Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
There are too many people in this room. My family’s all here—Davide and his wife, Stefania; Elena and her husband, Brody; Simon and his wife, Emily; even my parents made a brief appearance—but that doesn’t take the edge off. If anything, they’re making it worse by hovering and worrying and making little comments.
And worst of all, all of my work is gone.
I head up the stairs, adjusting my mask and my sleek, tight black dress as I go. I bypass the third floor, since it’s basically a glorified sex club at this point, and push through the fire exit to the roof. The alarms don’t go off—I had Angelo turn them off earlier. Sweet, fresh air floods my lungs as I walk toward the edge and stare out over the city of Chicago. Buildings claw at the black night sky and lights stretch to the edge of infinity. I feel lost and small, swallowed by an uncaring and enormous city packed with individuals living their own main character lives, and the smallness of my own existence is weirdly comforting. I’m aware that I’m a freak.
This was a stupid idea. Coming here feels like diving headfirst into the open ocean. I’ve been alone for so long, and I let Angelo play up my pride and my vanity. He got me to throw this crazy art show, and now I’m freaking out, just like I knew I would. I take deep, shuddering breaths, cursing myself, hating myself. Why can’t I be normal for ten minutes? Why can’t I handle one single night around a bunch of strangers? Everyone’s wearing a mask, just like I requested, and the people down there seem to honestly like my art.
So why does this feel terrible?
It’s weakness, and I hate weakness.
But that’s me: weak, all the way through.
“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was out here.”
I jump and turn around. I don’t recognize the man standing over near the fire escape door and I don’t know his voice. He’s tall, well over six feet, and wearing a sleek black suit. His arms are muscular, and I stare at his forearms in particular, at the way he’s leaning against the doorframe and holding it open, at his fingers and his nails. They’re good nails: short and manicured, but not stubby. A nice color too.
But it’s his mask I’m drawn toward. Most of the people in that room wore simple face coverings and stuck to predictable themes. Lace and cats for women, lions and tigers and simple wraps for the men. And while this guy’s mask is black too, it’s a sleek enameled black like mine, with two tall ears and a sharp snout with gold highlights and intricate designs swirling from top to bottom.
“You’re a jackal,” I say out loud, surprising myself.
His head tilts. “And you’re a goat.”
“Ram,” I correct. “But close enough.”
“I like it. Very beautiful.” He doesn’t come closer, which I like. I cross my arms and hold my ground, but my heart’s racing. His voice is low and resonant, a good voice, a sensual rumble. “Where did you find it?”
“Made it myself,” I admit, even though I don’t know why, but nobody else asked me that question and I’m proud of my work. Even though I try not to be, I can’t help it.
“Really? That’s impressive.”
“What about you?”
“I had this one made for me by a friend.” He looks sideways, out at the night. “Do you mind if I join you? I needed to get a little space from that party down there.”
I pause and consider telling him to go away. I came out here to be alone and recharge a little bit. But I like the way he talks, and his mask makes a strange shiver run down my spine, and I figure this is what I’m supposed to be doing anyway. Socializing, pretending to be a regular woman, that sort of thing.
“Alright, sure.”
He laughs gently and lets the door close as he comes over. He leaves a few feet of space between us. “It’s nice up here.”
“The buildings make me feel like an ant and I like that.”
The Jackal tilts his face toward me, and I can’t tell if he’s smiling or looking at me like I’m crazy, and a red flush runs into my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I cared what another person thought about me and it’s a really off-putting sensation.
“When I was younger, I used to climb to the top of this warehouse with some friends.” He looks away, back out at the city, and I follow his gaze. Cars drive slowly down the streets, their hazy red taillights disappearing around bends. “We’d play this game where you’d lie on your back and shuffle out over the edge of the building and everyone else would hold your legs down to make sure you didn’t fall. You’d look out over the city, upside-down and suspended over nothing, twenty stories up in the air. Whoever went the furthest would win.”