43. Simone
Simone
I annoyingly listen to Mason’s voicemail for the third time.
“Hey, it’s Mason, I’ll try to get back to ya.”
I pull the phone away from my ear, staring at the stack of folders on my desk. I’m getting pissed off at this point.
Of course he doesn’t answer.
I press end and drop my phone into my purse, pushing my chair back. These heels are killing me, and I’m ready to call it a day. I just have to upload these documents to the case management software and put the files away, then I’m out of here.
Once I finally finish up and check in with the office manager, I quickly grab my things, desperate to get out of here and get some fresh air…and figure out what the hell is going on with my friend.
“Have a good night,” I say to everyone in the office, but no one even looks up. One of the paralegals just hums in response.
That’s it. That’s how I leave every day. I feel so unnoticed, unimportant, and very much replaceable around here. But it is what it is. This is my foot in the door to my dream career, and I’ll take all the grunt jobs for now.
As soon as I walk outside, my phone is back in my hand, calling him. It goes straight to voicemail again, and I huff in frustration, just staring at my phone once I’m in the car.
It’s been three days. Three days since Mason had to go to his court hearing, and three days since I’ve heard from him. No texts, no calls, no coming by the Gamma house looking for me…nothing.
I already know from the guys that, thanks to his dad, his charges were reduced to just reckless driving, and he basically got off with a restricted license and a slap on the wrist. And where that would thrill any other kid…
I know it doesn’t thrill Mason. I know how much he hates his dad’s power plays.
I know how much of a stand-up guy Mason is, and how he would rather face the consequences of his actions than owe his dad anything.
But his dad has always cared more about their image than any ethics or rules.
I don’t know how I’m going to help him with any of this, especially when he won’t even talk to me.
Ever since the accident, he’s been…unraveling.
At first, he couldn’t stop worrying about Tank—checking on him constantly, blaming himself, and spiraling pretty badly.
But once Tank was cleared to make a full recovery, it was like the adrenaline wore off and all the thoughts took back over his mind, dragging him under again.
I haven’t seen him smile in weeks since the accident, haven’t heard that easy laugh I love. The last time I saw him was at our last philanthropy mixer on campus, the one where everyone had to dress business casual and pretend to be mature adults for the night.
He’d seemed better then, not great, but present, at least. Then he went completely quiet. At first, I was mad about it, hurt even. Now I’m just…scared.
I throw my head against the back of my seat, trying to figure out what I should do.
Looking back down at my phone, I shoot off a text to Lydia and Lani that I might be spending the night at the Gamma house, so they don’t worry, then I start my car with only one option left.
I pull out of the parking lot and head back to campus, gripping the steering wheel tightly so that my frustration has some kind of outlet.
If he doesn’t want to answer my calls, fine. Let’s see how well he can ignore me in person.
* * *
The Sig house smells like the constant remains of a party—beer, sweat, and boy.
When I walk in, a couple of the guys are in the pool room, music playing low from a speaker somewhere, and then in the main living room, a bunch of guys are sitting on the couch watching a game on the TV.
I walk over and place both my hands on the back of Tank’s shoulders, leaning my head down beside his. “How are you feeling?”
He reaches his hand around to me and smiles. “Doing alright. Better now that I’ve seen your face.” He shoots me a wink, and I shake my head.
“Recovering well?”
He nods. “Yeah. I’m a pretty tough cookie. And honestly, I’m loving this. I’d get in another accident just to keep all the attention I’ve been getting from the ladies.”
I slap his arm lightly, and he pretends it hurts more than I know it does. “I knew you’d be milking this.”
“Hell yeah, I am. And tell your friend Lani I’d prefer her to check on me in person and not just in text.”
I roll my eyes. “Leave my friend alone.”
“A hottie like her? No way.”
I scoff. “Am I not a hottie? You don’t chase me around like all these other girls. Should I be offended?”
He laughs. “Trust me, I’d be chasing you around like a lost puppy, but…bro code.”
“Bro code?” I ask.
He tilts his head up towards me from the couch and gives me a knowing look.
I put my hands on my hips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He shoots me a smirk, but drops it.
“So, where is Mason, by the way?” I try to ask casually.
Tank’s shoulders drop a little. “Haven’t seen him in a couple of days,” he says. “He’s locked himself in his room. Chase has been sleeping in mine because he won’t let anyone in.”
