Chapter 8 #2
His head shot back up and he looked at me. I just looked back. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t forgiven. He’d really wounded me, and there was no way I could forget that just because he was amazing in bed. He was going to work for my forgiveness and my willingness to listen. Yes. In bed.
I knew I was being an idiot again. Mason was yet another red flag I’d hopped into bed with, though one I’d certainly never expected to.
The last time we’d spoken to each other had been the day he’d punched me, kneed me in the balls, and been the complete and utter asshole I’d hoped he wasn’t deep down.
He hadn’t apologized, never even attempted to, and had taken off right out of school.
Looking at him across my table, I remembered .
. . that other thing. Whatever I’d seen in the driveway when he touched me.
Things like that were rare, but when it happened, it was like electricity going through me.
And whatever I’d got from him was . . . not good.
I ate most of my food, then without looking up at him said, “So what the hell happened, Mason? Why are you back?”
I could feel him staring at me, but he didn’t speak.
I finally looked up and met his eyes. Eyes that were boring into me.
I couldn’t quite read them, which was unusual.
Especially when he was someone whose mind I could practically read when we were younger.
“You asked me what happened last night too,” he said quietly.
“You want to tell me what that was about yet? That weird shit in the driveway? And no, I’m not here to call you weird, so don’t even start.
You know whatever that was last night was weird as fuck and you just blew it off.
Don’t think I don’t remember that shit from elementary school.
Tell me what you saw. You’re going first this time. ”
Well, didn’t his backbone return awfully fast. I sighed.
“It wasn’t really clear. You know I can’t just make it work like I want to.
The first touch was just pain. Overwhelming emotional pain.
Blood. Darkness. There was yelling, but I couldn’t tell what was being said.
I couldn’t see anything, just feel and hear. ”
He swallowed but said, “And when you touched my palm?”
“Do you really believe this, or are you just making fun of me like you did in high school? Are you going to go tell your friends how crazy I am, or what?”
“Fuck off, Elijah. You think I don’t remember when we were kids?
You scared the ever-loving shit out of me with your .
. . abilities or whatever they are. The same thing happened before, or did you forget?
Did you forget the day I came over right after my aunt died?
You touched me, and you knew right away.
You saw her and you saw me, hurt and crying, even though I wasn’t crying at the time and hadn’t told you yet.
And do you remember the day in the cemetery?
Do you? I knew you, Elijah. I knew you weren’t making any of it up.
Now stop being an ass and tell me what you saw. ”
The day in the cemetery had been the first time I’d realized I saw things other people couldn’t see.
I was just commenting on the weird clothes the lady in the old section was wearing.
Except, Mason couldn’t see a lady. We both ran out of there like track stars, shoving each other out of the way to get back to my house a block away.
He believed me then, and apparently, he still did.
I sighed. I wasn’t really sure what I’d seen the previous night, and I didn’t want to upset him.
I closed my eyes, trying to recall through the drunken haze I’d been in.
“I saw a man, and you. You were in front of him, partially blocking him from my vision. You loved him, but I don’t think .
. . I don’t think like that. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt; I could see a tattoo on his upper left arm.
I couldn’t tell what it was. He was looking at you, I think, but then he fell.
And you were in pain. Not physical pain, but like you were drowning.
You were drowning in it and didn’t know what to do.
Guilt? You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t take it.
You wanted to end it any way you could. You wanted it to end because it was too much.
I don’t . . . I don’t know what it means, Mason, but that’s what I saw. ”
He’d gone pale, and I could see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes that I knew he’d try to hide. He just stared at me. “See,” I said quietly. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything.”
Mason shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said, so quietly it was barely above a whisper. “You didn’t say anything that hurt me. I see it every day, every minute. You can’t make it worse.”
He didn’t offer any more information. I supposed he might have to come to trust me again as well, even though I hadn’t broken his trust back then. I just looked back down at my plate and we finished our breakfast in silence.
He took my empty plate before I could stand, rinsing them both off and putting them in the dishwasher. He glanced around and said, “This is a really nice place. Did you fix it up yourself?”
