Broken Juliet (2 page)

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Later.” I know he’s right, but my ego deflates more every second. “When, later?”

He sighs and leans down again, so close his lips brush against my ear. “Yes, I enjoyed it. A lot. You were, without a doubt, the best I’ve ever had. But thinking about it right now isn’t going to end well for me. So please, for the love of inconvenient boners everywhere, let it go.”

His confession makes me beam. It doesn’t excuse him leaving, but at least I know he had a good time.

Erika gestures to us. “Mr. Holt, Miss Taylor … less talking, more mask choosing, please. I’d like to get started.”

By the time we step forward, there are only two masks left: one with a large nose and heavy, frowning brows, and one that looks like a child, all round eyes and soft cheeks.

“Aggression and vulnerability,” Erika says as she leans against her desk. When I pick up the child and Holt goes for the other one, she clucks her tongue and swaps them around. “This is a far less obvious choice for you both, don’t you think?”

Holt tenses, and for a second I think he’s going to argue, but Erika stares him down until he turns and goes back to his seat.

Erika then calls people to the performance space in pairs. She gives prompts for improvised scenes that use only body language. It’s difficult, and everyone struggles, but Erika pushes them to give more. She’s scary today, and by the time she calls me and Ethan to the stage, my hands clammy.

“Miss Taylor, you’re representing strength, but in a negative context. Bullish, domineering, uncompromising. Mr. Holt, you’re the opposite. Sensitive, open, trusting. Begin when you’re ready.”

I slip on my mask. It’s tight, which makes it difficult to breathe. My vision is limited to the small eyeholes, and I have to turn my head to see Ethan.

He glances at me for a few moments before putting on his own mask.

I take some time to center myself, then move toward him and make myself as imposing as possible. It’s not easy when he towers over me. Still, I try to be aggressive and intimidating.

“
Feel
what you’re doing, Miss Taylor. Inhabit the emotion of the mask.” I grab Holt’s shirt and silently order him to the floor. He shies away, feigning fear, but his movement is awkward.

“Mr. Holt, your mask represents submission and vulnerability. You have to embody those characteristics. Open yourself up.”

Ethan tries to do what she’s asked, but he throws out clich
é
gestures that make him seem more angry than vulnerable.

I can tell that Erika is disappointed in our effort. A few minutes later, when she calls a stop to the exercise, Holt all but rips off his mask and stalks back to his chair.

Erika collects the masks and places them back in their box. “I know that today was difficult, but it should get easier. Your final assessment in this subject will account for fifty percent of your acting grade, so I expect you all to deliver your best work.”

Ethan raises his hand.

“Mr. Holt?”

“Can we swap masks next time?”

“No. The mask you worked with today will remain yours for the rest of the semester. I think you’d better get used to exploring your vulnerable side, Mr. Holt.”

The look on Ethan’s face is so disdainful, it’s almost funny.

THREE

MASK

The Grove’s acting school is the most prestigious in the country, so it stands to reason that their standards are extremely high. Still, I don’t think any of us were prepared for just how difficult some classes are proving to be. Especially masks.

Contrary to Erika’s assurance that mask work would get easier, we all continue to struggle. But as bad as most of us are, Ethan is the worst. Erika has been pushing him harder than anyone else, and, of course, that means he’s always in a crappy mood.

He’s being distant, and even though I’ve made it very clear that I’d love to have more sex, it’s been nearly a week since he’s touched me anywhere interesting. He doesn’t even hold my hand unless I initiate it. Good thing I always initiate it. If he won’t let me have the rest of his body, I’m damn well going to have his hand.

“Erika fucking hates me,” he says, as we head over to the Hub “—a large, four-story building that houses the library, cafeteria, student lounge, and several large lecture theaters—” to meet our friends for lunch.

“That’s not true.”

“Then why force me to work with that particular mask? Anger, sadness, aggression—I could nail any of those.”

“Yeah, but she knows you have an issue with vulnerability, so she’s pushing you to conquer it. Imagine how great it would be if you had a breakthrough. You’d probably top the class.”
And become a more affectionate boyfriend.

He shakes his head. “The likelihood of that happening is fucking nil. I can’t do it, Cassie. In fact, I’m not even sure what
it
is.”

