Unmasked

Valerie's POV

Over the course of weeks, Ms. Coleman and I Skyped; my father wasn't comfortable with me leaving the apartment since Jackson was still missing. Maria had called her parents, asking if he'd turned up at their doorstep. Nothing. There were nights when I couldn't sleep; I had nightmares about Jackson coming home—flashbacks of that night. I knew what was happening, I was experiencing a side-effect of trauma. Ms. Coleman wanted me to stop internalizing my feelings and rationalizing them. She thought I was undermining the importance of what I'd gone through.

Another thing to work on.

The only real upside of "quarantine" was Finn coming to see me every day. The first days were a little strained. We just sat and watched Ghostbusters and Paranormal Activity because that's what I was in the mood for. My things had been moved to a guest room, everything except the bed. It go thrown out thanks to Dad. Maybe our hands started brushing together in that unoriginal "hands touching while reaching for the popcorn" trope while watching a marathon of Star Wars movies, whenever it happened, little by little Finn and I relaxed around one another.

It felt a little like it had at the beginning, with awkward pauses, tip-toeing around each other, neither of us really sure what boundaries to push until we pushed too much and things would end in arguments. By our standards of wooing, we were doing great, minus all the kissing and groping.

I wasn't bothered by Finn's touch, on the contrary, it was soothing, but being touched without expecting it made me jumpy. Sometimes. Once, I fell asleep on Finn while we were listening to one of Mom's old records, and after he tried to shake me awake I sort of hit him. Twice. There had been embarrassment on my part, while Finn had been insouciant. I actually wanted to laugh when he complimented my "left hook". I'd wanted to laugh for all of ten seconds before breaking down in a crying spree.

As the weeks were shaved off and the end of the month drew nearer our intimacy seeped back where it belonged. After long, rehashed talks about him not being disgusted by me or what happened, after we discussed in length what trust should mean between us, I managed to break the invisible barrier paralyzing me and kissed him.

It was around the time when it happened.

Simone rushed into my new bedroom, heaving, pressing a hand to her chest.

Finn scrambled back—rolling onto his side. He sat up, smoothing a hand through his disheveled hair. I wanted to laugh at his up-tightness. One look at Simone told me something had happened. Her large eyes were fastened on me. She'd worn a similar expression when my mother received the news about the cancer.

"What happened?" I blurted.

Simone took one last steadying breath before dropping a bombshell.

"Jackson, he…" I thought she was going to say he was banging down the door. Beside me, Finn tensed. "He… He committed suicide." My world plunged to a heart wrenching stop. Not because of Jackson, no. Because my brain automatically went to Maria who, during these weeks, resembled a ghost; a shadow, stalking the hallways. And I just couldn't imagine...

"Who told you that? How do you know?"

"It's all over the news, miss. And… your father called. He said…" Simone sucked in a gulp of air. "Jackson jumped off one of your hotels." of course Dad would've immediately been contacted.

Images of a body twisted and broken at odd places surfaced, along with splattered guts and brains… I was going to be sick. Finn must have read my mind because his arms were around me, stirring me into the bathroom. I vomited into the large sink, getting a sense of déjà vu. Only this time, the thing making me puke wasn't alcohol, it was death.

***

I missed Jackson's funeral. As any sane individual in my position would've done. My father had accompanied Maria, offering his support.

It had been almost two weeks and yet...

"It's all over the news." Ava confirmed. "Good riddance. Honestly. After what the guy did to you…" I'd told Ava what really happened, because I couldn't have stomached lying to her—not again. I owed her, if she hadn't talked to Finn that day... He wouldn't have come over.

"Thomas isn't…?"

"No, he's not home. I wouldn't be talking about this if he were. Your secret is safe with me." I breathed a sigh of relief. "Is Finn with you?"

I flipped onto my back, staring at the white ceiling.

"No, he needed to take care of a few things for college." He was leaving in a handful of days for orientation and he was prepping for a couple of Advanced Standing Exams. Lately, his time with me was spent doing math and physics. I didn't mind, I liked hearing him talk about that stuff, it was like listening to a sexy Neil deGrasse Tyson or John Nash. Plus, I got to work on my painting. It had become something cathartic for me—painting. I could decrypt emotions on a canvas than I could with words; in a week, I'd finished five sizable paintings. These last weeks, I'd been wondering what music would do. If I got into it again.

"I can come over."

