39. Mason
Mason
Time doesn’t care how much you beg it to slow down or speed up. It doesn’t change for anyone or anything. It’s my biggest fear. The thing that keeps me up most nights. The thought of time going by too fast, or being wasted, or time stopping short before I’m actually ready to go.
I feel like I’m going crazy some nights when all I can do is lie awake, staring up at the ceiling, feeling like my body is physically recoiling from the thoughts of this being all my life is, of thinking about dying one day and never getting to experience any real happiness here.
I think about how much I don’t want to be here sometimes, but also how much death scares the shit out of me.
And then I feel even shittier when I think about how sad my mom probably is watching who I’m becoming, watching me waste away like this.
It still physically hurts to think about her not being here, not being able to lean on her when I need to.
This summer has been one huge pile of sleepless nights and miserable days that drag by way too slowly.
By the time I walk into the office this morning, my tie is crooked because I didn’t care to put it on right, and my head feels too loud.
People glance up and then look away like they don’t see the shitstorm that surrounds me.
Like, I’m still untouchable here. Like my last name still does the talking.
Where I normally would hate that being the case, right now I’m grateful for it, grateful for everyone ignoring me. It’s easier to be the disappointment when everyone is already expecting it.
After an extremely long call with one of my dad’s most complicated clients, who wanted to specifically talk to only me, I throw my legs up on top of my desk and pull out the aluminum water bottle full of numbness I packed as my lunch.
Brooke walks up, pushing my legs down, making me spill my drink a little as I’m taking a sip.
“Hey,” I scold.
“Did I spill your rum?” she teases.
I glare up at her. “It’s just water.”
“Hmm, that’s some strong-smelling water. What brand is it?”
I turn the bottle, looking for the label. “I don’t know. Some natural spring shit.”
Her face drops into a bullshit look. “Come on. Grab a coffee with me.”
“Do you need me to hold your hand and pour it for you, too?”
She slaps me on the back of my head before walking off, not even looking back or waiting to see if I’m coming.
I screw the lid back on the bottle and place it on my desk before getting up and following her into the break room.
When I walk in, she’s leaning against the counter, pulling her heels off and throwing them on the floor next to her.
“You look tired,” she says, staring at me.
“I am.”
“Long night?”
I don’t answer.
“You smell like you had a long night,” she adds.
I look up to meet her eyes. There’s no judgment there, just curiosity and interest.
“Is that a problem?” I ask.
Her lips twitch a little, and her eyes go soft. “No. Not for me.”
Brooke is kind and forward with the things she wants, and she’s familiar in this easy kind of way.
I’ve done nothing but constantly think about Simone all break, her beautiful face, her light, the way she makes breathing easier when I’m around her.
I haven’t called her, even though I stare at my phone almost every night wanting to. We’ve texted a little, mostly me just checking in and making sure she’s okay, but I can tell her mind is there with Lydia, and she needs the space.
I can’t help but wonder if Tyler is around for the summer. If he’s tried to see her, tried to get her back again. I saw how much seeing him hurt her, how much she must have really loved him, and how much those feelings don’t just go away because someone hurts you.
I wish Simone were like any other girl I’ve met.
I wish I didn’t care so much. That’s what I’ve always told myself was the safest thing to do—for this exact reason.
I feel like I’m going crazy thinking about her, thinking about someone who doesn’t even look at me as anything other than a friend.
No matter how much it felt like she might before summer started.
“You gonna pour me a cup?” Brooke asks, nodding at the coffee pot.
I reach past her, boxing her in without thinking, grabbing a mug. My arm brushes her chest, and she doesn’t move away.
“You technically work for me, remember?”
“Yeah, but I love a good power dynamic role-play.”
I shake my head and hand her the mug. “Nobody makes me their bitch, role-playing or not.”
Her laugh is soft. Dangerous. She sets her mug down and reaches for my tie, tugging it slowly. “You’d probably like it. Most men in high-power positions like a girl to dominate them.”
I feel nothing in this moment, and I so badly wish I did. All I feel is the urge to erase the thoughts of a girl who is all sweet words, pure sunshine, and a personality too big for this world.
Looking at Brooke right now makes me question why I don’t just do the easy hook-up thing—the no feelings, easy pleasure, and a good distraction.
