9. Lilah #2
But every night, after listening to my mom’s message on repeat, I found myself curled up in bed, head under the covers to block out any extra light, eyes closed as I listened to him paint the picture of rain-slicked cobblestone streets in Ireland filled with hidden dangerous vampires and werewolves and the woman trying to finally get answers about her twin’s disappearance.
And then I was cleared to return to school. Half days at first to help me readjust. Not the worst way to wade back into the shark tank.
There was a sick, stirring anticipation of returning to Hawthorne, and not because of how behind on assignments I was or how many sewing lab tutoring hours I’d missed out on.
This was because Mason and I would be seats apart during English and in the textile lab.
Maybe I needed another concussion check.
Why the hell did I want to see him again?
After the voice notes, my brain was even fuzzier than it was in the days after I got home from the hospital. I chucked a bucket of cold water on every hopeful spark. Mason had made my life hell. He’d tried to break me down after sweet moments and shattered promises.
But when he’d found me out walking the other night, escape hadn’t been the first thought in my mind. Longing bubbled up, but I tamped it down.
Why was he doing any of this? The question ricocheted inside my mind. In the hours without the distractions of homework, just slow walks around the garden and staring at my ceiling, my hold on sanity blurred and none of this made sense.
Not our summer together, the vicious way he turned on me, or this abrupt switch, which made whiplash feel like a comforting hug.
Every gesture I could interpret as kind felt like another piece of cheese leading me toward a trap I’d be unable to escape. Like the summer, but worse. Like a sweet little treat to lull me into a false sense of security until he found another way to make me hate every moment of my existence.
Staring up at the ivy-covered building from the front steps, I refortified my shell for whatever might be waiting for me in the halls of Hawthorne Prep on my first half day back.
And there was nothing.
No snide remarks, no notes dropped on my desk, just a return to the status quo before the status quo had become “treat Lilah like crap.”
I’d been expecting the hallway whispers or cutting glances, maybe an old-school tripping or playing backpack hockey with my bag to begin the second I stepped through the doors, but people seemed to be going out of their way not to notice me.
Not like a shunning or even how I’d originally faded into the background as one of the handful of scholarship kids, but almost like people wanted to look, but kept themselves from it—mostly.
As I approached my locker, a girl moved out of the way and even shot me a small smile.
Weird beyond weird. All it did was shine a magnifying glass on how terrible the start of my senior year had been. Common politeness felt foreign.
Paige sprinted over to me and squeezed me in a rib-aching hug.
“Finally, you’re here.” She pressed her palm against my forehead. “How do you feel?”
I shook her off with a laugh. “I’m the same as yesterday.”
She seemed flustered and flushed, eyes scanning my face. “I thought you were coming at the beginning of the day.”
“No, I wanted to ease in. I’m in the sewing lab for lunch and then the last three classes of the day.”
“Do you want me to carry your bag? Do you want me to get you food?”
She hefted my backpack off the floor. Her hovering seemed odd at my house, but now surrounded by our classmates, the overboard coddling wrapped bands of unease around my stomach. Was I missing something?
“I’ve got it, Paige.” I pulled my bag back. “I had a sandwich before I came in. What is up with you?”
“Nothing, just so glad you’re back.” She squeezed my arm.
“Me too. Okay…I’m going to go.” I tried to walk past, but she got in front of me.
“Want me to walk you there?” Her class was in the opposite wing from mine.
“I can make it myself.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you okay? ’Cause you’re freaking me out right now. Did something happen while I was gone?”
She straightened and uncreased her eyebrows. “No, nothing. I’m great if you’re great.” Her weak smile did nothing to settle me.
“I am. See you later.”
The hallway had emptied with most people in the dining hall or outside soaking up the last viable moments of outdoor eating time before winter fully set in.
But I headed to the room I’d missed after almost two and a half weeks trapped in the house. A couple of other students were inside and waved or smiled when I walked in.
Before September, a wave wouldn’t have even registered. Now the shift was palpable.
The last project I’d been working on waited for me in my extra-deep bin. The buttery, smooth fabric glided beneath my fingers. A pain in the ass to sew, but cloud-soft against the skin.