"I'm alright." I replied, shaking off thoughts of a violin sitting uselessly in a dark case, somewhere in my mother's old studio. I would go there to paint from time to time, but I never touched her violin or mine.

"You can't be alright, Valerie." I was… something. I felt numb. The press was writing off Jackson's death as a plain suicide, but an autopsy had been performed to check if he'd been under the influence of drugs. He'd been clean. "Valerie?"

"Hmm?"

"I understand what it's like to feel… responsible. Guilty." Ava paused. "Over a person's death." That's when the ex-model unwound, sharing her own soap-saga of a life. How her older sister had been the center of attention, how Mia's death had catapulted Ava into becoming a model—her sister's old dream—to keep a grieving family together and how it all fell to shambles in the end. I wasn't sure what shocked me more, that Ava was a patient of Lydia's as well, or the fact that a mother had taken advantage of her daughter's guilt to keep Mia's memory alive. There was no denying the mental abuse of it all and yes, I condemned Ava's father for turning a blind eye on the situation just so that his wife and him wouldn't fight. The irony wasn't lost on either of us: both of us had tried our best to keep people together; me, because of my grief and abandonment issues; Ava, because of her guilt over Mia's death and constant parental neglect. It was clear to me that Ava's parents hadn't been happy for a long time, still, Ava had felt obligated to keep them together by turning into a ghost of Mia, until they couldn't see the daughter they blamed but the one who'd died. While Dad and Maria were happily married, there was nothing healthy about what I'd done. The thought of 'maybe' would haunt me forever. It crept up at any given time for various reasons. I would wonder about: what if I'd told them about my past with Jackson? What if I'd confided in someone about Jackson's feverish pursuit instead of writing it off as an annoyance? Maybe Jackson wouldn't be dead. Maybe he wouldn't have raped me. Maybe he would be in a mental hospital getting the help he needed, like Thomas' mother. Or maybe the guy had just been a bad person.

Sometimes life was interrupted, breaking off before the final chapter got written. Things would always be left unsaid, unfinished, there wasn't always an ending planned. Because in life, the middle part was the hardest and when things got broken, they didn't always get fixed.

After Ava hung up, I didn't do much. I sat on bed, contemplating my unpainted nails. After Jackson's funeral, Maria left to stay at her sister's house in Portland. I glared at the door. It was strange to see Dad wearing nothing but a navy t-shirt and drawstring pants. Then again, it was weird because he wasn't home enough. He disliked suits, he would wear jeans to his meeting if he could.

"How are you, sweetheart?" I had no idea, so I shrugged. Dad came to sit beside me. "It's one of those feelings…" he rested his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together. "You can't stop and feel just one thing at a time." Dad was right. Through the storm of emotions roiling around, the ones I kept coming back to were anger and sadness.

"Dad," I croaked, tilting my head. "What's going to happen to you and Maria?"

Dad sighed quietly, leaning back on his elbows.

"I hope we'll be able to work it out. I really do." I glanced back at my hands, turning them over worthlessly. I hadn't been the only person in the room who'd developed a paralyzing fear of letting people in. Part of Dad had died with Mom. There was no denying it.

"I never meant to… I didn't want to ruin things between you guys. That was the last thing I wanted. I can see how much you love her, that's why…" I trailed off. "I wanted you to have someone—someone like Mom."

My father's forehead creased momentarily before he stared at the albums across the room. Unguarded emotion flaunted across his face; it was something heartbreaking to witness because my father became almost sickly pale, as if he was a corpse, hollowed. Dad was nearing fifty-three, but it was rare to notice the hints, like the crow's feet near the eyes. In that one glance, everything about him became gravely accentuated. It didn't change once he faced me.

"I do love Maria, sweetheart, but nothing will ever replace what I had with your mother. Every love is different." Dad cupped my cheek. I was glad he was speaking because my throat was so dry at the sight of his melancholy—staring back at me like an open wound—that I would choke. "No love has ever been greater than the love I feel for you, Valerie. If I… If I ever made you feel like you weren't enough… I'm sorry. I figured you knew you could always come to me and… talk about everything. Anything."

I cocked my head in the opposite direction of his hand. He dropped it.

"I do know that, but… This was different. I—I was worried it would be weird if you and Maria knew Jackson and I dated. Things weren't serious with him." Even though Jackson had occupied an important spot before all this—which made my skin crawl—I'd never believed we'd have a future. "I never thought things would get so…" bad, didn't even begin to cover it. A mix between a whiz and a gasp left me, "Jackson killed himself, Dad. How…" I made fists—they trembled. Not with anger, just fear. "Maria's going to hate me forever, isn't she?"

