44. Mason #3
“I’d rather walk back across this campus naked during a hail storm.”
Erik smirks at her.
“Don’t picture that,” she scolds.
His hands shoot up. “I would never objectify you like that.”
She rolls her eyes. “Lyd, why did you have to go and fall for someone with the scum of the earth as his best friend?”
“Damn,” I murmur, and Erik shoots me a look. “My bad,” I say, trying not to laugh.
When I look at Bash, I see him biting back a smile, too.
“I’m so ready for you to be gone next year,” Lani sneers at him.
I really do feel bad for the guy, even though he seems like he loves riling her up.
Erik is one of the nicest guys I know, and it makes me really want to know what he did to piss off little Ms. Poison.
He just smiles down at her. “Well, that sucks, seeing as I’ll still be here.”
“You failed your senior year?” she laughs out. “Hmm, Mr. Perfect ain’t so perfect after all, I see.”
“No,” he says mockingly. “It’s called grad school, angel.”
Her face switches from delight to downright pissed as she closes the space between them, shoving her finger into his chest. “Do not call me that.”
“There she is,” Erik says, biting back his smile.
That boy is a masochist when it comes to her.
Lani turns around to the girls, obviously heated. “Can we get out of here now? Please.”
They all say their goodbyes and go to walk off.
I keep my head down, mumbling my goodbyes so I don’t have to see the one face I’m avoiding. When I finally look up to watch Simone walk away, I see she didn’t move. She’s still standing there, looking at me.
“Are you not gonna talk to me?” she asks quietly, almost reserved.
I hate the way her face drops and looks hurt. It makes me want to pull her into me, makes me want to kiss that sadness off her face. But I can’t. I won’t keep making myself look stupid with her.
After Jackie, I told myself I wouldn’t do this shit again.
Yet here I am. I’m so over it. People might treat me like the dumb frat party guy around campus who doesn’t have feelings and hooks up with anyone willing, but I’m not that, and I’m not stupid.
If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s when to shut it all off and protect myself.
I let out a bitter little laugh and look away. “Goodnight, Simone.”
I hear her huff and turn towards the girls. “I’m gonna have one of the Gamma girls drive me,” she calls out. “I—forgot I needed to talk to someone back inside.”
“You sure?” Lydia calls back.
I lean my arms on the rail, keeping my head down.
“Yeah, I’ll text you if anything changes.”
“Okay. Be safe!”
The silence takes over as they all leave. It’s just us now, but I don’t look up.
“What’s going on, Mason?” she finally asks. “What was that upstairs?”
I shrug, still avoiding looking at her. “Reality?”
I feel her step closer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I say, pushing off the railing. “I’m gonna grab another drink.”
She steps in front of me. “No.”
I stop short. “Excuse me?”
“Talk to me,” she says. “You’ve had enough to drink tonight.”
I let out a humorless laugh, getting annoyed. “I don’t need you playing mom to me, and you don’t need to pretend to care.”
Her face falls, and her voice softens. It’s more caring now. “I’m not pretending.”
“I can take care of myself,” I snap. “It’s a party. I’m here to have fun.”
“Is that what this is?” she asks quietly. “Fun?”
I don’t answer.
Her eyes plead with me to just stop, but I can’t. “Mason…the drinking is getting out of hand.”
“Okay, and? We’re in college. Maybe you should say screw the dry semester thing and have a drink yourself. You’re so uptight right now.”
“This is more than just college drinking, Mase.”
I feel the anger starting to spike. Not at her, more at myself, that it’s so obvious to her, that she sees through the mask I normally wear around here.
“I don’t have a drinking problem,” I say flatly.
“Don’t you, though?”
It’s not patronizing; there’s caring in her words…yet I still don’t want them.
I take her chin and lift her face to look at me, willing the words to be stronger than I feel right now. “I’m not. A fucking. Alcoholic. Okay? And I don’t need you pretending like you care.”
“I do care,” she spits.
For a moment, I almost believe her. Then logic takes over, reminding me where the line was drawn in this relationship from the start.
I huff out a laugh. “Like I said, I’m good.”
She looks like she’s about to cry, and I fucking hate it, hate that I’m doing that to her. “You really don’t think you have a problem, Mase?”
