Page 77 of Fun and Games
"I was really worried about you," Mason said. "You've never yelled like that before. And then you refused to reply to me." His brows furrowed, his expression less concerned now and more upset. "I had no idea what was going on."
I nodded miserably, acknowledging my wrongdoings and accepting his ire.
"I'm sorry." I met his eyes again, trying to keep my bottom lip from trembling, hoping that he could see my genuine remorse. "I want to explain. And apologize."
There was a pause, and I wondered if maybe Mason was going to tell me to leave, to kick me out the same as I'd done to him.
"There was something in that package," he said. It was a statement, not a question.
My heart pounded a heavy, throbbing beat. I wanted to explain to Mason why I'd acted the way I had, but that meant I had to keep talking about the one subject I'd been trying to avoid for years. It had been hard enough confiding in him the first time.
But I forced myself to take in a deep breath and nodded.
"David's mom found some things from back home," I said. "Things from back when he was still—" My throat closed up.
Mason let out a soft sigh through his nose and put a hand on my arm, guiding me to sit down on the living room sofa. I kept my bag in my lap, holding it to me like a safety blanket.
Mason sat next to me, settling against the arm of the sofa, and waited.
I clutched at my bag, fisting the straps. I took a moment to gather myself.
"When I first left my tiny hometown, I pretty much did a clean sweep of my life," I started. "Since I'm always traveling, I have to pack light. Only one suitcase and a few smaller bags. I've kept a few important sentimental things, but it's been a while since I've been confronted with stuff from the past."
I briefly flicked my eyes up to Mason's and saw him listening intently, patiently. I hurried to continue, to get everything out before I gave in to tears.
"When I saw the stuff David's mom sent me, all those memories came flooding back. It wasn't all bad. There were lots of good times. But some of it…" I swallowed heavily. "It was too much to take. It hurt too much. I knew I was going to fall apart, and I didn't want you to be there to see it. I didn't want you to think I was that weak. So I yelled at you to go away. I didn't want you to see me like that."
"I would never think you're weak," Mason said. "You're human and dealing with something terrible that happened to you."
"That's the thing." I forced myself to stare him steadily in the eyes. "I'm not."
He looked at me quizzically.
"Not what?" he asked.
"Not dealing with it," I replied. "You were right. I've been running. I've been trying to outrun my feelings, my memories. I haven't been healing anything. I've been suppressing it."
Mason opened his mouth and closed it, looking at a loss for words.
"I don't want to run from things anymore," I told him. "I want to face them head on."
"How are you going to do that?" he asked softly.
"I don't know," I confessed truthfully. "I don't know how someone gets over something like that. I watched a loved one get sick and wither away. I don't know if you can just get over it. Maybe the best I can hope for is to learn to live with it. To accept it. To remember the good times. To focus on the time we had together instead of the time we lost." I bowed my head and looked down at my hands, clasped so tightly the knuckles had turned white.
Mason covered my hands with his large palms.
"I'll help you in any way I can," he said. "I want you to know I'm here for you."
I looked up at him with a wavering smile.
"You're a really great guy, Mason," I told him.
He quirked a smile.
"I try," he said, lightly teasing.
I let out a soft, snorting laugh.
