Chapter 20 #2
“I can’t show you it.” And I didn’t want to, because the closer he got to the darkest parts of me, the less armor I had.
“But you will.” He ran his hot mouth over my jaw. “I’ll make you.”
“No you won’t. I’m more stubborn than you think I am.” I exposed my throat as Mason tilted his head downwards. Bite my flesh. Stop trying to break into my mind.
“Why did the deer run away, Dakota?”
My breath caught, stalled in my lungs. I felt much more unsteady than I had a second ago.
“Hmm?” he murmured against my neck, sucking my skin into my mouth, bruising me with his teeth.
My first memory. The doe in my backyard, standing so still. Prey.
“I don’t know why,” I reminded him.
But I did know why, didn’t I?
She ran because she was scared.
It didn’t matter what scared her now—I’d never know exactly what it was that started her running back then—but in that moment, she’d feared for her life. Even if only for an instant, she felt unsafe. That was why she ran away into the woods.
To protect herself.
Prey. Prey. Prey.
I shut my eyes, trying to focus on the feel of Mason’s mouth on my skin, but he was hurting me and I knew he wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know how far he was going to go this time and sometimes I felt like he only wanted me in this way. Do you want to scare me? Make me flinch? Make me run?
“Tell me more about her,” Mason said, changing his position and holding my face in both his hands. I kept my eyes shut, pressure behind them making me feel like crying again.
“There’s nothing else to say. The memory is blurry.”
“Tell it to me again.”
I could sense the frown trying to tug on my lips. “It was nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. It’s part of you. There’s a reason your brain remembered this moment.”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, my words getting lost to the wind and rain.
I wanted to tell him to stop, to leave me the hell alone, but my mouth wouldn’t form the words.
“I was looking out the back window. We had blinds, which were blocking my view, so I had to push them up. And she was just there, standing in the grass. She was young enough to still have little white spots, but old enough to be on her own. Not a baby, but young.”
“And you were worried she was going to run away.”
“I guess so.” Yes.
“And she did.”
“Yes. She did.” My response sounded cracked and choked up, the lump in my throat growing until I could no longer swallow it down.
Mason’s voice got quieter, softer. I knew he was watching my face.
“Did you run away, too?”
Quietness filled the air, and all I could hear were my memories reverberating in my head. Yelling, fighting, a hand hitting the counter, a fist hitting the wall, an engine turning over.
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” I forced myself to answer after a minute, but my voice broke, wobbled, trying to bleed into a sob.
“You do know. Look at me.”
You can’t hide from me, baby.
I opened my eyes, hating every ounce of vulnerability I knew was showing on my face.
I’m not capable of anything when it comes to you.
“Why are you so sad?”
“You can’t just ask someone that,” I snapped, internally panicking because I was about to cry. He knew it, too. He knew how to push on every old bruise, knew what amount of pressure would weaken me most.
“You asked me about my scars. I’m just returning the favor. Asking about yours.”
“Well, don’t.”
“Who hurt you?”
“You, for starters,” I bit out, sobs making my chest tight. Get off me. I need space. “But you don’t care about that.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. Who hurt you, Dakota. Past tense. Who hurt you before I did? Who made you like this before me?”
I was gasping, stupid tears tipping over my eyelashes.
“There are so many things wrong with me that I can’t even begin to explain them all to you,” I said angrily. “Take me home.”
“No—”
“I said take me home!” I screamed, launching myself out from under him, panting wildly. Both of us were standing on the sand now, staring at each other, the distance between us growing. If I reached out my arm now, I wouldn’t be able to touch him.
“You—”
“Stop! I don’t want to fucking talk to you about this! Take me home!”
“Thought you liked the bus.” He took a step back.
My stomach dropped.
Fuck. You.
I swiped my fingers across my cheeks, trying to rid them of tears. The rain was coming down harder now, pummeling the top of my head and dripping off my chin.
I didn’t say another word to Mason before I turned and started up the rocks.
He didn’t stop me.
He didn’t stop me.
The pain in my chest intensified.
His car was parked at the top. I thought about the first time I’d been in it. Mason giving me his dry clothes. Him taking them off of me later. Him covering my mouth and nose with his palm. Somehow, that was easier than this.
I pushed onward, ducking my head against the sheets of rain.
