52. Mason #3
“Don’t flatter yourself. I care about what it means, how it’ll affect the future.”
“You mean how it’ll affect your future legacy?” I ask mockingly.
He nods like I’m stupid, like what else would it be? “Um, yeah.”
“Well, your legacy is fine. And your son is fine too, not that you asked or even care.”
“That’s a load of shit. You think I don’t know you haven’t been back to therapy once since you came back after break? And now you’re drunk in the middle of the day?”
He pushes off the fence and grabs his sunglasses, taking his shirt to wipe them off, just to put them back on his head.
I say nothing.
“You have until the end of this school year to make a decision,” he continues. “Rehab program this summer…or…you’re cut off completely.”
That’s not what I expected him to say.
“Cut off?”
“No money. No tuition. No frat house. No car. Nothing.” He steps closer. “You will not embarrass me. You will not embarrass my name.”
I swallow, thinking about everything, about whatever future I have to hold on to, about my brother’s future, about the possibility of dealing with him for this long just to lose any safety net in life he can provide me.
When I don’t answer, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolling and hitting call before raising the phone to his ear.
He looks over at me one last time. “I don’t even want to see your face right now. I’m going home.”
“To the hotel?” I ask absentmindedly.
“To Florida.”
I don’t know if I’m more hurt or relieved by that.
He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even look back at me as he starts to walk away, talking to the person on the other end of the phone.
I take a moment to gather myself before I walk back over to everyone.
I feel so fucking embarrassed and exactly like the piece of shit my dad thinks I am.
I try to put on the nonchalant, easy-going mask when I make my way back to the group. Everyone is still standing together, talking, but when Simone sees me, she immediately sees something’s off.
She doesn’t say anything at first. She just grabs my hand.
“Come with me,” she says softly.
She leads me to the parking lot, and we walk silently together until we stop at my car.
“What did he say?” she asks.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell her, leaning against my driver’s side door.
“You can tell me,” she says gently. “You know I’m always here.”
I can’t tell her. I can’t have her looking at me the same way he does. Having her hate me and be disappointed would completely destroy me.
“I really just can’t, Simone.”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling the need eating at me. I just want to go back to the house. I just want to act like this day never happened.
“Mase—”
“Please,” I beg. “Just stop!”
“What is going on with you?” She asks, genuinely concerned and confused by what’s happening and how I’m acting.
I can’t focus, and I need her to just stop right now. Talking is making this all so much worse.
“Fuck, Simone,” I grit out. “I don’t wanna talk right now.”
The emotions are too heavy, sitting on my chest, pressing against my rib cage. It feels hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to even swallow. I feel like I can’t focus. My chest feels too tight.
I slide down against my car, tucking my head into my knees, covering my face with my arms. I try to just breathe, try not to let these feelings take over. I don’t know what’s happening. I feel like my heart is beating out of my chest. I feel…I feel like I’m dying.
Simone bends down and reaches to lift my face up, making me look at her.
“Hey, it’s okay. Look at me,” she says, coaxing me to calm down. “Focus on slowing your breathing down.”
I try to focus on her, try to slow my breaths, but nothing is helping. My head feels tight, the back of my eyes hurt, my skin is crawling, and I can’t shake the intense feeling that something’s wrong. Very wrong.
Simone leans back, sitting down on the pavement with me, and then rummages through her purse. I just watch her as she pulls out an instant ice pack, breaking it with her hands and then placing it on the back of my neck. The cold shocks my system, making all the sensations lessen a notch.
“Look at me,” she says gently.
I do.
I look up into her eyes, and there’s no judgment there, no annoyance, nothing but genuine care.
Once I’m calm enough and don’t feel like I’m going to have a heart attack, I take her hand in mine and kiss the back of it. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay, Mason.”
“I didn’t mean to throw my irritation in your direction.”
“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
I look up at her, so confused by how she’s always the perfect anchor.
“How did you know that would work?” I ask, nodding my head in the direction of the ice pack.
She grins shyly. “I always keep them in my purse. I just um…I learned they really helped when Lydia would have panic attacks.”
I shake my head in disbelief at this girl. “You really are an angel sent from above, huh?”
She blushes and lets out a little laugh. “No, just a friend who cares about the people she loves.”
I give her a teasing look, feeling a little more like myself now. “You love me?”
She tilts her head and gives me a knowing look as she smiles that beautiful smile of hers. “I didn’t say that.”
“A lot of things don’t need to be said to be true,” I tell her.
I don’t even think about us being in a public place where anyone can see when I take her face in my hands and kiss her. She melts into it, and I can feel her smiling against my lips.
Then she stiffens, pulling back. Her eyes change when she looks at me this time.
“Have you…been drinking?” she asks quietly.
The shame hits first.
Fuck.
The one thing I was so worried about not letting happen…I let it happen.
How could you be so stupid?
“Why?” she whispers, pulling me back from my thoughts.
Anger hits next. Not at her, at myself. Still, it doesn’t stop it from going in her direction. Which makes me hate myself even more.
“Because I’m a fucking addict, Simone,” I tell her with such self-deprecation in my voice. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she says in this pleading voice that makes me both want to pull her into a hug and also yell at her to get away from me—away from the destruction.
Instead, a sarcastic laugh makes its way out. “That’s not really how this works. I don’t get to just wave some magic wand and make the urges go away, make the pain go away, make all of the fucked up voices in my head go away.”
Her face falls. “I just…I want to understand…and help.”
“That’s the problem,” I say, pushing off the car and pacing a few steps away. “You think this is something you can even understand.”
“I’m trying—”
“I wake up, and it’s already there,” I say, cutting her off. “Before my feet even hit the floor, Simone…it’s there. You think I want that?”
The alcohol is making everything louder—my head, this conversation, the feelings.
She swallows. “No.”
“You think I enjoy feeling like this?” I gesture at myself. “Like I’m constantly five seconds away from either punching someone or falling apart?”
Her voice softens. “No.”
“Then stop looking at me like I’m choosing this.”
Silence.
And in that silence, I see it.
She isn’t looking at me like I’m choosing it. She’s looking at me like she’s scared for me.
My shoulders drop just slightly. “I can’t do sober right now,” I admit. “I tried.”
She moves closer. “Then let me help you.”
“That’s the thing,” I tell her, shaking my head. “You can’t.”
Her face cracks just a little. “I still want to try.”
“I don’t need your fixing.”
“You need support.”
“I need a different brain. What I don’t need is your sympathy. It’s not going to help me be any less of what I am.”
She looks hurt, like I’m hurting her by putting all the walls back up between us.