44. Mason
Mason
I wish I could say I miss being happy all the time, but I don’t think I’ve truly ever been happy. Not since my mom died, and maybe not even before that. Not a single day in my life have I had joy that someone didn’t try to steal, whether that was by someone else or myself.
I fake it really well, though.
The only time I’m genuinely happy and not faking it lately is when I’m with Simone. I hate that I rely on her so much, hate that I can’t smile on my own anymore without her around. I know it’s not healthy. But I can’t help but use her to fill up my empty cup.
How selfish am I that in my mind, letting her go isn’t even a possibility? It’s not something I want to think about having to do.
If she’s the light, then I’m only still walking because I can see her.
The Sig house is already loud when I walk out of my room, dressed for the party.
Orange lights are draped across the ceiling, cobweb strands dangle from the handrails, and they have a fog machine making it hard to see where you’re going.
The slight shake in my hands has already started, and the headache is getting louder every second I spend here too sober.
Thriller is playing through the speakers, and it’s time for me to loosen up and have some fun. Indulge in a little distraction tonight. I’ve been stuck in my head for weeks now, and I am dying for something that will pull me out of this funk.
As soon as the first sip goes down, I lock eyes on my girl—skin-tight black leather wrapped around her body, cat ears poking out from under her beautiful curls, and a tail attached to an ass I’m obsessed with.
She’s standing with Lydia and Lani, who are all coordinated.
Lydia’s Harlequin, Simone is Catwoman, and Lani is, of course, Poison Ivy.
In the middle of laughing, Simone finally looks my way. She’s so beautiful and looks so happy—
Until her smile drops when she locks eyes with me.
She doesn’t miss a beat, placing her water down and sauntering over to me in perfect sync to I Put a Spell On You by Jay Hawkins.
I smile even though she looks pissed. I can’t help it; this girl really has put a spell on me, and I’m happy to be under it.
Lord, please don’t ever let me out of it.
“You look mad,” I say, grinning when she approaches.
She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing on me. “I am.”
“Wanna tell me why?”
“I had a dream about you.”
My brows shoot up, the grin on my face growing. “What kind of dream?”
She slaps me lightly on the arm and looks around. “Not that kind of dream. Get your head out of the gutter.”
I shrug. “I mean, I’d rather have my head between your—”
“Mason!” she hisses.
My hands shoot up in surrender as I start laughing. “Okay, okay. What was the dream about, for real?”
Her face turns to a pout, like she’s debating on not even telling me anymore.
“Come on. Tell me.”
She huffs in resignation. “You were…mean to me.”
I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh. “I was…mean to you?”
Her face hardens even more. “Yes. You really hurt my feelings.”
“I would never dare be mean to you, pretty girl. I should kick dream Mason’s ass.”
I lean in, aiming for her neck, just to mess with her, and she shoves me back, looking around. “Not here.”
I lean back, taking a sip of my drink. “Fine. Then at least let me make it up to you later.”
She keeps her arms crossed. “What if I’m still mad at you later?”
“In the words of Jay Hawkins himself, I don’t care if you want me, I’m yours.”
I quickly pick her up and spin her around before she can protest, moving her into a corner where no one can see us.
I lean down, whispering into her ear, “What do I have to do to get you to forgive me for what that mean old dream Mason did?”
She thinks about it for a moment before turning her head and pointing to her cheek.
Her wish is my command.
I kiss her on the cheek.
Then she points to her neck.
I kiss there too.
She points to her collarbone, and I happily keep kissing wherever she tells me to.
She waits for me to look back up at her before sticking her hand out.
I grab it and kiss the back of it, then look up at her lips.
“Do I get to kiss those, too?”
“Only if you promise to never be mean to me in my dreams again.”
“I’d promise you anything, pretty girl.”
I don’t let her say anything else before I pull her into me, kissing her as desperately as I feel right now. Her hand moves to my hair, and she tugs a little, making me groan. My hand moves to her throat, putting just enough pressure there to make her moan back to me.
She pulls away breathlessly. “Someone’s gonna see.”
I throw my head back in frustration. “I would kiss you on a stage in front of everyone if you’d let me.”
“I’m sure you’d kiss anyone on a stage in front of everyone. No one would be surprised by that. But they would be surprised if they saw it was me.”