My heart was in my hands, bleeding out everywhere, too goddamn soft for the situations I was putting myself in. Tender and naive and crimson. My chest ached, a raw wound growing from the center of me, spreading like an infection.
Even as I walked to the bus stop through the rain, I was waiting for him.
Waiting for Mason to come take me again, to not let me leave him, to force me into his car and keep me with him, show me he could handle me like this. I thought that’s what we were, the sort of painful dependency we’d grown into. But maybe I was the only one.
Please don’t let me leave. Please stop me. Please don’t make me be strong.
The more time that passed, the more clear it became that it wasn’t going to happen. I was alone, shivering and soaked, hunkered down on the bench at the bus stop, hating every choice in my life that had lead me to this point.
Did you run away, too?
I thought of that deer, thought of her disappearing into the dark forest. How I wished I could do the very same thing.
I wanted to run, run so far away that none of this would matter anymore, sink into the shadows of the pines where nobody would ever find me again.
Maybe not even my memories could find me there.
Don’t look at me like that—like you think I’m evil. I’m so nice to you, Dakota. I’ve never hurt you. Stop acting fucking crazy or I’ll leave. Is that what you want?
With shaking hands, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, struggling with the damp fabric of my jacket. My wet fingers moved across the screen, everything blurry through my tears and the rain.
Me : Who’s working now?
Eric : Just me. What’s up?
Me : Could I pick up a shift? I can be there in like twenty minutes
Eric : Sure. Everything alright?
I didn’t answer his last message. I didn’t know what to say. No, nothing is okay. Nothing has ever been okay for me, not once in my entire life. I should be used to it, but I’m not. I don’t think I ever will be.
When the bus arrived, I climbed aboard and ignored the concerned looks people were giving me. I knew I looked like a mess on the outside. Wet, tangled hair, soaked clothes, tear-stained face. They had no idea how much of a mess the inside was too.
I arrived at the gas station when I said I would, but Eric wasn’t at the register as I walked in. I paused, standing dumbly in front of the door.
He came out of the back room after a second. “Shit. I should’ve known that was you walkin’ in. I’m sorry, I was…”
My expression cracked and I slammed my hands over my face to hide the crying I couldn’t keep inside now that I’d seen him.
It was like he’d triggered another whole downpour.
The power of a familiar face.
His hand was warm on my shoulder. “Come here, butterfly. I got something for you.”
Rubbing my eyes, I let him lead me across the station into the back office—where a fresh wave of tears began streaming down my cheeks. I literally couldn’t stop now that I’d started, weeks worth of stress and anxiety and sadness spilling out of me all at once.
Eric had some cartoons playing on the old box TV in the corner, his office chair dragged away from the desk and draped with a thin blanket, a crate set next to the chair with a pre-packaged cinnamon roll sitting on a napkin on top of it.
“I don’t mind if you don’t want me in here with you,” he said. “I also don’t mind if you do. You just tell me what you want.”
“Eric, I—”
“I’ll pay you as long as you’re here,” he cut me off, shaking his head. “I knew something was wrong by the way you texted me, and you don’t have to tell me what it is, but I do care about you. I don’t want to see you sad.”
I rolled my lips together in an attempt to control my sobs. I was a mess.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’ll be out here if you need me.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, towards the door. I just nodded.
The door clicked shut behind him, and I was alone, cartoons playing faintly from the corner. The characters weren’t speaking a real language, just little sounds.
I took off my wet jacket and wrapped the blanket from the chair around my shoulders, then sat down.
He’d plugged in an old space heater facing the chair, and I switched the dial to turn it on, hot air rattling out of the device almost immediately.
I kicked off my boots, tucked my feet up on the chair.
There was a small window near the ceiling, and I could see the raindrops still streaming down the dirty glass.
Sitting with the remote in my hand, I picked up the cinnamon roll, plastic packaging crinkling while I tore it open. It smelled artificial and delicious. I cried while I ate it. Cried while I watched cartoons.
After a little while, I stopped crying. Eric came in to check on me once, and he seemed relieved to see my dry face.
I ended up putting my shoes back on and working for a couple hours, mostly because it was really slow and I hardly had to interact with any customers.
But it also felt nice to be helpful. I owed Eric all the effort I had to give.
━━━━━
In my bed that night, I was haunted. Tossing and turning in my sheets, chest aching, eyes sore from crying, body exhausted from fighting.
Did you run away, too?