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Chapter Two
Marcus
I leaned in to look at the mirror, sighing at what I found. It had been six years; I should be used to the sight by now, but every day I held onto ignorant hope that something would change.
I didn’t have a problem with most of what I saw; I had fair skin, crystal blue eyes, a sharp jawline and a smell cleft in my chin. My eyebrows were dark, but I kept my shaggy hair dyed platinum blond. Other people had described me as good looking in the past, but that was before I got the mark.
Beneath my right eye, I had a deep scar that branched into a V pattern and ran across my cheek in both directions. People often stared at the mark, looking at me with either disgust or pity. Mothers held their children closer to them, as if I were a thug who received the scar in a knife fight or something.
And honestly, I wish that was the case. The true source of the blemish caused more pain and suffering than the original injury itself. The scar was a reminder of my shame and loss.
I took a deep breath and pushed the pain away. It ruled my mind and heart every other day, but this evening belonged to me. I had to have an escape, even just once a year, or I would drive myself insane with guilt and grief.
I picked up the white mask on my dresser and held it against my face. It covered my whole forehead and nose, but exposed my lips so that I could speak freely. There was a hole so that I could see with my right eye, but my entire scar was covered.
I gripped the ribbons attached to the mask and stretched them to the back of my head, tying them in a bow before giving a tiny smile at my reflection. Only when I was like this, with half of my face hidden from the world, did I feel comfortable enough to be seen.
I stepped back to admire the rest of my outfit; I looked okay in a gray sweater and black dress pants. I didn’t own a nice suit jacket or tie, but it had never been a problem. With one last nod at my reflection, I pulled open my apartment door.
I didn’t drive, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to deal with parking. Besides, it was a nice, cool evening, and I lived less than a mile from the Convention Center where the ball was being held, so I decided to walk rather than order a ride.
As I neared the center, the crowd on the sidewalk became more dense. I usually became anxious in a group, trying to hide my face or keep attention away from me, but today, I didn't have to worry. Everyone was immersed in their own business, behind their own mask.
I was empowered by my anonymity and merged into the crowd. I wasn't bothered by their presence; I even smiled and nodded at a few people. And they smiled back; not with uncomfortable, sympathetic smiles, but the warm kind which reached their eyes. The kind that I knew I didn't deserve, but I so desperately craved.
By the time I reached the entrance to the hall, I was floating on air. My worries were behind me, left back at my small apartment. I gave my ticket to a pair of older ladies sitting behind a table, who smiled and welcomed me. I wondered how they would react if they could truly see me, but the thought flitted away once I stepped inside the ballroom.
Every year, the decorations got more opulent and gorgeous. The room itself was fancy with marble floors and pillars, but it was adorned with white satin swags of fabric along the walls and smoke blowing across the floor. It gave the illusion that everyone was dancing on clouds.
Angelic music came from an orchestra on the stage at the front of the room and I felt as if I were in heaven; happy and free from my physical constraints.
I gazed around at the crowd, looking for someone to speak to or even dance with. Some years I found company and others I didn’t. Just being there was wonderful, but I wouldn’t deny the urge to feel strong arms around me on the dance floor or to share a few stories with a stranger.
Of course, nothing ever stretched beyond a few hours of companionship. The first year I attended the ball, I thought I made a connection with a man I danced with and talked to for hours. But when he asked to see me - all of me - and I removed my mask, he excused himself to the restroom and never came back.
I almost didn’t attend the following year, but I craved companionship, even if it was superficial. I just set strict rules for myself; no mask removal and no promises of meeting up later. I would enjoy the evening with no future expectations. It was the only way to keep my heart safe.
And speaking of my heart, it raced inside my chest when my wandering gaze landed upon a man emerging from the shadows into the dim light of the dance floor.
He was stunning; tall and fit with shiny black hair which was fixed in a perfect coif and scruffy on his cheeks. Even at a distance, his dark eyes entranced me. They seemed to look at nothing and everything at once; a thousand yard stare that hooked me with its mystery and made me wonder who could be lucky enough to be in his sights. He wasn't wearing a mask, and who could blame him? It would be a crime to cover his face. He wasn't wearing dressy clothing, but he was still the most handsome man in the room; that I'd ever seen.
The gorgeous man approached with purpose, his steps steady and rapid while his gaze locked on mine. My breathing sped up when I realized the lucky one was me.
