Chapter Twenty-Eight Mason
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mason
Remember, things are always better more often than they’re worse.
It’s the only line in my journal I remember writing.
And it was true. For every time he struck me, there were ten instances of him driving home from college to pick me up from my parents’ house, a box of chocolates in hand.
For every time he seethed at me, there were ten instances of him carrying me to bed when I fell asleep on the couch or washing my hair gently in the shower.
For every time he was jealous when I interacted with others, there were ten instances of him taking me on dates he knew I’d love, holding my hand while I rambled about my interests.
Yet eventually, maybe even before the ring was on my finger, these pleasant moments were overshadowed by the fear that at any second, a soft and loving moment might disintegrate into hostility.
And so, even when things were “better,” there was always an overarching concern that they could become “worse.”
And if they did, it was my fault.
I don’t feel that way with Cameron. When things are good, they’re allowed to be good.
I don’t feel the fog of apprehension hanging over my head, or a nagging voice warning me to watch my words.
Even when he rolls his eyes at my snark, I know he’s never upset.
In fact, it’s a poorly concealed secret that he likes it, even if he claims otherwise.
We’ve been dating for a few weeks, and he’s never been upset with me for feeling a certain way around him.
Since I blocked Liam’s number (or since Cameron blocked it for me), my anxiety has been worse, and it shows.
When I’m with Cameron, making a futile attempt to work out, I know he won’t lash out.
But the thought still lingers, unnerving me.
He won’t, but he could. He won’t, but if he did, there’s nothing I could do. He won’t, but…
What if he does?
I hate it. I feel safer around Cameron than anyone else, but he’s the one person who could hurt me beyond repair. I’ve shed my layers, exposed my secrets, pains, and fears. He holds my heart in his hand, and with a bit of pressure, he could crush this barely functional, healing organ. He won’t.
But he could.
Maybe one day I’ll relax fully around the person I like. I’m starting to realize how messed up I am. Even in the months without Liam, I was blissfully unaware of how deeply his nails clawed into my soul.
I want to be authentic around my partner.
And my current one—who will hopefully be my future one, and maybe my forever one—is helping mold the path.
If a teasing insult hits the wrong way, he doesn’t sulk and make me guess why I’ve earned his annoyance.
He doesn’t withhold his love until I give him a blanket apology. He just…tells me.
I’m becoming more comfortable expressing when I’m upset, too.
With Liam, I kept my frustrations bottled because I never knew when one might irritate him.
There are moments, particularly when Cameron is around a lot of people, where he transforms into that arrogant person I rejected.
He convinced himself this is who he needs to be to prevent his past from catching up to him.
But I’m not hesitant to tell him when he’s being a dick and needs to tone it down, because he’s proven he can take it without lashing out.
Cameron watches the gallery with me, during which he helps me tidy up around the place.
On particularly slow mornings when it’s empty and we don’t have much to do, we maybe…
um. Misbehave. The issue is that he’s handsome, and his lips are soft and taste like flavored ChapStick.
Which makes it difficult for me to care about anything other than assailing them.
He’s good at it. Kissing. He’s conscientious about how he’s moving and where his hands are.
Sometimes he’ll massage my ear until I’m nearly sweating and have to shove him back so I don’t do something I’ll regret.
His favorite place to stick his hands is where I’m the most sensitive—my waist, just beneath the edges of my shirt.
He rarely initiates a higher intensity level, preferring slow kisses to torment me until I whine about it.
We’ve gone on dates, too, involving movies or trying local restaurants.
Dad seems intrigued by Cameron and sometimes even sneaks me money to go out, which is nice.
I haven’t admitted that we’re dating, because they’re probably still hoping I’ll reconcile with Liam, but…
I don’t know. I think Dad has some idea about us.
And maybe he doesn’t hate it.
He won’t defend me for not wanting to go to the banquet, though.
I’ve tried bringing it up to Mom, but whenever I suggest ditching it, her face tightens and her lips thin until they nearly disappear.
“They’re family friends celebrating a massive accomplishment,” she says shortly. “You’re going, or you’re grounded.”
At least she’s not threatening to kick me out, but her definition of “grounding” is extreme.
Once, she removed my bedroom door, confiscated my phone, called me in sick at school, and forced me to lie atop my bed contemplating what I’d done.
She ordered Dad to obey her “nobody talks to Mason for three days” rule.
If I have to go, hopefully I’ll find the courage to officially end things.
With Cameron maintaining steady grades, he carries Elwood into the playoffs. After every home game, there’s some kind of party—a bonfire, team dinner, evening on Lake Evergreen. Maybe I’m imagining it, but the guys seem a little warmer than usual. Toward him, specifically.
Cameron always made himself the butt of jokes due to his immature behavior and loud personality.
Now that he’s toned back some of the more exaggerated parts, it feels like his friendships are becoming more authentic.
He can hold conversations with them that don’t devolve into jokes.
He’s not flaunting himself around like he’s the best thing since wireless earbuds.
He’s still kind of clueless at times and occasionally braggy about his skills, but he’s more…
Himself.
Though Cameron and I considered keeping quiet, everyone catches on that something’s going on between us. Especially since Cameron makes no effort to stop outwardly flirting with me, and I’m maybe kind of into it.
“Hey, Mason,” Darius says from the sidelines when I’m watching Cameron and the offense drill down the field, tapping my clipboard against my chin.
I’ve never been invested in football—at least until I realized how much it meant for Cameron’s future, and I’ve been tragically devoted to watching the scoreboard ever since.
