Chapter Eleven Mason #2
“Come on, Mason. If you’re going to say that, you should at least turn off your read receipts.”
My face pales.
“It doesn’t matter. I know you’ve needed space.
But it’s been six months, and I miss you.
” His eyes soften, and he extends his arm, gesturing for me to approach.
I’d rather die than let him touch me again.
My muscles respond to the command anyway, guiding me forward, slipping my palm into his. My hands are cold. His are worse.
He grazes his lips against my knuckles, like he’s savoring this moment. I hate how my body responds, stirring fluttery warmth in my abdomen.
“I don’t miss you,” I whisper.
The words sap away my fortitude, and suddenly, tears scorch the edges of my eyes.
When he peers up at me, his gaze pained and uncertain, it shatters what little confidence remains.
My fingers shiver harder, his touch igniting memories I’ve concealed—the feeling of him wrapped around me while I tried to sleep, the way he kissed my forehead so gently when he left for college, sitting in the darkness of his car because I didn’t want to come home, curling up with him in his dorm and not having to worry about roommates, since his parents paid for a single room. His voice, full of soft reverence.
I watch vacantly as his mouth shifts to the back of my hand, to the crook of my wrist, to the veins of my forearm. “My birthday was a few weeks ago,” he murmurs, cool lips working to my elbow. “You didn’t text me.”
Sorry. I swallow the word. I don’t need to apologize.
“We’ve been friends for years.” He continues in that soft, soothing voice, like he’s trying to lull me to sleep. “We’ve shared so many moments. Don’t they mean anything to you?”
I once promised myself I would never cry in front of him again. Yet beads of water leak down my cheeks, coagulating at my jaw, burning my tired eyes. “I hate you,” I choke out, unable to muster the courage to stop him when he reaches up, framing my face in his palm. “You treated me terribly…”
“I know.” He draws me forward, forcing me to step between his propped knees, and tugs my head to his shoulder. “I’ve had time to reflect. The things I said and did…I don’t know how you could forgive me. Yet I’m asking for it anyway.”
The familiarity of this situation is sinking into my bones, dulling my anger. The sharp edges of my resilience are being shaved to useless nubs. The longer his hands caress my skin, the more watered-down I feel, like all my frustrations, arguments, and characteristics are bleeding away.
“I’m better than that worthless man I was,” he breathes. “And I’ll stay better. For you. My sweet, gentle Mason.”
My tears melt into the silky material of his shirt. I think I’ve lost weight again. Have I always felt this small and pathetic in his arms?
“We’re good for each other. That hasn’t changed, right?
” He pulls back so he can reclaim his grasp on my face.
Instinctively, I lean into his palms, enjoying the way his cool thumbs soothe the reddened skin beneath my eyes.
“When I graduate, I’m taking a more permanent position at my father’s company.
I can provide you a good life like your parents want.
Your mom hoped she’d find a way to bond our families, and this can be it.
” He smiles again, warm and inviting. “Maybe she’ll ease up on your dad.
And they won’t have to worry about providing for you anymore.
That’s one less stressor in this house, right? ”
I stare dazedly at him, clinging to his handsome, angular features.
I’m sure people are falling all over him at college.
Has he been warding them off because he still sees a future with me?
He apologized. So maybe he’s telling the truth?
Could we go back to the beginning, when he did anything and everything to make me happy, showering me with gifts and affection, enabling my requests no matter how childish they were?
Probably not. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t envisioned this moment, those two words on his lips. I’m sorry. And I’d be damning myself if I pretended I don’t fall asleep wishing I could roll over and find his chest waiting for me. I miss the kind words. The reassurances. The company.
I miss being loved.
My hands rise shakily through the air, fingers curling around his wrists. I miss this sensation, too. Of being held. Sought-after. Special.
“I graduate in December,” he says, eyes glinting when he recognizes an opportunity to get through to me.
“I’m closing on a house. It’s big and quiet.
Plenty of places you can entertain yourself with whatever hobby you’re into.
You can come live with me and finish senior year.
” He leans closer, face strained with desperation.
“I’ll take care of you. I know you’re in your parents’ custody until you turn eighteen, but I don’t think they’d mind. ”
I’ll take care of you. That’s nice. The thought. I can barely take care of myself.
“I’ll give you time to think about it,” he says softly, stroking my hair. “In the meantime, I brought you something. Want to see?”
I don’t answer, but that doesn’t stop him. He reaches into his back pocket and slips out a velvety bag, then pops it open so I can see it glint in the bedroom lighting. It’s a watery-blue gemstone on a silver chain.
“Your birthstone,” he says brightly. “Aquamarine. Remember when you took astrology seriously? I thought you’d like this. Can I put it on you?”
I don’t answer, but that doesn’t stop him. He fastens the clasp around the back of my neck, and it falls against my collar like a fifty-pound weight, nearly buckling my knees.
“I won’t force you to answer right away. But I don’t want to give up on you. On us.”
He kisses my hands like they’re precious to him, like he treasures me. He stands and draws me into an unbearably gentle hug, then trails to the door with a quiet “I love you” that plumes through the bedroom air like a noxious gas.
Then I hear him talking to Mom. She sounds pleased. That’s rare.
The beach is a twenty-minute walk.
I leave through the window. Only after his car drives away.
I want to make mistakes tonight.