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“Okay, I’ll relax and try to have fun.” I laugh when she smiles. “But only for tonight. Tomorrow, I am right back to paranoid Nikki Satinn.”
At some point, between the flight and Chloe showing me outfit inspo ideas based on the clothes she packed, I doze off. Only to be awakened by the wheels touching down in New York.
“Here, babe. Here, put this on.” Chloe hands me a white masquerade mask that is completely covered in gorgeous white feathers. Some of the tips of the feathers are painted gold.
It’s stunning. I know exactly why she picked it. It’s reminiscent of a dove. She knows the meaning behind it, which brings tears to my eyes.
Dove. My fingers brush over the inside of my wrist, the only piece of my past that I’ve kept—the tattoo of a dove, my real last name.
“Chlo.” I smile at her as I caress the feathers of the mask. “Thank you.”
I keep the images at bay that try to surface, but a stab to my gut slips through at the thought of my mother. I miss my parents so much.
Slipping the mask band over my head, I adjust it until the mask is sitting on the bridge of my nose. Then, I throw the hood of my hoodie up, covering my hair and head. Chloe leads the way off the plane and into the car waiting for us. The driver gives me an odd look that I do my best to ignore. I’m guessing it’s not every day that someone gets in with a mask and a hoodie on. Before we left home, Chloe explained that Bill, her driver, would take care of the bags and get them to the hotel for us as well as do anything else we might need.
She shoves her phone in her purse before saying, “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought us outfits for tonight. I know you always insist on doing shit yourself. But that’s dumb.”
She laughs when I shoot her a glare. She has done enough for me in this lifetime tenfold.
“Nik, come on. You deserve to be spoiled, and I have the means to do it. And when I saw this dress, it would have been physically impossible for me to leave the store without it. I think it might have killed me. You were meant to wear it, I swear, especially with that mask.”
It’s hard to be mad at her for doing nice things for me. It’s just hard to explain. Nice gestures don’t always feel selfless or kind. It’s a fine line between happiness and suffocation. If my ex did a nice thing for me, it meant the opposite was inevitable. So, it’s difficult for me to take Chloe’s kindness at face value. He rewired my brain when we were together, convincing me every thought I had was wrong, every feeling I had was crazy. He continued until I was a shell of myself, and now, every day is a struggle for me to decipher what is a genuine thought of my own and what has been manipulated by him.
I’m nodding before I realize it, forcing my brain to think happy thoughts—that Chloe did it for me because she loves me, no ulterior motive.
“Thank you. I mean it, Chlo. Thank you.” My voice is small and weak, but it’s my own.
She throws her arms around me, doing her best to avoid the mask. “I love you, Nik, always.”
“I love you too,” I whisper to her, squeezing her a little harder, not wanting to let go.
I crave contact in any form. A hug, a high five, any skin-to-skin contact I can get feels like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long.
Don’t even get me started on my sex life. There is none, not a one-night stand, nothing since I became Nikki. It’s embarrassing what turns me on these days. I swear a guy can shake my hand, and my clothes practically disintegrate. At this point, eye contact for longer than a second gets me wet. Which means tonight might be the first time in a long time that a guy touches me more than from the pass of a coffee cup. And I am so fucking excited. I need to wear a mask more often. I can be anyone tonight. I can be fearless, sexy, and free.
“Stop fussing. You look like a damn goddess. I’m almost mad at you for it.” Chloe slaps my hand away to stop me from fidgeting with my hair as we move closer and closer to the entrance of Fireflies.
I audibly gasped when Chloe showed me the dress that she had picked out for me. The gold satin material flows down my body like it was made just for me. It crisscrosses across the back from right above my butt and all the way to the thin straps that run over my shoulders. I opted out of the jewelry she had offered me because they would potentially fall out of my ears or break, and they were probably worth more than my life.
Most of the scars on my body are on full show tonight, not hidden by this small dress. Not many people notice them. Most of them are small enough that they are missed at first glance. The tiny ones scattered up and down my arms are from when he shoved me and I fell into the glass coffee table, including the longer scar that runs right beneath my jaw. A much larger milky-white ridge runs from my mid-forearm to my pinkie from when he threw his large pocketknife at me because I’d spoken out of turn. There are plenty of scars that cannot be seen because of my dress and because a lot of them show no physical mark.
A flash of luscious brown hair flits past my vision as the girl a few feet ahead of us in line is spun by who I imagine is her boyfriend. As she turns, feelings of déjà vu hit me. I know this girl somehow. When she laughs and says something to her friend, it hits me. Laura Young. I wonder if she would recognize me at all. We never had personal conversations outside of the ones that usually arose during short interactions. It’s impossible not to notice the group that is with her. All the guys are easily over six feet, and all of them look like they are straight off of a magazine cover. With masks covering a portion of their faces, a sexy, mysterious aura surrounds them.
My brain quickly puts the pieces together. The one who was spinning Laura must be her fiancé, Alec. Charlotte is with them, too, and has one of the towering men wrapped around her petite frame. She is wearing this stunning navy-blue dress that clings to her every curve. And then they disappear into the darkened club, bright flashing lights outlining their bodies before the door shuts behind them.
After a few more minutes, we are next to enter. The bouncer checks our IDs.
Thank you, Chloe, for the best fake only a lot of money can buy.
“Have fun.” The bouncer smiles at Chloe and me as we enter.
Lights strobe and flash all around us as our ears adjust to the loud music. The dance floor is a rainbow of different-colored masks. This Fireflies is almost identical to the one back home—circular bar in the center of the room, touch-reactive flooring, the whole works. I went one time with Chloe, but my anxiety was too much. I had a panic attack in the restroom and told her I would never go back there.
Without meaning to, Chloe and I wander near Laura’s group. Spinning to face Chloe, I’m about to ask if she wants to get a drink when I’m bumped forward.
“I’m so sorry!” Laura’s words slur together as she catches herself on my arms. Her eyes connect with mine for a brief second. Laura’s head tilts a bit to the side, like she recognizes my eyes, but can’t place them.
I don’t blame her. At work, I am usually in laid-back clothes with minimal makeup on. And I don’t usually have a mask that covers half of my face. She continues to stare at me, no shame in the fact that if I didn’t know her, she would be locked down in a stare-off with a stranger.
