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“You know me, I’m always looking for new friends.” He winks at me, a little blush tinting his cheeks. “You know what it is like to be young and free.” He chuckles, bumping my shoulder, like I should really know what he is talking about. But I don’t.
I’m twenty-eight years old, but I feel much older. Life has ways to mature and scar your soul, weight down your spirit. To feel free or young requires too much energy I do not have. I’m barely functioning as it is.
“Are you ready for an adventure in Liverpool? Any interesting plans so far?” he asks with a smile, redirecting the conversation. The crinkles appear around his mouth as he speaks and his eyes sparkle with excitement.
“You mean, besides what we’ll see through the window of the moving taxi?” That’s all the sightseeing I’m planning to do.
Amused, he guides me towards the check-in post. We are staying in Liverpool for the weekend and on Monday at six, we leave for London again. Joshua seems to be in a good mood, even with the nervous excitement bubbling under his skin.
To me, everything requires preparation and careful planning. For instance, I must hide all my vulnerable parts from the people, to let myself feel a sliver of happiness, smile, or even breathe like others.
Just before noon, we arrive at the Marriott hotel, and I waste no time as I only have one hour to get ready. In record time, I jump into the navy bodycon dress, some heels, and then I set to work on my hair and makeup.
Like an artist, I apply some blush and bronzer on my pale cheeks to give it a glowing, healthy complexion. Needing my pale blue eyes to be the main focus as I speak, I apply eyeshadow and eyeliner to make them pop. I decide to apply lipstick later.
“Almost there,” I whisper, assessing my reflection with critical eyes.
Before I leave the hotel room, I stand in front of the mirror and start my usual routine. A mental preparation meant to hide all my anxieties and fears under the mask of my own making.
I’ve gotten very good at constructing a personality necessary to survive and to adapt to circumstances. With a lot of practice, it’s easy by now. My face becomes more focused, welcoming, and friendly. Gradually, my eyes let in the light, and they begin to sparkle.
My posture relaxes and I stand, tall and confident, in front of the mirror. Syncing my breaths in a steady rhythm, I find the balance and fear subsides, strength enveloping me like a shield. I consider myself ready to face the world. Even if I am a liar, I am also a survivor. Every piece of this mask protects me.
“You are smart, strong, confident, and beautiful. Don’t let anyone take it away from you.” The reflection shows a charismatic woman, mischief sparkling in her eyes. She is the one who will be at the meeting.
“Here we go, Cassandra. Now you know who you are.” Steel has encased me, shielding from judgment and hiding my shattered life. This is a sham, an abstract painting of blurred lines between truth and deceit.
Two years ago, my life was demolished, ripped apart by tragedy. My children died in a car accident. My husband survived, but our marriage didn’t. The reflection in the mirror was disturbing to accept and it crippled me every time I looked. Reminded me of the things I would never have, mistakes I made.
As I head down to the lobby, I jolt as the ringing phone distracts me from the onslaught of memories. “Hello?”
“Hi, I came back home and almost had a heart attack.” Raine’s cranky declaration stops me in my tracks.
“What happened?” With the carefully constructed mask in place, I walk up to Joshua, who is waiting in the lobby with his phone glued to his ear and a tight expression on his face. Some clients are just hard to deal with.
Since he is busy on the phone, distracted to even notice me, I call for a taxi. While we drive to the office, I take time to listen to the drama in my sister's life.
“My dog and cat happened. I swear those two have a severe case of hyperactive disorder. Those animals destroyed my home.” I’m sure there is no such thing, but their furry kids are treated as human beings.
“Ah-ha.” A non-comical answer seems like a good choice.
While she tells me all about her disaster at home, I catch the reflection in the window, and remember how I started this transformation. Many women do it because they want perfection, but not me. I needed to hide my past, even from myself. Her past could unravel me, destroy everything I have accomplished.
Cassandra is a façade of flawless beauty, plastic and not real. Sandra’s past has been erased, but echoes of her memories still torture me. This career at the bank is a distraction, a purpose. I can’t lose it. Without it, I might not make it. For so long, this job was my saving grace, anchoring me from the abyss of hollow pain.
“Ready?” Joshua looks collected, and although he gets distracted by emails or calls from deman
ding clients, he is capable of not becoming rattled. Being a man must be a gift, because I feel nothing but flustered and nervous.
“I am. The rest I will deal with when we get there.” I quickly hang up with my sister, and try not to show my concerns. Besides, positive thinking helps. Fear of social anxiety prickles at the back of my neck, threatening to unravel my balance.
Distracted, Joshua asks, “Can you schedule the meeting with Ms. Degas for Tuesday at noon?” As if remembering his manners, Joshua raises his gaze to me, looking apologetic. “Please, Ms. Knight.”
A smile tugs at my lips. Joshua shouldn’t bother with niceties—they are just a waste of time—but he does anyway, always.
“Sure.” Work is the perfect distraction from the inner turmoil and struggles, so I submerge myself into the synthetic fibers of the business world and hope it will keep me busy and away from depression.
Butterflies flutter around wildly in my stomach. Nauseous with nerves, I want to get away from the glass monster we’re driving towards. I’m not a people person. I close my eyes for a moment, to block out the city and the anxiousness of being in these new surroundings.