Maybe it’ll ease the ache that always sits with me.
Maybe hooking up with someone could give me a better release than trying to numb with what’s in that bottle on my desk.
I step over, placing myself directly in front of her, arm propped up on the cabinet behind her head, and look down at her. She’s here, and I feel like I’m drowning, and the girl I want could never want me…so why not?
If I have to wait for the right person to do this again, I’ll probably be waiting forever.
I take my hand and place it on her face, imagining I’m touching someone else.
Then I kiss her. It’s fast and too rushed, needing it to bring me some kind of relief or pleasure.
Her mouth opens, and she lets me explore her, hands already finding their way onto my chest, nails digging into my dress shirt.
She tastes like coffee and sugar and something that could easily fix my problems right now.
I lift her onto the counter, and she wraps her legs around my waist.
I close my eyes, picturing another pair of lips on mine, picturing another body in my hands.
She kisses me like she’s been waiting for this moment, waiting for me to finally give in to her. And I let her take charge for a moment, because once I take over, I plan on doing this my way. I need it to be what gets her out of my system.
I step back just long enough to cross the room and lock the door.
The click of it locking is loud and echoes in the small room, like it’s solidifying what I’m about to do.
When I turn back to her, she’s watching me with a look that makes my stomach twist. I need to do this. I need to know I’m not broken.
I push the dread feeling away and walk back over to her, hands sliding up her thighs before kissing her harder this time, rougher, and more desperately. Her hands slide into my hair and tug just slightly.
When I close my eyes, I see Simone.
As much as I want her out of my head and out of my thoughts, it feels too good to picture her here instead.
My hands move to lift up her skirt, and she quickly starts to help me, taking them off. I take my time, roaming over her body, wanting some high that will block everything else out.
Moving my head to the top of her shoulder, I slide her shirt down, starting to kiss a trail up her neck. She shivers at the contact, gripping onto me tighter, and it sends a wave of false pleasure through me.
I’m lost in the picture I’m painting in my head when I lean down and kiss her ear. She lets out a small moan and quickly moves her hands to my pants, fumbling to get my belt off. I throw my head back, not being able to open my eyes as she keeps going.
“I want you so fucking badly, Simone—”
The second the name leaves my mouth, the room goes dead quiet.
Brooke freezes.
The sound of footsteps outside the door and our heavy breathing are the only things filling the space between us.
My stomach drops through the floor.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “I—Brooke, I’m sorry.”
She studies me for a long second, then exhales like she’s letting it go. She slides off the counter, pulling her skirt back on.
“It’s okay,” she says, and I can tell part of her actually wants to mean that, while the other part is obviously disappointed and a little hurt.
“Brooke—”
“It’s okay,” she says, waving me off. “It’s…fine.”
“It’s not fine,” I say.
“It is,” she insists, sliding past me. “I knew you weren’t…here. Not really. I shouldn’t have even tried anything.”
Guilt hits me straight in the gut.
Before I can say anything else, there’s a hard bang on the door.
“Why is this door locked?”
My blood runs cold.
Brooke’s eyes flick to the door, then back to me.
“It’s your dad,” she whispers unnecessarily.
I run a hand over my face, not wanting to deal with him, and walk over to reluctantly unlock it.
My dad steps in like he owns the place.
I guess he fucking does, but whatever.
His gaze moves over the room, scanning. He stares at Brooke for a long moment, obviously judging her, then his eyes find mine, and his jaw tightens.
“Out,” he says to Brooke without even looking at her again.
Brooke doesn’t argue. She grabs her bag, chin still lifted like she refuses to be ashamed.
“You’re drunk,” he says flatly once she’s gone.
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s your big observation?”
“You come into my office late,” he snaps, “you stumble past my employees, you reek of whiskey—“
“It’s Scotch,” I correct.
He stares at me and lets out a sigh before continuing. “And now I find you in a locked room with a—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t call her anything but her name. She’s a human being and one of your employees, a good one at that.”
“So you just use all my employees to get yourself off?”
“Don’t you?” I ask, spitefully. “Isn’t that what Rose was before you married her? You know, when your last wife was still alive…sick and dying while you were off screwing another woman, if not multiple.”
“Don’t disrespect your mother like that.”
“Nichole is my mother,” I spit, “not Rose.”