Taking my time, I went back over the piece to be sure I remembered where everything went. Maybe I should start on something else, so I didn’t ruin a paycheck’s worth of fabric. Taking a deep breath, I sunk into the space I’d missed when trapped at home and reveled in the normalcy of the moment.
The classroom door flew open during my backstitch. I grabbed my scissors to snip the thread and looked up, fingers stalling on the metal.
Mason rushed inside, face flushed and a little sweaty. His gaze locked onto me.
Only this time it wasn’t barbed. More of a gentle caress.
A gentle pluck of the thread connecting us, but that was all in my head, wasn’t it?
There wasn’t the gut-churning hopelessness that usually followed when he turned his attention to me.
A comforting feeling spread over me, which unnerved me more than my usual dread.
Dread I understood—it kept me safe. This wasn’t safe. Warm fuzzies about Mason were as safe as stepping into traffic. Why did my body suddenly have a death wish?
The hand hanging at his side was still in a brace.
Had hockey games started already? Crutches, braces, bandages, casts.
Havoc weren’t known for being gentle on the ice.
It wasn’t unusual for them to walk the halls with a butterfly bandage over an eye or be on crutches for a few weeks.
Rye took his fair share of hits, which was why I couldn’t bring myself to watch more than one game a year.
It looked like I wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough couple of weeks, although his injury was probably due to something a little more blood-thirsty than having too much to drink.
Mason didn’t come over, didn’t taunt me or do more than shoot a couple of quick glances my way before he grabbed his bin and sat at one of the sewing tables.
Pieces of fabric were sewn together. He’d been making progress?
So showing up here hadn’t only been about messing with me? Had one of the other girls helped him while I’d been gone?
An irrational burst of jealousy shot through me. I shoved it away, dropped my gaze and went back to my project, trying to ignore how Mason watched me. And how that turned my insides to ribbons of silk and satin.
Every scrape and shuffle painted a hyperaware picture of him as he moved around the room.
Moving on to my next set of pinned fabric, I basted the two pieces together, keeping focused on the task at hand.
Concentration came at a premium now, but there wasn’t the dull ache in my head that started after thirty minutes of chemistry or calculus.
Here, the work flowed and it didn’t feel like I needed to fight to make it happen.
“Lilah, can I get your help over here?”
I kept my head down and wouldn’t meet his gaze. That felt dangerous, but for different reasons now. I wanted to go to him.
After stalling, I got up and stood at the far end of his machine. “What did you need?”
“I finished almost everything. How do I get the elastic inside the waistband?” He held up blue and white boxers. They were rough around the edges and one leg was a little longer than the other, but he’d gotten it done.
A small smile cracked my resolve. “Ah, I’ve got just what you need.”
I went to the supply shelf and pulled out a massive safety pin almost as long as my palm. “You pin this to one end of the elastic and feed it through.”
He made no move to take it from my hand after I stabbed one end of the loose elastic.
Against my better judgment, I met his gaze.
He stared at me, almost like he was trying to figure something out.
Heat crept up my neck, burning my ears. “Did you need me to show you?”
“No, I can figure it out.” But he still didn’t reach for the safety pin.
“If you need help, let me know.” I stood there, not sure I should bring up the voice notes.
A lump lodged in my throat and I wondered if saying it aloud would make it all disappear.
I had the urge to pull out my phone and double-check that the messages actually existed.
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” I set the pin down and turned to walk back to my desk.
“Lilah?”
I stopped and spun around. A woozy rush flooded my head. I reached for the table.
Mason’s seat scraped against the floor, and he was there cupping my elbow, so gently, before I could put my hand down.
“You okay?” He searched my face, concern in his eyes.
My skin buzzed where he touched me. “Fine. Just turned too quickly. All good now.” I smiled, hoping to reassure him and everyone else in the room, and stepped back, away from his touch.
“Lilah?” His searching gaze probed so hard that I wondered if it was causing the nudge of pain at the back of my head. Or it might’ve been how my pulse throbbed between my ears.
A tense shift swallowed up the space between us. His face closed off again. “Never mind.”
And just like that, the warm fluster gave way to gnawing worry. I stayed focused on my project and he did, too, until he left without saying another word to me.
It went on like that for my first week.
Mason hadn’t chummed the water, but that didn’t mean I was safe from being tugged back under the murky waves.