Chapter Twenty-One Mason #2
I’m not sure what nutrients he’s referring to in these syrupy chocolate chip pancakes, but the fact that he went out of his way to do this warms my heart. “Thanks,” I whisper.
“Huh? Oh, no problem. I’m an expert at pancake-making now—”
“Don’t touch the griddle.”
“I’m just going to scrape some of the batter—”
“Stop. You’ll burn yourself.”
“…”
I sigh, tugging his hand to the sink and running his reddish fingers under cool water while he sniffles.
When Cameron asks if I’d prefer to stay or leave after we eat his slightly-undercooked-yet-somehow-charred pancakes, I reluctantly choose the latter.
I could probably spend days in the Morelli household, but I can’t avoid life forever.
So he grabs an umbrella and walks me to the passenger seat of his car, before swinging around to the driver’s.
The ride to my house is silent. The weight of every second presses on my chest as I realize what I’ve done over the last twelve hours.
I walked to Cameron’s house, disturbed his rest, occupied his bed, ate his food, consumed his time.
I owe him an explanation, don’t I? Otherwise, am I not just taking advantage of his willingness to be there for me?
He didn’t have to open his window for me, or curl himself around me, or pour his heart out about what happened to him in middle school. Yet he did because…
He likes me.
Was he expecting I’d do the same? Because I can’t.
His heart is fiery red and pulsing with heat, strong and sturdy despite the scars that give it color.
Mine is a dulled gray, poison rooted at its core, ready to lash into my body the moment I let myself feel too good.
The flesh is cracked and dry, the arteries crusted over, the veins and nerves suspended in thin, impenetrable layers of ice.
I shouldn’t unleash my burdens on him. There would be too much to untangle and shoulder. He’d allow himself to get bogged down by my issues and traumas if it meant loosening the weight on my back. I can’t do that to him.
So I’ll continue hiding my story in the cavities of my chest behind barbed wire and ice, where he can’t find it.
“Mason? We’re here.”
I blink. Suddenly, we’re in the slant of my driveway, and I’m staring vacantly at the garage door as Cameron’s engine thrums beneath us. The rain is thick and heavy against the windshield. “Right,” I say, pushing the passenger door open. “Thanks for—”
“Wait.” He pops out the umbrella, then circles around the car to me, holding his hand out. I pretend I don’t see as I push myself to my feet, his umbrella slanted toward me to keep rain from soaking into my flannels.
He walks me up to the front door until we’re under the porch awning. The gray rain is a thunderous ringing in my ears, assaulting the house and asphalt as I stand there, watching the swinging chair sway against the biting breeze.
“If you want to get out of your house, text me,” Cameron says, pulling my attention to him. There’s pancake batter stained on his T-shirt, the top of which pokes out from under his windbreaker jacket. “I’ll pick you up, whatever time it is.”
I can’t help but smile, weak as it might be. “Like mother, like son,” I mumble.
Cameron winces, like I’ve said something to trigger him.
But then his shoulders loosen, and he sighs, a soft smile coming to his face.
“Yeah,” he whispers. Then his back is to me, and he’s striding to his car, umbrella hovering over his head.
The farther away he gets, the more prominent my bodily aches become, as if his distance is draining me of warmth.
Or maybe his presence gives me so much happiness that I forget about the pains until he’s gone.
Is a thank-you enough?
My heart sends a particularly stabbing pang into my chest, causing me to wince. Tears are budding in my eyes—a familiar, boring feeling at this point. My soul is ugly, deformed, rotten, mutilated. I can’t let him see it.
Cameron falters near his driver’s door, palm extended toward the handle. “Hey,” he calls out, barely audible above the rain bullets colliding with the pavement. “Coach says if I ace my next quizzes this week, my GPA should be high enough to get me on the field for Friday.”
He pauses. I hug my arms, watching uncertainly.
“I’m going to win the game,” he continues. “And then I’m going to ask you out.”
My breath stutters in my lungs. My eyes widen.
“You can say no again.” Cameron swings open the door. “But I figured I’d let you know so you can think about it.”
The tears are threatening to leak down my face.
Really? After refusing to open up to him, after he caught me using him to distract myself, he still wants to pursue me?
My chest aches, but it’s also ablaze, like he’s pumped raging heat into my veins.
Some of the ice caked around my heart trickles away.
I can almost see a tinge of scarlet return to the gray, colorless arteries.
How long have you been hiding yourself?
I couldn’t muster an answer. I have one now. I was fourteen.
Nearly fourteen.
I step out from beneath the overhang covering my porch, allowing the sky’s weight to crash down on me, permeating my flannel, causing my shirt to sag and my pants to weigh heavier on my hips. “Cameron,” I say softly, knowing full well he can’t hear me.
He does. He turns, and when he sees me standing in the rain, his eyes expand with alarm. “Mason!” he says sharply. “What are you—”
“You asked me yesterday what I’m running from.”
He stares at me, glued to the driveway.
“It’s…my fiancé,” I choke out. “Ex-fiancé.”
My fingers curl deeply into my fists.
“His name is Liam.”