Her comment throws me a little. Because ever since the first time Simone and I kissed, I’ve only wanted her.
And she doesn’t even realize that. She doesn’t realize that I don’t think about anyone but her.
She doesn’t realize that I never want to be with anyone else but her.
The one time I tried to be all I could think about was her.
She has plagued my heart and soul completely.
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
It’s a dangerous addiction.
“I don’t want to kiss anyone but you. Anywhere you’d let me, any time you’d let me, and as many times as you’d let me.”
She hums in response like she doesn’t really believe me. “Come on, let’s get back to everyone else, Playboy.”
I grab another beer as we walk back over to the group behind her.
I catch Lydia leaning against Bash with his arm wrapped around her, all protective and shit.
It’s sweet. I love seeing this side of him since they’ve become a little thing.
It really is a stark contrast from the guy I knew two years ago.
Gone are the days you couldn’t get Sebastian Ramos to settle down…
or put a bottle down. Now he’s the guy a girl like Lydia would be proud to bring back home for the holidays.
I mean, he’s always been a stand-up guy, but watching him get his life together, his head together, and his sobriety in check has been pretty cool to watch.
It makes me feel like no soul is too lost to find its way back home if he could do it.
And the way he looks at Lydia, the way he treats her, the way he stands by her no matter the weather that comes her way, makes me so happy for them.
They deserve each other. I’ve never seen him look at a girl with any real interest before, let alone with the love I see in his eyes now.
Even if he hasn’t told her yet, I can see it. I think we all can.
I want that. And I selfishly want it with Simone, even if I know it would never be possible; it would never look the same, never be that healthy kind of love they have.
I don’t know how to love; I only know how to take, how to need, how to fuck things up.
I see parts of myself in Lydia, though. The more I’ve gotten to know her, the more I relate to a lot of the ways she’s dealt with things, especially in her head. I think I’ve got those same demons in mine.
When Simone asked about me being depressed a couple of weeks ago, I denied it.
Mostly because I don’t even know what depression looks like, so I just said I wasn’t.
But I know there are times when I can’t move from my bed for days, or when I do, I just go through the days feeling so numb that I get pretty reckless and purposely try to feel pain just to feel something.
I think that’s why I started drinking so heavily.
It’s the easiest way to switch the shitty feelings into blissfully numb feelings.
I don’t get emotional, but if I did, I’d get emotional over the strength Lydia has. I wish I had half the strength she does.
I look over next to them and see Erik watching Lani when he thinks no one is looking.
I’d like to say I’m more like Bash with my intentions being known with Simone, but I think I’m slowly realizing I might actually be more like Erik in the way I’m pining for someone who’s not even mine.
He’s protective of her, even when she won’t let him close enough to touch her. And as much as I love Erik. I don’t want to end up like him. I don’t want to be drowned by regrets when it comes to love. Yet I have no idea how not to be drowned by waters I can’t even control.
Simone abruptly takes all the girls’ hands and leads them away to dance, nudging me to come too—to dance, with other girls, to make it all not so obvious.
I oblige, saluting the boys as I follow.
Because if I have to fake my way through spinning a couple of girls around to make my way back to Simone and get to dance with her without anyone being suspicious, I’ll do just that.
I let her have her time with the girls, shining bright in the midst of a crowded room, sticking out like the brightest one.
I love watching her be so free. I love the way she doesn’t need alcohol to have fun, to be happy, to enjoy life…to make it through each damn day.
Eventually, after enough girls have tried to get handsy and I’ve had to reject several advances to go upstairs, I make my move to grab Simone. She laughs as she falls into me when I spin her.
I wince a little as she grabs onto my shoulder, and she quickly apologizes, asking if I’m okay.
“Yeah, no, I’m good. Sometimes I forget it’s still healing until someone hits it or I do something I’m not supposed to.”
“You never have been good at following the rules,” she teases.
The song changes into something more fun with a heavier beat. Naturally, I pull Simone into me, wrapping my hands around her waist, with her back against me.
“I hate rules when it comes to you,” I tell her.
She leans her head back, resting it against my chest as she dances. “I think you should take me upstairs before you get too many drinks in to be smart about those rules.”
I’m not gonna argue with that. I take her hand and sneak her away before any of our friends can see.