56. Simone #2
I’m watching him again instead of being with him. That’s when I know it’s gotten too far.
He grabs another cup from the counter before I can stop him.
“Mason,” I say, reaching for his wrist gently. “You’ve had enough.”
He looks down at my hand like it’s foreign.
“I’m fine,” he says immediately.
“You’re not.”
He just laughs like I made a joke. “Simone.”
“I’m serious.”
He lifts the cup again, and I grab it before he can drink it.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “That’s enough.”
Something flickers across his face—annoyance.
He snatches it back from me before I can react and downs it in one motion.
“Don’t ruin tonight,” he says. It’s not mean, but sharp enough to hurt my feelings.
I step back, a little hurt. “I’m not ruining anything. I’m trying to help you.”
“Well, you are,” he says, swaying and having to grab onto someone’s shoulder beside him.
I can see the flip switching from fun to disaster, and I want nothing to do with it.
I thought I could handle tonight. I thought I could get enough alcohol in me not to care as I watch him go as far as his body will let him. But I can’t. No amount of alcohol will make me not care. And if I can’t stop it, I can’t watch it either.
I take another step back, looking around. Looking for a place to go. Anywhere but here. As I turn to walk away, his hand grabs my wrist gently, pulling my attention back to him.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie automatically, trying to keep the tears from falling.
“Where are you going?”
“I just…need some air.”
“But…you’re good?” he slurs.
I just nod, not being able to speak. “Mhm.”
I turn and walk away before he can ask anything else, before I end up crying in front of him.
“You want me to come?” he shouts across the room.
I turn, only feet away from him. The part of me that always says yes almost answers. But I’m just so tired tonight.
“No,” I tell him. “Enjoy your night, Mason.”
He studies me for half a second like he’s trying to decide whether or not to push. Then someone shouts his name again, and he looks over his shoulder.
“Don’t disappear on me now,” he says.
I don’t respond. I just walk away.
Outside, the air is cool and damp. I sit on the front steps and pull my knees to my chest, taking another long drink from the cup I brought with me.
It doesn’t help.
It makes me more aware.
More sad.
More angry.
I’m angry at him, at myself, at the fact that I love someone who won’t choose himself, let alone me.
Music flows through the walls behind me, and a constant string of laughter spills out of the open windows. I wipe at my eyes and tell myself I’m just being dramatic.
It’s just alcohol.
It’s just college life.
It won’t be forever.
Will we even be forever?
How would we be forever when we aren’t even anything yet?
The logical side of my brain knows this isn’t just a college phase; this isn’t just a wild night. It’s every night with him.
I end up going back inside because sitting alone out here feels pathetic, and I’m going to continue to overthink everything if I stay out here.
Walking back inside, the contrast from being outside hits me. It’s hotter inside now, muggier. And the music is too loud, making my head start to spin.
As soon as I step into the open living room space, I find Mason.
But he’s not alone.
Not only are there about ten other guys standing around him, but there’s a girl. Bleach blonde, tight dress, short, tiny—the opposite of me. The kind of girl who looks like she actually fits perfectly with him.
Her hand is on his chest, and she’s laughing like whatever he just said was the funniest thing in the world. He’s smiling too—that stupid, perfect, intoxicating smile of his that anyone could get wrapped up in.
Jealousy flares in my chest, hell, in my entire body.
He can barely keep his eyes open, but he does enough to hold a conversation with the chick.
Everything about it is too friendly. Maybe not sexual, but entirely too fucking friendly.
Every thought fires off in my head about how we’re nothing, how he owes no loyalty to me.
If he were to find someone else—someone who was perfectly fine with how he dealt with everything, or even better, someone who didn’t care—he would have every right to pursue them if he wanted.
I’m the one who has never put a label on us.
Tonight could be the night he realizes that, too, and gets tired of the waiting game.
I can’t stomach the thought of him with someone else. I can’t stay here and watch something happen that my heart isn’t prepared to see. He’s drunk. He could very well say fuck me in his state and go back to his old ways, hooking up with any available body nearby.
I beeline out of the room and into the kitchen, where I thankfully find some Gamma girls I can hide out with. I pretend to be interested in whatever they’re talking about, trying desperately not to go back into that room, trying desperately not to let my insecurities take over every thought.
As the night winds down and I’ve hit my limit on the amount of alcohol I can drink, I go to pull out my phone and call Lani to come pick me up, but stop when a couple of other girls from Zeta walk over to us, laughing loudly and talking to one of our girls in a hushed voice.
“…and then he literally took her upstairs,” one of them says.
“Who?” another asks, louder now.
“Mason.”
My ears ring at the name.
“The blonde?” she asks, shocked, almost like she’s jealous of the girl.
“Yeah. Like five minutes ago.”
My heart stops.
“Upstairs?” someone giggles.
“Yeah, to his room.”
The words land like a blow, like a straight slap to the face.
I don’t react in front of them. I just set my cup down slowly and walk away, straight towards the stairs. My legs feel like they don’t belong to me. Every step is louder than it should be in this already loud house.
When I reach the top, I see his door.
Closed…with a sock hanging on the handle.
My chest caves in, and the world narrows to that stupid fucking piece of fabric.
I don’t go any closer. I don’t need to. The implication is enough. I can’t handle hearing anything. I can’t handle that confirmation.
I turn around so fast I nearly trip down the first step.
By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, tears are blurring everything. I push through people blindly and head for the front door.
“Simone?” Tank grabs my arm gently before I make it down the front steps. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, wiping my face fast. “I just want to go home.”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m fine.”
He studies me. “What did Mason do?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Nothing.”
“Don’t make me have to kick his ass when he gets back.”
I look at him, confused. “Get back?”
“Yeah, he rode with Tanner to go on a beer run.”
“When?”
“Like ten minutes ago?”
My brain stutters, not knowing what to make of that information, wanting it to be true, but knowing that’s just my stupid heart being hopeful.
I let out this hollow laugh. “Well, he must have gotten sidetracked up in his room.”
Tank frowns. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Do you need a ride home?”
“No.” I pull my arm free gently. “I’m good.”
And then I walk. Across the lawn. Across campus. Alone. Not wanting to call anyone anymore. Not wanting to feel this pain…again.
Mason knew what Tyler did to me. He knew how much it crushed me.
He knew what it did to my head. Yet he turned around and did the same thing.
Drunk or not. It’s not an excuse. I don’t care what labels we do or don’t have.
He knows what we are. He knows how I feel about him.
And I thought I knew how he felt about me. But I guess not.
I’m so tired of feeling like this. I’m tired of being the strong one. The one constantly pulling other people away from their shitty choices, trying to stop them from making mistakes that will hurt them, trying to save them from themselves. Asking them not to hurt me in the process.
I’m always everyone else’s shoulder that they lean on, and I just want someone I can fucking lean on, too. Someone who doesn’t disappear into a bottle. Someone who doesn’t make me question whether I matter or not.
By the time I reach my dorm, my chest feels hollow. I stop at the door and close my eyes, feeling overwhelmed.
Fuck this. It’s time to choose myself.