My stomach sinks, and I inhale slowly. “Oh.”
Tank watches me for a second. “If anyone’s gonna get him to talk, it’s gonna be you.”
“I don’t know about that,” I tell him. “He’s been ignoring me, too.”
He reaches around behind him and grabs my wrist, making me look at him. “He needs you. He needs someone not to give up trying. He’s been beating himself up a lot ever since the accident and feels like shit about everything that happened. But…I also know it’s more than just that bothering him.”
I just nod, unable to say anything back, suddenly hit with emotions I don’t want to feel.
I walk away quickly and head up the stairs, where no one can see me.
When I make it to Mason’s room, I just stop and stand there, feeling every vivid flashback of all the nights I begged Lydia to talk to me, all the times I laid with her in her darkest moments, all the times I gave her everything I had just to make sure she would keep going.
Then I get hit with even worse flashbacks—ones of me as a little girl, curled up with my dad in the bed when he wouldn’t leave his room for days. I can see little Simone crying, asking her dad why he won’t play with her, why he won’t get up, why he won’t eat anything Mom brings him.
It wasn’t until recently that I realized my dad also dealt with depression. It actually wasn’t until I watched Lydia go through it that I even connected the dots.
I started to feel bad for my dad after that. I stopped being as mad at him for never paying me much attention, for not talking to me, for not really even knowing me. I just…felt sorry that he didn’t know how to be what I needed, because he didn’t even know how to be what he needed for himself.
The more time that passes by, the more I understand what he must have been dealing with. But the pain never fully goes away. The hurt from not having that relationship I longed for with him still sits heavy in my chest most days when I think about it.
It makes me wonder if I’ll ever know a healthy version of a man’s love—the unconditional kind. I wonder if I had it growing up, would I be mindlessly searching for it now? If I had that example as a little girl, would I already know what to look for in a man?
I wonder if it hurts him the same way it hurts me.
The pain of watching all these people I care about drown in their own minds while I stand by, desperately trying to fix it for them, drains me too.
I don’t want that for Mason. I know how much love he has to give.
I see it with his brothers, with me, with his friends.
I don’t want him to lose his spark. I don’t want him to go under and never come back up.
He’s too bright of a light in this world, and I’ll be damned if anyone around him, including his own mind, takes that away from him.
I reach out and try to twist the doorknob, but of course, it’s locked.
I knock once.
Nothing.
I knock again, harder this time.
There’s a thud on the other side, like something being thrown, and then his voice, muffled and rough. “Go away.”
My throat tightens, being hit with more emotions, scared he’s still not going to let me in, even with coming here.
“It’s Simone,” I say through the door.
Silence.
Long enough that I wonder if he even heard me.
“Mason?” I say again.
Nothing.
I stand there for a few seconds longer than I should, my forehead pressed against the wood.
Then my phone buzzes.
Mason: key’s on the doorframe
I look up, and sure enough, there it is.
I stretch onto my toes, grab it, and unlock the door.
The room is dark. All the blackout curtains are drawn tight, making it pitch black in here even though it’s still daytime outside.
The smell hits me first—stale alcohol and old cigarette smoke. But beneath that, I still smell…him—his cologne, clean laundry, the hint of smooth, expensive whiskey that’s always there…my Mason. It’s just buried under all the sadness and neglect going on here.
I flip on the small desk lamp instead of the overhead light, not wanting to blind the vampire that’s been residing in here.
The small cast of light shows me the state of the room—of him. An empty pizza box sits open on the floor, empty water bottles everywhere, and even more liquor bottles than I want to try to count.
At least I don’t have to worry about him being dehydrated. I guess that’s a small win.
He’s lying in the bed on his stomach, head resting on his arms, facing away from me.
My heart hurts instantly looking at him. It’s like I can feel his pain from here.
I wish I knew how to make this better.
The same way I always want to fix everyone I love.
When I look at Mason…I see Lydia.
I see her curled up after Camilla died.
I see her curled up after Eli died.
I see her curled up after the assault.
I still see her curled up in that hospital bed.
I hate the images and shake them away.
I don’t want to see Mason like this. I don’t want to see him get to that point. I’m also afraid it’s already too late, though.