Chapter 18 #2
Mason noticed the goosebumps spreading over all my exposed skin and he went around to start the car and turn the heat on, then put down the middle row of seats so the back of the car was mostly flat.
I just laid motionless on my stomach, curling my fingers tightly into the thick terry cloth below my head.
He climbed into the back with me, pulling the door to the trunk shut.
I cracked an eyelid, watching him maneuver his large body into the awkward space next to me. His hands grabbed my body and lifted me to lay on him, half sitting up but still reclined. I tucked myself against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, curled into a little ball cradled on his lap.
“You gave me another secret.” His voice was deep and rumbling with my ear pressed to his chest.
“No I didn’t,” I protested, hating the way my voice wobbled. It sounded like I was about to cry—which, I probably was. The emotions of today were catching up with me, and I was too tired to hold myself together anymore.
“You don’t like the sight of blood,” Mason said quietly, his thumb stroking back and forth on my shoulder.
“It’s not really a secret.”
“Still feels like I’m learning things about you.” The car was quiet, save for the sounds of me trying to suppress my sniffles. I swiped away the tears trying to escape my eyes, chest tight with hidden sobs. “You’re allowed to cry, you know.”
Pain ached through my ribs, strained my lungs. I pressed my lips together to hold in my cries.
“No,” I protested.
“You might cry if I do what you said. If I hurt you.”
You’re already hurting me. Just because your hand isn’t over my mouth right now doesn’t mean I can breathe.
“Well I don’t want to cry with you now.”
“Who do you want to cry with?”
“Mila,” I said on a quiet sob.
“Pretend I’m her.”
A small laugh bubbled in my chest, almost surprising me. “Wow, Mila. You’ve really bulked up.”
“I had a growth spurt.”
“You also became a terrible person. Not at all like the Mila I know.”
“I haven’t had any coffee yet today,” he joked. I tilted my head back, my teary eyes meeting Mason’s dry ones. His gaze darted to my lips twitching in a frown and his voice softened. “Or you can just cry with me, baby. Even if you don’t want to.”
“I’m only crying because my foot hurts.” And because my heart hurts and my mind hurts and I’m so tired that all I want to do is sleep forever. I’m pretty sure all of it is because of you. I hid my face in his chest.
“I know,” he murmured with his lips pressed to the top of my head.
━━━━━
Mason took me home after letting me cry for a while and buying me more food—a cheeseburger this time. He wanted to come inside with me, but I didn’t let him, even though I couldn’t really walk on my left foot yet. I needed space. More space than he was probably ever willing to give me.
I was laying on my stomach on my bed, my hair now clean and dry and straightened after my shower, my feet propped in the air.
It had been a little difficult to shower with just one foot—and without trying to let the other one get wet, since I didn’t have the supplies to change my bandage—but I felt better after doing it.
The salt of the ocean washed down the drain, along with Mason’s scent and all the awful things he did to me.
My laptop was open next to my pillow, some random horror movie playing on it that I’d found for free on YouTube.
I had my pillow laying flat in front of me, and I was arranging my shark teeth on it, the little jar in my left hand while my right hand plucked out the teeth and arranged them on my cotton pillowcase.
Most of them were small, skinnier and sharper, but some were bigger, thick and solid in my palm. All of them were black.
It was almost dark in my bedroom and I hadn’t turned on any lamps, so the only light was from the glow of my laptop screen, filtering softly through the nighttime air. My phone buzzed and I grabbed it from my nightstand, tapping on the notification. It was from my Unit Ops group chat.
Jackson : Does anyone want to meet up tomorrow to work on our report?
I rolled my eyes, dropping my phone onto my comforter.
My assigned sections of the report were almost done; all I had left to work on was the error analysis.
I always offered to do that section because I was pretty good at statistics, and could use the software well.
But I knew that I’d end up helping with the other parts of the report if I wanted them to be done on time—which I did.
Scooping up the shark teeth and dropping them back into the jar, I flipped on my back and held my phone above my face, thumbs flying over the cracked screen. A woman’s scream played faintly from my laptop, along with rising theatrical music.
Me : Sure. I’ll be at Stanton around seven, if that works for everyone
Nate : Okay
I had a feeling the plans would end up falling apart by the time seven o’clock rolled around tomorrow evening, but I didn’t really care.
I’d been planning to spend some time at Stanton already, trying to get stuff done.
Every once in a while I liked to do that; plan to go hunker down at a table somewhere with better internet than my trailer, and make some progress on my assignments for a few hours.
The sound coming from my laptop cut off and I turned my head, finding the screen buffering. Right on cue. At least I didn’t care too much about watching this movie.
It took a minute for the movie to start playing again, and by that point, I’d lost all interest in it. I shut my laptop and climbed under my covers, rolling over to my side with my phone on the pillow by my face.
There was a missed message from Mason I’d never responded to, but I couldn’t do it now. He was suffocating me. I needed fucking space.
Space to clear my head, to get myself detached from him, to protect my heart.
I’d been failing at all of that.
It reminded me of another time, years ago.
I was younger then, and my situation was different, but the feelings were similar.
Anthony. That name was enough to drag me back into the depths of depression.
He didn’t even live in this state anymore.
He was in California, a police officer in some suburb, engaged to a cute brunette.
And I was still here in Washington, stuck in the same mess he’d left me in when I was eighteen.