My father didn't answer right away. Finally, he frowned massively.

"She's not going to hate you. She doesn't hate you now, baby."

"How can you say that?"

This time, his hand pushed the dark bangs obscuring my left eye.

"Because her son did... a heinous thing to my daughter and I don't hate her. It wasn't her fault. Jackson was an adult. Yes, it feels," Dad's chest heaved with a full breath. "awful—the whole situation does—but I'm still in love with her." what said Dad reminded me of Finn's words: People don't fall out of love that easily.

Love was complicated. Wasn't that an understatement? I had no idea how to act around Maria. I was anxious to leave for college.

"How about," Dad scratched his neck, trying to change the bleak scenario of our chat. "For now… You let me deal with Maria and you deal with yourself?" I almost laughed out loud; in my head, a bitter sound roared throughout, having no escape route. "Don't spend time mourning someone like him," it was at this moment that I realized how much hate my father nurtured for Jackson. Knowing Dad hated him made me breathe easier, because it was how I knew he was on my side. I didn't care if it sounded evil. "You're a strong girl, Valerie, you've overcome a lot on your own already. I would never pretend to know how hard this—all of it—is for you, but I can tell you one thing: time spent wishing is time wasted. Nothing will erase what's happened, not to you, to Jackson or to your mother. It took a long time for me to understand that. I know this might come off as selfish, but focus on what's ahead, not what's behind. Can you do that for me?"

That one line sent me into a reverie: I was nine years-old, standing outside of an office. My wrist was still bandaged, and the stitches itched. Dad and I were sitting together. Dad was drumming his hands on the chair's wooden arms.

"Are you nervous?" he asked. I shrugged. "Alright, well. This isn't scary, not like getting those stitches. You're going to talk to a nice lady, okay? I just want you to share your thoughts with her. Anything you're feeling—good or bad—I want you to tell the nice lady. Can you do that for me?"

And, like I'd done back then, I answered:

"I can try."

***

Time was a funny thing and the further you got from the epicenter of your problems, the easier it became to immerse yourself on what was ahead. Since I didn't make it into Brown, I started at UCLA in the Fall, miles away from Finn as he attended MIT. I got an apartment to live in, near campus. Finn stayed in a dorm with a guy named Wayne. I reconnected with Lucinda "Luck" and Kendra. Classes were all consuming in the first month; I was the poster child for extra-credit. My meetings with Ms. Coleman kept going via-Skype. I called Dad every day. Ava and I texted constantly. Slowly, things became blurred into the back of my mind and I began missing Finn—really missing him. The late calls started getting longer. Sometimes, he would let me talk for an hour. He would just listen. When his roommate wasn't at the dorm, we Skyped. A couple of times, it looked like he hadn't slept in days, those talks would go a lot like this:

"At least comb your hair, Huckleberry."

"I thought we agreed on vetoing that nickname?"

"Ah, no. You agreed," I pointed at the screen. "I let you think you'd won."

He would groan and sift a hand through the rumpled bed-hair.

"Hey," he said on our last Skype session. I loved how his voice was low and deep, able to cut through my loud giggling. The giggles died as I reached for my facial cream. "I can't wait to be with you next week." Thanksgiving break. We were flying back home—to New York. "My Mom asked if you wanted to come over for dinner."

"I can't... I need to be with my Dad." Maria was back in New York but she hadn't moved back in yet. They were in counseling, though. Dad seemed to think things could work out.

Finn leaned back in his narrow bed.

"Yeah, that's what I told her." I blushed at his quick wink. "Jesus, you look like a pasty-faced monster. A gorgeous pasty-faced monster, but still." I rolled my eyes, smoothing the cream across my cheeks. There was a loud series of knocks on the door. Finn half smirked, "Sounds like Wayne's home. I've gotta go, marshmallow."

"Argh. Wayne."

"He's not a bad roommate." yeah, I was just messing with him.

"Okay, well, blow me a kiss before you disconnect from this tender loving moment." Finn forced down a grin. I would never get over the fact that he actually blew me kisses before hanging up.