I pull out my phone and google it. “Vulnerable. Adjective, meaning susceptible to being wounded or hurt; open to moral attack, criticism, temptation. Oh, wow! Next to the definition is a picture of you.”

“Funny.”

“Thanks. I try.”

We’re almost at the Hub when I spot a group of second years near the door. I recognize Olivia, Ethan’s more-than-a-little-bitter ex, among them. She frowns when she notices Ethan holding my hand.

“I don’t believe it,” she says as we approach. “I thought all the stories about you having a girlfriend were bullshit, yet here you are with the same girl I saw you with at the beginning of the year. You’re really putting the effort in to get her attached before you dump her, aren’t you? I mean, what you did to me was bad, but this one? She’s going to be cursing your name for years. Impressive.”

Ethan tightens his hand around mine. “And today just keeps getting better.” He tugs on my arm, and we head inside. I’m aware of Olivia staring after us.

“She really hates you, doesn’t she?”

He nods. “Yeah, well, I gave her good reason to.” He mutters that he needs food before disappearing into the crowded cafeteria.

I make my way to the far side of the room and find Jack, Lucas, Connor, Aiyah, Miranda, and Zoe at our usual table in the corner.

Jack looks around with a disgusted expression. “Damn, this place is depressing. Doesn’t the student council have anything better to do than decorate the shit out of everything? It looks like Jingly the Glitter Fairy jizzed all over the damn place.”

“It’s nearly December,” Aiyah says. “It’s festive.”

“Festive?” Jack gestures to the tsunami of tinsel and baubles surrounding us. “It borders on psychotic. Yesterday, they ripped down the Thanksgiving decorations like they’d personally insulted their mothers, and today, there’s a metric shit-ton of Santa porn all over the damn place. No one needs this much fucking tinsel! If I show up to my rugby match this afternoon with goddamn glitter all over me, I’ll make an official complaint to the dean. I will not be known as a human disco ball, no matter how fabulous that would look on me.”

There are giggles before Lucas says, “So, what’s everyone doing this weekend? Jack, did you finally convince that redheaded dance major to go out with you?”

Jack grins. “Hell yeah, I did. I’m taking her to that new Italian place in town. A little wine, a little pasta. And afterward, when I turn on the Avery charm, I predict I’ll be face-deep in her ballet tights by bedtime.”

Miranda glowers. “You realize that buying a woman a meal doesn’t give you the right to bone her, right?”

Jack scoffs. “I’m aware. Plus, I actually like her. If sex was all I wanted I wouldn’t go to all the trouble of taking her out, would I? I’d just invite her over to watch soft porn on Netflix in the hope that it would put her in the mood.”

Connor nudges Lucas. “What about you, dude? Aren’t you seeing that chick with the dreadlocks from visual arts?”

Lucas leans back and puts his hands over his heart. “Oh, sweet, sweet Mariah. I’m taking her away this weekend. Vineyard tour. Bed-and-breakfast. The whole nine.”

Jack frowns. “Shit, that escalated quickly. Haven’t you only been dating for two weeks?”

“What can I say, man? When it’s right, it’s right. She’s amazing. I may suck at a lot of stuff, but taking care of my woman isn’t one of them.”

I feel a twinge as I hear them talk, because I’m reminded that even though Ethan and I have been officially going out for over a month, he still hasn’t taken me on a real date. Usually we hang out at my place or his. Watch TV. Read. Study.

If I’m really lucky, we make out, but that’s it.

Kind of depressing, really.

“What about you and Holt?” Connor says as he picks at his fries. “Any grand romantic plans this weekend?” His voice has an edge that says he already knows the answer.

I look over at Ethan in the cafeteria line. “Uh, I’m not sure. We haven’t really discussed it yet.”

“Uh-huh.” Connor looks back down at his lunch, and I feel a stab of resentment that he brought it up.

Can everyone see how unromantic Ethan is?

I have a feeling that if I told everyone he bailed on me the morning after we had sex for the first time, no one would be surprised.

It’s like our relationship is one of those stupid logic paradoxes.

When is a boyfriend not a boyfriend?

When it’s Ethan Holt.

