entire world has completely turned upside down.

My thoughts center around one thing in particular, someone.

Harvey Taylor. Before I can think, my fingers start to create sound.

The notes start flying out of me and before I know it, I’ve created thirty-four beats.

The notes are melancholy and cased in a serene sound that doesn’t exactly fit the image of Harvey I have in my mind but reminds me more of myself and my life before Harvey stepped into it.

“Brody, come up!” Harvey’s voice calls from the top of the staircase leading to the second floor. I didn’t even hear the door open.