I nodded, puffing up a little at his admiration. “Yeah, I did all the cabinets. I made the table too, and the porch swing. I also put that mantle over the fireplace. And I redid the floors. Oh, I made that bookshelf too. And practically gutted the bathroom because it was atrocious.”
He raised his eyebrows, looking around again. “Damn. I mean, I knew you were artistic, but I had no idea you could do all this.” He nodded in approval. “I can also tell most of the artwork is yours.”
Of course he’d know my work. “Yeah.”
He looked back at me. “You’re really talented, Elijah. You always were. This place is . . . it’s amazing. You’ve made it perfectly your home. It’s like, modern and artistic and yet somehow rustic at the same time. It’s exactly what I pictured for you, just like you always—” He cut himself off.
“Yeah.” Just like I always wanted with you. “I love it here. It’s my favorite place, and I never want to leave.” Enyo was at my feet, begging for food, offended that I’d eaten before her. I fed her and freshened her water.
Mason spoke again. “Can I give you a ride back to your car?”
“Can I take a shower first?” I needed a ride, but I’d never felt so disgusting. Between vomiting, drunk sweats, and the cum that was dried on my skin, I wasn’t going anywhere without cleaning up. “If you need to leave, I can call Rory later and she’ll take me.”
I assumed he’d also want a shower, and probably wanted to get home, but he said, “I’m not in a hurry. I can wait for you.” He sat down in my living room with his phone, typing out a text. I grabbed some clothes and headed into my bathroom, giving him one more glance. He was looking back at me.
I locked the door and tried not to think about him sitting shirtless in my living room.
I tried not to think about how he’d admitted he was gay and had a crush on me in high school, or that he had experience with guys.
And he definitely did, because he knew what the fuck he was doing in bed.
I got hard thinking about him, but I refused to acknowledge it.
I was already starting to be that cockslut again, so I turned the shower to cold, hurried through it, and got dressed still damp.
When I exited the bathroom, he had his shirt and shoes on, and he looked up when the door opened. “You ready?” he asked me, standing up.
I nodded, gave Enyo a scratch, and found my phone in the pocket of the pants I’d worn to the bar.
I had seventeen missed texts from Rory. She was asking who I’d gone with, if I made it home okay, demanding I reply and getting upset when I didn’t.
I texted her back right away. Shit, Rory, I’m sorry.
I was wasted. I’m fine. I got home and I’m going back for my car now.
I was lucky she didn’t have the cops at my house already.
I didn’t really want to tell her who I rode with, and I definitely didn’t want her to know I was still with him.
I followed Mason out to his car and got in, less nervous than the last time I’d slid into his passenger seat.
I’d been pretty sure he didn’t plan to harm me, especially since he’d just stepped in to defend me in a fight that wasn’t even his, but I was also not always the best at reading people when I was drunk.
◆◆◆
We were about halfway back to town when my curiosity got the best of me. “Can I just ask who he was? The guy I saw. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay.” I wasn’t getting the feeling that he was a boyfriend, but I couldn’t work it out in my brain.
Mason was silent for a moment, but finally, still looking at the road ahead, he said, “He was my partner. He was a detective. He was supposed to be able to count on me to have his back. To make the right calls. Just like I counted on him.” He paused and swallowed.
“He’s the reason I’m here. I fucked up, Elijah.
I fucked up bad. And I was drowning. You were right.
I was drinking a lot, and every time I did I wanted to end it.
I . . . I even tried once. No one knows that, so please .
. . don’t repeat that. I stopped it in time.
But my mom knew I was suicidal when I was drinking.
She talked me into coming back for a while, hoping it would help me.
That’s why I was sober last night. I was going to drink, but I stopped myself.
I thought I would be okay if I did, but really . . . I don’t know if I would.”
I didn’t have the whole story, but it was enough. “I’m sorry, Mason.”
He shrugged. “Life is shit and then you die, right?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer, so I didn’t. He was right, though, because my life kind of felt like that too.