As everyone continues to chatter on about their romantic plans, I excuse myself and head to the bathroom. I guess I always knew Ethan wasn’t the most demonstrative person in the world, but I figured once we came out of the relationship closet, it would change.

Apparently not.

When I come out of the stall, Olivia’s there, bent over the sink and snorting something off the counter. When she sees me, she wipes her nose. “Hey.”

I take a breath and slide past her to wash my hands. “Maybe you should do that where people can’t see you.”

“I usually do, but I figure you should see what’s in store for you when Holt breaks your heart. It’s not pretty.”

I shake my head and wash my hands as quickly as possible. “I’m not into drugs.”

“Not yet Give it time.”

I dry my hands and try to ignore her snorting another line off the counter.

When I first met Olivia a few months ago, I couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous she was. She made me feel inferior in every way. My hair was the most common shade of brown imaginable, while hers was a deep tawny color, thick and glossy. While I was curvy and well proportioned for my five-foot-five frame, she was about four inches taller and had the type of slender elegance I’d always envied.

I could imagine she would have looked fantastic standing next to Ethan, both of them equally stunning.

Sadly, the woman standing in front of me appears very different. Her hair is now greasy and dull, her skin uneven and sallow, and the slender elegance she used to possess has given way to sunken cheeks and too-prominent bones.

Whatever demons she’s carrying around from her time with Ethan, they seem to be eating her alive.

As I turn to leave, I feel a pang of sympathy. “Take care of yourself, Olivia, okay?”

Before I can open the door, she touches my arm. “Look, I’m really not here to bust your ass. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I do, thanks.”

“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, the Ethan Holt who broke my heart looks an awful lot like the one you’re dating.”

“He’s changed since then.”

She leans back against the sink and crosses her arms. “Let me paint you a picture.” I can already tell I’m not going to like this story. “He grudgingly agreed to let people know you were dating, but he doesn’t act like a real boyfriend. No dates, very little public affection, and it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk about his feelings or mood swings. Sound familiar?”

I keep my face impassive, even though my adrenaline has kicked up a notch. “I don’t know what to tell you. I like him. A lot. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Olivia shakes her head. “You don’t get it, do you? You probably think it won’t happen to you, because you’re different or special, and maybe you’re right. But that’s not the problem.
You
may be different, but he’s not, and he’s the one who’s going to destroy you. Tread carefully. That boy is an avalanche just waiting to happen.”

“So this chick is, what, stalking you now?” my roommate, Ruby, asks as she struggles to open a can of tomato soup.

“Sort of, but I get the feeling she’s kind of trying to look out for me.”

“Yeah, well, bitch needs to step off. That’s my job. Still, she’s right. I can’t believe he’s never taken you on a real date. It seems like the man doesn’t have a single romantic bone in his body.” She dumps the soup into a saucepan.

“He’s not that bad.”

“Cassie, we did the ‘How Romantic Is Your Guy?’ quiz from
Cosmo
, and Holt’s results were ‘This Man Doesn’t Know He’s Your Boyfriend.’ It’s freaking ridiculous.”

I check on the premade rolls I’d put in the oven a few minutes ago. They’re still way too pale. “He’s been hurt before. He just doesn’t show his affection like normal guys, I guess.”

“And how does he show his affection? Because from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t kiss or hug you hello, he barely holds your hand, he slept with you once but won’t do it again. There are no presents, no dates, and no epic love poems written while high on peyote.”

I frown. “What was that last thing?”

“Never mind. Long story. My point is, the boy has zero romantic game, and you’re the one who’s suffering. I can’t believe you’re not more pissed about this.”

“Well, I’m not happy about it, but what can I do?”

“Okay, here’s my advice. You’re being a doormat.”

“That’s not advice. It’s a statement. And an insulting one at that.”

“Dammit, Cassie, woman up!” She stirs the soup aggressively. “He’s treating you like crap because he’s got issues or whatever, but that’s no excuse.” She pours some milk into the saucepan. “Call him on his bullshit or else stencil
WELCOME
on your boobs and be done with it. It’s your choice.”

I know she’s right, but I can’t help feeling like one wrong move with Ethan could have disastrous results.