The Masked Truth Read Free Page B

poor … Wait, you were under the bed?
    No one ever says the last one. But I hear it. Over and over. Some days, it’s all I hear.
    Now I’m in the therapy semicircle again. Sandy sits to my right, wearing a cardigan, sleeves pulled down over her hands. Max is in the back, as usual. Aimee sits off to the side, letting the second therapist—a balding guy named Lorenzo—lead the group. The boy on the end was supposedto talk first, but he wouldn’t. The girl on my left went instead. Brienne. As tiny as Sloane but blond, Brienne looks like a cheerleader. She’s here for “emotional stuff.” That’s all she says for now, which is fine. No one will push. Yet.
    I’m up next.
    “I’m Riley Vasquez, and I …” I trail off, searching for the right words as my stomach clenches.
    “Oh!” Brienne grins at me like she’s about to shake her pompoms and ask for an M. “You were in the papers. You saved that little girl.”
    As I shrink into my chair, she notices my reaction and hurries on, “And you’re the city girls’ fencing champ. That’s why I remembered the article. I thought the fencing thing was cool.”
    I manage a weak smile for her. “Thanks.”
    Aaron wrinkles his nose. “If you’re the girl who saved that kid, what are you doing in therapy? Is the pressure of being a hero too much to bear?”
    I flinch.
    Brienne moves forward, like a tiny attack dog straining at its leash. “She saw two people die.”
    “No,” Aaron says. “If I remember the story, she never actually witnessed—”
    “Oh, for God’s sake. She was there when two people
died
. She could have been killed herself.”
    “The point is,” I cut in, “that I’m working through some things—”
    “Like what?” Aaron says. “Did you even
see
them after they’d been shot?”
    My annoyance from earlier flares. “No, I just presumed they were dead and called 911 without actually checking on them. Of course I saw them. I—”
    “Take the tone down, please, Riley,” Lorenzo says.
    “What?” Brienne says. “This jerk gets to say whatever he wants, and you give Riley crap for defending herself? And if you dare tell me he’s just needling her because she’s cute, I swear I’ll hit you. Then we’ll have to spend the rest of this session talking about my anger issues, and nobody wants that.”
    “No, Brienne,” Lorenzo says evenly. “I wasn’t letting Aaron get away with that. I was about to add that we don’t challenge anyone on their right to be here. Now, Aaron, you’re next. Introduce yourself, please.”
    “Fine. I’m Aaron Highgate, and I’m here by mistake.”
    Brienne mutters under her breath. He glowers at her.
    “Well, I am. I don’t have a problem; my father has one.
With
me. That’s why I’m here. I crashed my Rover, and if I don’t do this weekend therapy shit, I won’t get a new one.”
    “Tragic.”
    “Brienne, please. Aaron, continue.”
    “My dad thinks I have narcissistic personality disorder. He even bribed some shrink to agree. I’m a narcissist? He’s the one screwing everything in a skirt. Mom’s finally divorcing him, and she’s going to take him to the cleaners. Like she should.”
    “All right,” Lorenzo says slowly. “But why would he send you here?”
    Aaron looks at Lorenzo like he’s an idiot. “Um, because he hates me. Because he hates that I’m siding with Mom. Because if he can prove I’m sick and she can’t handle it, then he can get custody and save a shitload of money on support …”
    Aaron continues. While I’m not sure he has an actual disorder, there’s obviously some narcissism going on there. First he doesn’t want to talk about his problems. Then
all
he wants to talk about are his problems.
    After about ten minutes, when he pauses for breath, I say, “I need to use the restroom.”
    “I think you can wait, Riley,” Lorenzo says.
    Aimee shakes her head. “That’s okay. Let her—”
    “Let her take off while I’m talking?” Aaron says. “That’s