46. Mason #3
“I kept telling myself I was fine,” he continues. “That I had control. That I could stop whenever I wanted. And then one day I realized I didn’t actually know how to exist without it as a crutch.”
My jaw tightens, knowing just how much I’ve been using it as my crutch for years now.
“And that scared me,” he adds, getting honest. “Not the drinking, but the fact that I couldn’t sit alone with my own head.”
I rub my thumb over my jaw, forcing the tension out. “Did you have…withdrawals?”
“What are you currently feeling?” he asks without missing a beat.
“I’m not feeling anything. I was just curious about your journey.”
I hate the way the lie feels. But I just can’t…can’t say out loud how this feels. I can’t admit to being such a failure.
He doesn’t call me on it, just lets it pass.
“It can be different for everyone,” he says.
“For me, it was restlessness. I couldn’t sleep.
Couldn’t focus. Everything felt like too much—every thought and every sensory input, like lights and sounds.
I was pissed all the time for no reason.
And the nightmares…the nightmares got really bad.
When I just wanted to escape in my sleep, my sleep became torture too. ”
I laugh under my breath. “I can relate to that last part.”
I can relate to all of it.
“Yeah,” he says, not pushing for more.
Bash always seems so calm, but there’s depth there. The weight of his own baggage always with him.
“The hardest part,” he goes on, “was realizing alcohol wasn’t the problem. It was just the solution I picked.”
Hmm. Yeah. I hate that it’s the solution I picked. It’s really doing a shit job right now.
“It worked,” he says simply. “Until it didn’t. And then it just made everything worse.”
“So what’d you do instead?” I ask. “When it got bad.”
“I sat with it,” he says. “Hated it. White-knuckled it. I would call and talk to people I didn’t want to but knew I needed to, or check in with people I knew would be there for me when I was struggling.
Sometimes I just put it all into something physical—running, working out, or even a simple walk when I was feeling a little too lazy and self-loathing.
Sometimes I just…didn’t do anything and let the urge pass. ”
“That actually works?” I ask.
“Eventually,” he says. “Not right away…but yeah. Urges peak and fall like waves. You just gotta not drown in the middle of it.”
I stare at the dark window across the room. “Feels like I’m drowning right now,” I finally admit.
“I know,” he says. And the way he says it makes my chest loosen a notch. There’s no pity or feeling sorry for me in his tone. “But you’re still on the phone and not in the liquor cabinet. That counts.”
I huff. “That’s a low bar to have.”
“Still counts, though.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for more from me if I want to give it.
“Hey,” Bash says gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
I scoff. “Yeah, I kinda do.”
“No,” he counters. “You just have to be honest.”
I don’t answer, and he doesn’t pry.
“Can you do something for me?” he asks after a moment.
“What’s up?”
“Can you keep checking in with me?”
He doesn’t have to say anything else, doesn’t have to over-explain himself. He just offers his hand and lets me decide to take it or not.
“Um…yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that.”
“I’m always here, Mase. And I’ll always try to answer, no matter the time. I’m kind of a heavy sleeper, but you caught me on a night I was up watching—”
He stops mid-sentence, and I can’t stop the intrigued smile that creeps onto my face.
“Watching what?”
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
“What were you up watching?” I ask him again, insisting.
“None of your business.”
“Oh, come on. I need to know now.”
He lets out a long sigh, and my smile gets bigger. “I was up watching…”
“Uh huh…”
“America’s Next Top Model,” he murmurs.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t really hear you. Can you repeat that?”
“No,” he says flatly.
I let out the laugh I was holding in, and it feels good, feels like exactly what I needed.
“My favorite episode is the one where Cassandra from cycle five walks out,” I say.
Now I hear Bash trying not to laugh on the other end of the call. “Since when do you watch America’s Next Top Model?”
I pause, hating the memories that pop up.
“Um, I—“ I shake my head. “Simone always had me watching it with her.”
Bash sucks his teeth. “So that’s why Lydia loves it so much, huh?”
I smile at the thought of them two. “I love seeing you in love, man.”
“Shut up. I know you can’t be talking. I see how much Simone has you wrapped around her finger.”
“Had,” I say without thinking.
He lets that sit for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ll fix things with her once I get my shit together.”
“Well, I’m rooting for ya.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime,” he replies. “And I know you’re just gonna gag when I say this, but…I’m proud of you.”
I make a gagging sound and then force a small laugh.
Trying not to get emotional, I find a reason to get off the call after that. “I um…I gotta run, okay?”
“Of course. Call whenever, Mase.”
“I will.”
The call ends, and the room goes quiet again.
The noise in my head is finally a little less loud. And for tonight, that feels like enough.