Even if he hasn’t quite realized yet that he’s not as into it as he thinks. “Are you and Morelli going out?”
The question jolts through my body like lightning, causing my hairs to stand up. “What?” I squeak, instinctively lifting my clipboard higher over my face. “Why would you ask that?”
“Sorry—it’s none of my business.” He’s speaking softly, but his deep voice carries through the sidelines, perking the other boys’ ears. “You two just seem closer than normal. You’re still studying, you show up to parties together, and Jody swore he saw you walking into the aquarium holding hands.”
Images from that afternoon tear through my head—me standing before giant water tanks, rattling off my latent fish knowledge from when I was obsessed with sea life in my younger years.
I held Cameron’s hand, my stomach tingling whenever he asked me additional questions to test my knowledge, like he cared about what I had to say.
And then after a nice dinner at my favorite vegan restaurant, retreating to Cameron’s house because his mom was in the OR and his dad was out with a drinking buddy.
Where I promptly pushed him onto the living room love seat and gave my first hickey.
“I don’t…We’re not…” I cough on my sentence. We decided not to tell anyone because we didn’t want to undergo interrogation. I don’t want people placing bets to see how long I can hold Cameron down before he abandons me or whispering about whether we’re compatible.
“You’re not?” A knowing grin furls across Darius’s face, and he leans over me. I have to resist the urge to hide my entire face behind my clipboard. “Because the team’s been picking up vibes. You know?”
“Vibes?” is all I can choke out.
“Yeah. Like, you’re actually smiling at him.
You’re constantly whispering to each other on the sidelines like you’re hiding a love affair.
He’s been different lately, less cocky and bitchy than normal, and we’ve been figuring that it’s something to do with you.
And the way you two keep looking at each other?
” Darius shakes his head, eyes twinkling with exasperation.
“Fucking hell, I keep feeling like I’m interrupting something. ”
I think my entire body turns red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But then we win, and everyone screams because we make it another round into the playoffs, and suddenly Cameron’s sprinting toward me and tearing his helmet off and swallowing me in a deep, sweaty, desperate kiss.
I must get caught up in the moment, because I forget Darius is standing right there until he says:
“Right. Not a clue.”
Oops.
Just like that, we’re out to our peers, and the whispers and gossip are about what I expect because Cameron is the school’s most interesting person right now. But being able to kiss me in the hallways and hold my hand to classes makes him particularly cute and eager, so I don’t regret that moment.
Liam never wanted to flaunt me around. He was afraid people would think our relationship was strange—or that’s what he claimed.
Looking back, I guess it’s probably more like he didn’t want to deal with unnecessary questions or legal trouble.
He was shy of eighteen when he asked me out.
I never thought of it as strange because of how mature he made me feel.
Regardless, when we were on dates or wandering around, he’d sometimes wrench away when he noticed people staring.
This paired with Dad’s unease about our relationship made for a glaring red flag.
At the time, though, I didn’t understand the significance of the color.
Cameron isn’t ashamed of me or our relationship. The fact that he wants to show me off feels good. Which sounds objectifying, but whatever, I don’t care, because the mere thought makes me tingly.
I’m supposed to be content. This is my happily ever after, right? My prince has saved me from my demons and a cursed ring, and we’re together, working. I feel protected. Cared for. Happy. But there’s one final hurdle.
I don’t owe Liam anything. Cameron has spent hours poking holes into my insistence that I should unblock him to explain myself, or consider staying acquaintances so Mom can maintain her “connection” to an affluent family that keeps pulling away because of her lack of social status.
“He’s a groomer and abuser,” Cameron says, over and over, though the words still hit my brain in this jarring way I can’t fully accept. “He was a whole-ass adult when he made you dependent on him. He knew what he was doing.”
I usually have a rebuttal, because Liam wasn’t all bad. He just wasn’t. “He wouldn’t have sex with me until I turned sixteen,” I point out, or sometimes I say, “Four and a half years isn’t weird. There are several couples who have ten- or twenty-year age gaps.”
To which he starts showing me articles. I never took Cameron to be a research guy, and I’m so impressed that it takes a while for what he’s showing me to really sink in.
And maybe he’s not wrong. In fact, when he pulls up one paper about emotional abuse, the sight of it drops my stomach. I’ve read it.
I sent it to my dad months ago.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve tried convincing my parents to go to marriage counseling. Dad doesn’t want to deal with the stress, though, and Mom thinks their relationship is fine—only that Dad should work on himself so she has no reason to be upset. It’s starting to feel familiar.
I wonder, sometimes, just how thought-out Liam’s plan was for pulling me under his wing.
He knew the only romantic relationship I was familiar with was my parents.
He knew I struggled to form connections, reassured me that I didn’t need people my age.
That they were too young and immature to understand me.
He knew how desperately I looked up to him, how my eyes sparkled whenever he came to babysit me.
But I don’t want to assume he was manipulating me from the start. Maybe there were signs that something was wrong, like when he discouraged me from pursuing things that would expand my world, like marine biology or even summer camp.
There were good times, I swear. He’s not a monster.
Or he wasn’t always.
I have a lot of work to do on my self-worth, grasping the extent of the damage Liam dealt me.
Once this final step is taken care of, I can move forward.
The banquet. I’ll break things off for good so I can look forward to the championship game and fully support my boyfriend without this gloom hanging over me. I’m ready to face him.
As ready as I can be.