***

It was the day after Thanksgiving and Finn was trying to teach me how to play one of his horrendous video games. I kept dying. I was fifteen seconds away from throwing the controller at the TV. Finn must have sensed my intent because he snatched the thing out of my hands just as the screen announced YOU DIED in capital red letters.

"I don't like this game." I deadpanned.

"Trust me, I know the feeling." He sighed quitting the game. "You said you liked dragons, though…"

"I do. But once electricity spitting dragons kill you five times in a row… It's no fun anymore. Don't you have something we can both play?"

"How do you feel about Tekken?"

I blinked. Did he expect me to understand what that meant?

"I have no idea what that is."

"Right." He boosted a laugh. "It's a fighting game."

I grinned then, "You mean I get to kick your ass?"

Finn snorted, bending down, lining up our mouths.

"You get to try." He stated with a hint of smug satisfaction. He leaned in, kissing me tenderly. Finn started pulling away but my fingers wrapped around the collar of his shirt. One knee pressed down—on the edge of bed. Our eyes met in a silent conversation.

Before leaving for MIT, Finn had kept himself in check several times: his hands would tense before roaming somewhere below my neck. He would stroke my face, my hair and that would be it. There had been no pressure when we talked on the phone, when we Skyped or when we'd come home to attend his brother's wedding—never once had Finn brought up sex. I hadn't either. But… Damn, I thought about it. A large part of me missed that… that proximity with him.

His lips parted an inch before I dragged him closer, molding my mouth to his. There was a thud on Finn's floor; we didn't care. I crawled back, dragging him by the shirt.

I nudged Finn's nose, then nuzzled his cheek as we came up for air. Melted pools of mercury stared down at me with a longing I'd never seen on anyone. It was far, far different from Jackson's demented lust and possession. My heart stuttered for a beat, my eyes watered before the feeling was squandered, replaced by a familiar warmth of unspeakable proportions. It was so bright, so real, it blinded me. Finn framed my cheek, I hid half of my face by slanting into his touch. With nimble fingers, I popped three buttons on Finn's shirt before he stopped me by whispering:

"We don't need to rush into anything."

"This isn't rushing it," I whispered back, just as softly. "We're picking up where we left off." This was everything good—us. I traced a finger across his left eyebrow, detouring down his nose. "Things just got so complicated… so fast…" he kissed my palm. "Things are still complicated, but… We aren't." I arched underneath him, reaching to plant a kiss on his thin lips. "I love you."

Finn's hand tightened, slipping under my neck, supporting my head.

"I love you, too."

We moved seamlessly against each other, tearing off clothes and kissing in a frenzy. There was this one moment where I just held on to Finn. Where he didn't move, concealing his face in the crook of my neck. I dragged my hands to his hair, clawing fingers into the dark wavy mess. Finn rubbed against my pelvic bone through the confine of his boxers, his breathing picked up as he matched our gazes.

"Can I be on top?" I murmured, doing my best to hide the strange mix of anticipation. What if I freaked out? What if I started screaming my head off like those times—when I woke from nightmares?

"I have zero problems with that." Finn's sweet smile lulled the anxiety into nothingness.

He lifted himself off me, rolling to the side. Finn turned his head toward mine, grinning. The grin faltered once I got onto my knees, undoing my bra. Finn's expression became one of reverence. I blushed furiously, tossing the black garment at his head. One cup landed over an eye, eliciting a giggle as I busied myself with kicking off my matching panties. I thought his eyes might search my body for any bruises, even though it would be impossible for them to still be hanging around, four months later. Instead, I shivered at Finn's wandering mouth, tracing kisses across my left side, coming around for my flat stomach.

Finn sat; he brushed ebony hair from my face, pooling it behind an ear.

"You're the toughest person I know, Valerie. I know it hasn't been easy, marshmallow, I know how hard you've been working—on yourself, on us. Being apart from you is hell," I touched his cheek in a light caress. "When I wake up, do you know the first thing that pops into my mind? It's not the paper I have to do on sensor technology, it's you. You're my first thought. Every morning. I think about how you keep coming through fires, no matter how much it hurts, you push on." he pushed our foreheads together. "I'm so in love with everything that is you, Valerie." That sealed the deal for me. Other than Dad, Finn was the only person I felt this safe with. I was a strong person, but even strong people needed to draw strength to keep themselves standing and fighting.

I tipped back, kissing him passionately. Finn fell onto the mattress with a small bounce.

