His Secret.

It’s at the most unlikely times that I feel I will unravel. The tiny muscles in my face feel like they’re going to burst. Jaw clenched, lips quivering, can they see? From my cheeks to the corners of my nostrils, tense as if I’ve been breathing through a straw all day, do they notice?

Not only at the most unlikely times, but at the most unsuspecting prompts do I shudder at the thought. The roller coaster feeling of my heart dropping from my chest to the pit of my stomach. I’ve been shot, stabbed, beaten, and battered. I’ve run through fire and smoke, dust and debris to accomplish my mission. I’ve performed acts of courage and bravery that would cause any other man to disintegrate in despair, cocoon into a life of self-pity, and I do this all. the. time. But here and now, my nerves could not feel more real, more alive, and most of all, more terrified.

“Dan? Are you ok?” asks Olivia. “Yeah, sorry, yeah, I zoned out. Ha,” I force out a laugh, not too loud, not too obvious. I’ve been acting for a long time. “Sorry, when you brought up that James Taylor concert, I thought about the last concert I went to.” Which wasn’t a lie, not wholly, and that’s the trick, half-truths, half-lies, they appear more authentic.

“Well, what do you say? We’re all going, it will be FUN! You never come to these things!” Olivia presses. “Well, ya know me, in bed by 9!” Another forced laugh, self-mockery proves to be disarming to people; they tend to press the matter less. “Well, you’ve got my number, check your schedule and let me know, I promise I’ll have you home by 9.” She winks.

Olivia dismisses herself from the small group of us mingling on the balcony. These company functions, and man, do tech companies fucking love them, are as high stress as it gets for me. At work, it’s easy; you show up, and there are tasks to be accomplished. It isn’t difficult to blend in there, stick to your work, and go home. Rinse and repeat until the weekend. Here, an open floor of co-workers, each with their own agenda, is a battleground for me. Some are new to the city, far from family and friends, desperate to connect with someone, anyone. Others are here for optics, career advancement, looking for angles and opportunities to promote themselves, get an invite to an exclusive gathering, and shameless in their pursuit, as if we couldn’t tell, John. Olivia has been throwing herself at me for a few months now, and as much as I enjoy her company, not to mention she’s very easy on the eyes, I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship.

You see, my half-truth was that I was thinking about a concert of the past, but the lie. The lie is why I was there, and as who. The truth is, sadly, that I don’t know what is true anymore, or rather, who is the truth. Why here and now, do I feel as if I am going to combust, to break down, carrying the weight of my secret? I wonder, sometimes, if the truth is that this party, this job, these people, the name ‘Dan’, has now become the lie. Is running through fire and smoke, dust and debris truly brave anymore?

No matter how honorable my cause to put on my mask in the first place might have been, I enjoy every second of it. The danger, the thrill of knocking on death’s door, I crave it. And the pain, oh god, the pain. Not just mine. Inflicting death and pain on the wicked men and women who would do harm to the innocent. I LIVE for it. Eight years ago, I don’t think that was the case, or maybe I was lying to myself. People see my deeds as brave, but the truth is, it’s not. It’s an addiction, and a sick one at that. I may be on the righteous side of distributing death and suffering, but I toe a line of righteousness and evil myself. That’s the truth. So, what is braver, running through fire and smoke, or taking your shot with one of your co-workers whom you see every day? I guess it’s all about perspective, like everything.

“Concert!” I chuckle out loud as I reach for my car door, “as if I will ever willingly go to one again, ha”. Unless it’s the designated hunting ground of a serial killer again, which, of course, it becomes the designated hunting ground for the mask, or me? Well, whoever it is that hunts serial killers, Dan, wearing the Mask, or the Mask, using all of Dan’s hard-earned money for his hobbies. Perspective.

“Wow. Sooo I guess I can expect you to blow me off, again, huh?” A voice says from behind me.

Heart, pounding. Palms, sweating. Stomach, now through the floor. I turn around to see Olivia, several paces from me. Did I say that out loud? Given what she asked and her defensive yet fierce posture, I deduce that I did, in fact, say that out loud. Dan can be fucking moron sometimes.

“Olivia, I...”

“Fucking save it, Dan. Months. MONTHS I’ve been throwing myself at you. Months I’ve been trying to get to know you. Do you see me flirting with anyone else in the office? I am not that kind of girl, Dan, but if you are just going to waste my time, then fucking tell me right here, and right now, to my face, instead of fabricating lies to blow me off!” She closes the distance between us now.

If the office party was a battleground, then this was the epic battle between 300 warriors of Sparta against a million Persian soldiers.

She steps closer, her eyes are glossy, lubricated with tears that haven’t quite built to the point of falling yet. Was she that into Dan? Or was it that she perceived my words she overheard as rejection?

I can smell her perfume, now. The pain I see on her face is real, though misplaced. Just tell her it was a joke, that the Mask went to that concert, not me. Tell her about the time that he was stabbed through his foot. Tell her anything that would take whatever pain was on her face away. Of all the pain, suffering, and despair that I caused, I never regretted it. Not once. But the pain on her face now was a knife to the heart for Dan. Just tell her.

“Olivia, I-I-I can explain, it wasn’t that…” I manage to get out. “Really?” she says sarcastically, “Please, do tell then.” She finishes, eyes a bit softer now, maybe thinking that Dan does have a legitimate explanation, one that would save her from this pain.

“I, well,” Dan murmured like a coward. He wants to tell her so bad, so bad about why he doesn’t want to go to another concert. He wants to tell her why he’s been blowing her off for months, and he wants to scream from the rooftops about who I am. No. I do not have the time or the energy for a relationship. Sure, it might be nice in the beginning. A companion, someone to talk to, someone to keep warm with at night. Someone to make Dan happy. But how long? How long until I am pushed to the side, until my needs aren’t prioritized? How long until she is too involved with our lives and there is no time for me. I am the Mask, and my hunger is not so easily satiated.

“Olivia,” I say in a more confident, and unapologetic tone, “I am sorry, but I just am not interested in you. You’re right, you have been THROWING” I exaggerate “yourself at me. And I have to say, it is far from attractive. You are not bad looking, but you can do with a few lessons on the laws of attraction. This is a big city, you will be ok.” I finish.

The tears, now, have fallen from her beautiful green eyes and down her smooth perfect skin. Not a word left from her. She just walked away from me and faded into the night, a few sniffles and the taps of her high heels echoing through the parking lot. That will likely be the last I hear from her, or the last of her trying to advance on Dan. Dan, poor guy, I can tell he’s crushed, he saw a future with her, dreamed of it a couple of nights. But I don’t have time for that; my hunger is insatiable, I am the Mask, that is the truth, and poor Dan is my secret.