“I have a lot of problems,” I tell her flatly. “Drinking isn’t one of them.”
She shakes her head. “Mason…I don’t think I’ve ever kissed you and not tasted alcohol. In the morning, at night, or in the middle of the fucking day. It’s always there. That’s not just party shit.”
That hits me. It pushes reality right in front of my face. Right where I don’t want it to be.
I can’t stop myself from lashing out at her…because it’s easier than breaking down and being weak.
I aggressively pull her face closer to me and then kiss her. It’s rough and greedy and apologizing without any words before I do what I do best—self-sabotage.
“Well, there’s one for the road,” I tell her, backing up. “You don’t have to be around me.”
Her eyes widen. “Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know. But I know it’s what you want.”
“You don’t know what I want,” she says, voice shaking now. “You’re just avoiding the question.”
Because the answer is terrifying. Because all I want is her.
Because relying on people for your happiness is so fucking dangerous, especially when you’re barely hanging on as it is.
Giving people that kind of power is the equivalent of telling them to kick the chair from under you as you hang from a rope.
She already feels like a heartache. One I’d rather get in front of than be dragged in the mud by.
“I know that I don’t want this,” I say finally.
She stares at me like I slapped her.
I turn toward the door, needing to get away from all of this, needing to stop the crash that’s already in motion.
She follows me inside, and I can feel her anger behind me.
I grab a drink from the table—
And she snatches it out of my hand.
“Mason.”
I spin on her. “Give it back.”
“No.”
“Simone—”
“Stop fucking running,” she snaps. “Be a man and tell me what the hell is going on.”
People are starting to watch.
I grab her wrist and pull her down the hall, into the bathroom, shutting the door behind us.
I rip the drink back and take a long swallow.
She grabs it again and dumps it straight into the sink.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she yells.
“What’s wrong with you?” I fire back. “You don’t get to control me.”
“I’m not trying to control you,” she says, almost crying now. “I’m trying not to lose you!”
I freeze at that, not knowing how to accept it.
“You wanna know what’s wrong with me?” I ask with a bitter bite in my tone.
She nods, but the look on her face is scared, bracing for whatever I’ll say.
“What’s wrong with me is that I regret how far I let this thing go, Simone. It was a very stupid thing for us to do.”
She stands there stunned, like the words don’t register fully.
My head spins from the alcohol, and I can barely keep myself up, but I push the words out anyway.
“I know exactly how this ends,” I continue with no filter.
“Either you don’t feel the same, and I get hurt—or you do, and I fuck it all up eventually anyway.
Either way, I lose. You lose. This whole thing was a mistake. ”
Her face crumples.
“That’s not fair,” she whispers.
“Maybe not, but it’s the truth.”
“You say that like I’m so easily disposable. Like this was just—”
“It was just lust,” I snap. “We were horny. That’s it.”
The lie tastes like blood, and I hate the way it feels spilling out.
But that’s what I am to everyone, right? Some horny college guy that sticks it in everything that moves. Not someone that has fucking feelings.
She shakes her head, backing toward the door. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
I don’t.
She reaches for the handle, and I grab her wrist. “Wait.”
She turns back to me, tears streaking down her face. “Please…just let me go. We can talk when you’re sober.” She pauses, giving me a look of disdain and disappointment. “If you can manage.”
That one hurts.
She slips out of my grasp and walks away, the door closing behind her.
I’m left standing in the bathroom with the sink still dripping, and the mirror reflecting someone I don’t recognize. I guess the costume is pretty fitting, though. I feel like a prisoner. In my own head, in this damn life, in the fucking performance I’m always putting on.
I just want to feel normal for once. That’s all. That’s all I’m ever searching for.
Normal.
I walk out of the bathroom, slamming the door closed, and grab two of the closest bottles I see, walking upstairs to my room for the night. If I can’t have normal, I’d rather have quiet. I’d rather forget about the one person who makes me feel alive—who just walked out on me.
I keep drinking until my throat burns and begs me to stop. And even then, I keep going, wanting it to hurt. The warmth spreads through my body, and my beating heart finally starts to slow.
I feel like I’m constantly chasing that first taste of relief alcohol gave me all those years ago.
I can never quite reach it anymore…but I keep trying.
What other option do I have?