Page 56 of Fun and Games
I didn't want to get into it. Not with Mason. Not with anyone.
Everyone back in my small hometown knew what had happened, so I'd never had to say the words out loud. I'd never had to explain. I'd never had to confront the reality of it with someone else listening.
I'd never had to confront my own feelings about David's death.
Mason's arms squeezed tight.
"If you want to talk about it, I'll listen," he told me, echoing the same words I'd said to him earlier.
My face did crumple then, eyes screwing shut as tears leaked out. My mouth opened and closed, flapping uselessly. Finally, I managed to force it out.
"I lost someone."
Twenty-Two
After my short confession,Mason made a pained, sympathetic sound and rested his chin on the top of my head.
"One of your parents?" he asked softly.
I shook my head.
"No. My parents and sister are fine. It's…" my voice faltered. "He was… The two of us— Ever since we were kids, we—"
I couldn't continue. Mason held me tighter.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into my hair. "It's hard to lose someone you grew up with."
I inhaled a shaky breath.
"He got sick," I said. "It feels like it happened so fast. One minute he was fine, and the next he wasn't. But it also feels like it took forever. Every excruciating month, every week, every hour… I had to sit by and watch him slowly fade away."
My legs trembled, almost falling out from under me. Mason guided me to sit on the sofa, taking a seat next to me and keeping hold of both my hands.
"I went through all those stages of grief, you know?" I asked in a small voice. "I didn't want to believe the doctors at first. I kept on saying we should get another opinion. I was furious with them. But I couldn't lie to myself. I'd seen him getting steadily worse. Then I tried to plead with the doctors to try one more treatment, to try something, anything, to keep him alive."
Mason's eyes were full of sympathy and pain, but it was a distant kind of pain. He was sad that I was hurting, but he wasn't hurting himself. It was so different from the pain I saw in my parent's and sister's eyes whenever David's name was spoken.
I never talked about David's illness, because I hadn't been able to handle their grief on top of mine. But speaking now, with Mason listening quietly, I didn't have to worry about anyone else's pain. I didn't have to censor myself or pretend I was okay for their sake.
"As much as I begged, there was nothing the doctors could do," I continued. "The cancer had spread too fast. All they could do was make him comfortable. As if anyone could be comfortable knowing they had less than a year to live."
I let out a derisive, gulping snort as the doctor's words rang in my ears. Mason squeezed my hands.
"But somehow, he was able to keep it together," I said. "He didn't give in to depression, like me. He kept a smile on his face, kept telling me not to be sad."
The tears were streaming freely down my cheeks now. Mason gathered me into his arms and tugged me close. I tucked my head under his chin.
"That was the kind of guy he'd always been, ever since we were kids," I said. "He had such a bright, optimistic look on life. He was grateful for the time he had and didn't waste it mourning the time he'd lost."
My breath hitched as I tried to continue speaking, but my throat had closed up. Mason stroked my hair, fingers sifting through the strands, and ran a gentle hand up and down my back.
I closed my eyes, resting my cheek on his chest, and fought to inhale deeply. His familiar oak and honey scent filled my nose. It had a calming effect on me, and soon I was able to take in air without the risk of sobbing.
"I tried to do what he told me," I continued. "I tried to smile. I tried to think of the good times. But when he took his last breath in front of me, something inside me broke."
I could remember the feeling as if it had only happened yesterday. It had been almost audible. I had felt my heart shatter, had felt the shards exploding outwards and burying themselves into my guts, into every organ, cutting me up from the inside.
At that moment, I had started to bleed from a hundred wounds. Sometimes it felt as if the bleeding had never stopped.
