Page 15 of Masked Instincts

I tell Mama about my lame job and how I have to be careful when I go into public. Every single day I fear the wrong person is going to see me. That I might walk inside a store while my face blasts over the news and I’m there, next to a picture of me, being forced not to leave before I end up back behind bars. My freedom isn’t free. It’s an expensive and quiet life to live.

“I’ll redecorate for you,” Mama says with a smile.

“No, Mama. I mean it. Don’t spend a single penny.”

“I just want to help.”

“I’m fine with what I have,” I respond as I motion around the room. A couch that looks like it was picked up off the side of the road. A TV that sits across from it on a black, plastic chair. There isn't even a coffee or dining room table.

“Fine. Tell me about your scar,” she demands. I breathe sharply through my nose before exhaling slowly out of my mouth, it comes out shaky and weak.

“It’s not pretty.”

“Don’t care.”

“Kind of gross.”

“Still don’t care.”

“But-”

“Jax. Enough. I’m your mother, but you seem to have forgotten that along the way,” she snaps. The words sting. I would never forget that she is my mother, but I pushed her away like she wasn’t. The sound of her voice reminds me of Luna's cry when she asked why I wouldn’t take my mask off.

This.

This is part of the reason why.

I walk over to the couch and drop onto it. The furniture shifts on the floor beneath my weight. Mama joins me on the sofa, shoving her shoes off before kicking her feet into my lap. She points to her feet, indicating that I should rub them. I’m glad to see the woman hasn’t changed. I used to rub her feet, but that wasn’t all. I’d ice her bruises and stitch her wounds to make her good as new. All I ever wanted was for her never to have to go through the pain she did. And look at me now, wishing to inflict it on others just to feel something inside. Going to prison ruins a person, naturally. What ruins you more is going there when you should never have stepped in there at all.

“I was filled with rage when I went to prison. I shouldn’t have gone there. I didn’t belong,” I begin as my fingers work into the muscles of her feet. Words come in slow motion as I express things I haven’t told a soul. Events and emotions that I’ve barely faced myself. “I worked out a lot. As long as I kept my mind busy, my head down… On my way to being one of the guard’s favorite inmates because of how compliant I was,” I chuckle at the memory.

“Guys in there would give me shit, but it didn’t bother me. Word got around how I ended up inside, somehow. I never figured that one out. But anyway, they called me ‘less of a man’ because of how long it took me to stick up for us as if I wasn’t only twenty years old. Or they told me I should have stood my ground much sooner. They told me I wasn’t worthy enough to be in with any of them. I didn’t fucking want to be in with them.”

“It wasn’t until someone mentioned you that had me going over the edge,” I turn to look at Mama and she’s staring at me, patiently, with worry and understanding lacing her pretty green eyes. I got them from her, no doubt. “Someone said to me, ‘Your mother is a sorry excuse for a woman who took beatings for sex. She’s nothing but a slut.’ I saw red. My vision has never blurred with such anger as it had that day. I was on top of him in seconds, wailing at him, and throwing every punch that I could. It never occurred to me that he would be carrying a weapon. It was a prison. It should have fucking occurred to me. He stabbed me in the side and I fell off my game. Rolled off him onto the floor in agony. When he got on top of me, he pinned my arms to the floor with his knees and shoved the same blade into my cheek.”

“Jax,” Mama whispers.

“I’m not done,” I say. Everything is pouring out of me now. It’s like my mind was waiting for the right time to let it all flow out of me and as I speak, I seem to feel lighter. “That was what ruined me. I wanted revenge, but I had to take time to heal. For weeks I couldn’t eat solid food. Only liquids and through a straw. It was hell. My mouth could barely open. Speaking was a pain in the ass. I stopped talking, for a long time. I still don’t speak much. This is the most that I’ve said in years. People in prison loved to fight. They knew what made me tick, but eventually, it came to the point that everything did. One wrong look and I’d knock someone out for it. After that incident, I kept a weapon on me at all times and I caused too much trouble. Almost every day. I have these scars along my body that tell all these stories. From Dad, from prison, but one person still stands. Me. And every single day I am so fucking pissed about it,” I say harshly. Spit escapes my lips and I lift a hand to my mouth to wipe it away. My body is shaking and I’m not quite sure how to make it stop.

That light feeling fades away as memories crash back into my head. This is it. My dark parts come to life for the one person I owe it to.

My phone dings. I know the sound. It’s the notification for the camera app. It picked up motion in Luna’s apartment. Typically, I’d jump at the sound with the need to see her, but for once, I can’t be bothered to look.

Mama ignores the sound of my phone and stares blankly at me. “Why are you so pissed about it?”

“Because I don’t want to be, Mama. I’m not suicidal. I’m not going to run into traffic or jump off a bridge, but if my time came to an end, I wouldn’t be so angry. I’d accept it as a peace offering,” I sigh. “That’s all I want. Peace. It’s so loud in here,” I add as I tap my head.

“Jaxy,” she gasps. My eyes turn to her, and she reaches my gaze. “You have to talk to someone.”

“I just did.”

“I can’t help you the way you need.”

“I can’t. I’m a fucking escaped convict. I’d be reported faster than I could say hello.”

The room falls silent as I continue to rub her feet. Another ding from my phone sounds the silence, but still, I don’t look.

ten