Months later, Dad's advice still rung in my mind. Dwelling on the past didn't do anyone any good. I had a long way to go before these demons were exorcised, but each time doubt stirred, I asked myself: live on standby or power through?

And every time, I chose the latter.

***

Finn's arm coiled around my midsection, pulling me tautly against his chest. I'd stayed over for dinner at his house and now we were back in his bedroom, canoodling. This afternoon had been pretty amazing.

"What time's your plane tomorrow?" Finn's breath rustled hairs, they tickled my neck.

"Mid-afternoon. Yours?"

"Same."

"I wish we didn't have to go back." That earned me a lingering kiss on the forehead. "It's been hard, Finn. Like really hard." I squirmed in his arms, trying to face him. In the darkness of his room, I saw the outline of Finn's facials. "I mean like… Are there really hot girls at MIT?"

"What?" he boosted a laugh. I smacked his shoulder. Finn jerked, banging his head against the built-in shelf in the brick wall. He gave a wince, rubbing the back of his head, eyes shut.

I crossed my arms, "See? That was karma for making fun of me."

Worry won out. Also... The speech he gave earlier was very fresh in my mind. There was little doubt in my mind that Finn loved me and every other girl was a passing shadow to him. I turned on the bedside light to see if the idiot was bleeding. He was fine, though. Once Finn opened his eyes I felt myself get hot underneath the layers of clothing.

"Stop looking at me like that. It's not going to save you from my wrath."

Finn tilted towards me, a smug smile gracing his face.

"What look am I giving you?"

I bit a lip.

"Like you see me naked."

"Well..." he kissed my chin. "I can see you naked." he pulled back. "That's what I do, you know? When I'm lonely at MIT. I see you naked. A lot."

I burst out laughing just thinking where the hell he did that. Because Wayne shared the dorm room and Finn was just as private as me, so where...

"In the shower, marshmallow." he answered after I managed to ask. "Not everyone has their own apartment to get down and dirty whenever, wherever they want."

"You can come and visit my apartment any weekend. Remember?" I drew an arm around his neck, bringing our faces closer before Finn started ranting about me paying for his airplane ticket. "I could draw you as one of my French girls."

"Oh God." I giggled, as Finn shifted back, trying to hide his hardening cock.

We kissed for a long time, drawing out every touch and breath. Then we fell into a quiet lull wrapped up in each other, but sleep wasn't rounding any corners any time soon, not for me.

"Hey, Finn?" I whispered into the expanse of his lean chest.

"What?" he bit out cautiously, weary of me torturing him some more. I settled my chin on his sternum.

"Can I tell you a story?" I couldn't see his eyes because he'd turned off the light, but I felt them dip low, boring into mine. He crooked an arm underneath his head, focusing solely on me.

"Sure. What's it about?"

"It's about stars and constellations. My Mom made it up for me. She did that a lot." Finn stayed quiet, drawing lazy circles on the small of my back.

Finn's POV

As I listened to Valerie's hushed tone, as if she were reading a bedtime story to a child, my mind wandered into past territory. Not telling her about those photographs had been the right call. Whatever that psycho had been aiming at, it hadn't struck. Then again, he must've sent them before Valerie orchestrated the plan to unmask him. He blackmailed her into breaking my heart for kicks. She would never know, though. That secret was nothing compared to what she had to carry. Valerie didn't need to know that all the suffering she'd willingly put herself through—to protect me—had been in vain.

"…and each year something happens, like a gathering of the stars, where each star finds their partner. The sky turns into a hue of green, violet and blue—"

"The Aurora Borealis?"

Valerie's eyes veered upward.

"Yes, but don't interrupt me, I'm telling the story." I couldn't keep a straight face at her scrunched eyes. The chafed expression vanished as a heavy sigh left her, "And that was the end." She rested her head on my shoulder. "That's why I painted it—the aurora borealis. Because it was my favorite story. That's why… it hurt so much to see it ruined."

I stayed quiet for a few minutes.

"You know, if you go over historical facts, we tend to remember people who did more bad than good when they were alive. The more you tell me about your Mom, the more amazing of a person I think she was. That's something you shouldn't bury or ignore, Valerie. That's something you should celebrate." She nodded into my chest mumbling 'I know' and I got the notion that she did. Even if things were topsy-turvy right now, for her family, even if some things were shitty and painful and needed work, she would weed through everything. Do anything to come out victorious, because that's what Valerie did, one way or another, she came out on top.