Chapter Twenty-Two Cameron
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cameron
Mason just told me something important, yet I’m too distracted by the fact that he’s standing drenched in the rain to give an adequate response. “What are you doing?” I demand, rushing forward with my umbrella to shield him from the frigid water. “You’re soaking wet!”
“It’s fine.” He looks up at me with those big glassy eyes, trembling again. Is there ever a point in time where he isn’t shaking with cold?
“Let’s talk inside,” I say, nudging us toward his front door, but he catches my wrist.
“I don’t want to go in there,” he whispers.
“You’re freezing!”
“It’s fine,” Mason says again. “I’m used to it.”
His words dig like a knife between my ribs. I stare at him in dismay, rain shattering against the ground around us, wondering why that makes it okay. His skin pales as the water’s iciness sinks into his bones.
He starts to step out from underneath the umbrella. Panicked, I follow him, trying to keep it level above his head. “Stop!” I order. “What are you doing?”
“Your umbrella is too small. I don’t need it—use it for yourself.”
“Come on. How are we supposed to have a conversation like this?”
Mason smiles—it almost looks genuine. He tilts his head back as if to greet the water cascading from the sky, and it pummels his body with a ferocity that doesn’t faze him.
“I’ve just told you my secret and all you care about is that I’m cold and wet,” he says.
“Anyone else would be demanding details.”
“Come sit in my car where it’s warm,” I plead.
“Mm…no. This is what I deserve.”
The knife twists deeper into my abdomen. “What?” I croak.
“For the way I’ve been using you. Especially after everything you did for me last night,” he says, shrugging. “I should feel uncomfortable, and rain is good for that.”
I can’t even fathom how fucked up this is, how he feels he should punish himself because I met the lowest bar of decency by taking care of him.
“Fine,” I growl, and I snap the umbrella shut, then toss it onto the lawn.
The rain hits me like a sack of bricks, so heavy and with such force it makes my knees twitch with strain. “Then we’ll be uncomfortable together.”
Mason’s weary smile dissolves when he sees my hair matted against my sopping face. “Don’t be annoying,” he mutters as I fold my arms against the chill laying siege to my body.
“Tell me about Liam.”
Mason glances around the street, as if scouting for eavesdroppers, then lowers his eyes to the driveway, fumbling with his aquamarine pendant. “It’s a long story. But I could show you?”
I blink through the water attempting to flood my eyes. “Show me? Like pictures?”
“My journal,” he whispers.
Oh. Mason wants to share his story without having to speak in depth.
Maybe his journal documents whatever happened between him and this “ex-fiancé” guy, Liam.
The mere word sends a shudder of revulsion down my spine.
Was Mason actually engaged to someone with a real wedding ring?
Or is he exaggerating—like a swap of “promise rings” or whatever?
I’ve never seen Mason around anyone other than the varsity team.
Maybe he’s from a different high school?
“I have to get it from my drawer,” Mason whispers. He doesn’t want to go inside.
“I’ll get it,” I tell him. “But promise you’ll come to the car.”
He hesitates, then nods.
It doesn’t take me long to find what he’s referring to.
First, I awkwardly apologize to his father, who’s sitting in the living room.
He stares vacantly at me when I pop through the door.
I make a mental note to ask Mason what his father’s job is later, and why he’s able to sit at home on a Monday watching TV. “Mason?” he asks flatly.
“He’s fine,” I respond.
He goes back to the news. I kick off my shoes to prevent trekking too much water through the house as I jog into Mason’s room.
In the bedside table, there’s a ratty, worn journal plastered with peeling stickers—sharks, planets, polka dots, cars.
I tuck it beneath my jacket, then return to the driveway.
Mason is huddled in my passenger seat, leaned against the window.
I plop into the driver’s seat. When he sees me draw the journal out, his cheeks redden.
“It’s embarrassing,” he says quietly. “I started it when I was thirteen. But it’ll give you an idea of what happened without me having to explain everything.
I…” He swallows audibly, looking away. “I don’t know that I could. ”
I feel tremors of trepidation deep in my body, like I’m about to unearth something that’ll give me nightmares. But he trusts me enough to share this, so I’m willing to accept whatever consequences come of reading this.
Mason is starting to look around fretfully again, so I bring us down the road until we’re nestled into a spot that faces Lake Evergreen, the gray surface agitated by the onslaught of rain.
I flip open the cover and begin.
Journal #11—last entry, some day, I don’t care anymore
Dad says I’ll heal.
Not sure that’s true. Feels like I’m shattered into ten thousand pieces. How do you put something like that back together without missing bits?
I’m being dramatic. No wonder he stopped loving me.
Or maybe he didn’t. He said he always will even when I threw his ring in his face. Not sure I believe him. I need space. It’s strange to admit because he’s been beside me since the beginning.
I know I should try to get myself out there. Find a club to join. Do something. I’ve wasted every year of public school staying away from my classmates, and what do I have to show for it? I’m pathetic. Fucking useless. Will anyone even care to get to know me during senior year?
Apparently they’re looking for a water boy for the football team. I hear the guys are nice. Though everyone says you should keep an eye out for their quarterback. I don’t remember his name, but I’ll stay out of his way if I get the position.
Nothing else to say anymore. Brain isn’t working.
Bye forever.