Page 59 of The Young & the Sinner

“You’re welcome.”

We sat in silence for a while, and even though I really wanted to say something to him— anything that might make me sound interesting and clever—nothing came to mind.

Unlike me, Mason seemed quite comfortable with the silence, his broad shoulders were relaxed and his eyes focused outside through the window as the rain continued to fall.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, when I was halfway done with my cup.

“Hmmm?”

“I know it still bothers you. The memories. If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

I let out a humorless laugh. This wasn’t how I imagined the day to go when Mason agreed to come over. Mostly because I was much more social in my head. I imagined I would have made him laugh by saying something funny, and then he would realize how right we were for each other and fall for me.

Not this. Not with Mason wanting me to lay out all of my broken parts for closer examination.

“I feel like all I’ve been doing since this whole thing happened is talk about it.” With Dr Greene, with Lizzie, and even with Max. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel the need to talk to Mason about it. Not because I didn’t think it would be easy, but because he was the one person I didn’t need to reassure that I was okay, even if it was a lie.

He didn’t expect me to be okay, and I needed that more than anything else. I knew Max was only worried about me, but I couldn’t stand the haunted look in his eyes. It was as if he thought he had failed me somehow by going out to lunch with his friend and brother.

I didn’t blame Max for leaving that day. But he blamed himself.

I turned to Mason. “How did you get over it?”

He placed his mug down on the table, his eyes flashed with some untamed emotion so quickly, I couldn’t decipher what it was. “I don’t think it’s something we ever get over. I think it stays with us.”

I looked down, disappointed. I was hoping for something a little more optimistic. “Oh.”

“But I don’t think it has to define us. It can be something we went through, but it is not our identity. We are not damned to be viewed as nothing more than victims for the rest of our lives because of it.”

“Max still looks at me like I’m the victim,” I said.

“It was really hard for him to see you like that. The sight of you on the floor, being pinned down…” he trailed off and I looked away.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s okay. I know.”

“I was just letting you know why it might take Max some time.”

“To what? Get over it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think he will get over it. Hell, I don’t even think I can. But with time, he’ll see how strong you are. He’ll stop treating you like you’re breakable, and he’ll stop blaming himself.”

“I hope that’s true.”

Mason moved his hand to my face, and I don’t think he was even aware he was doing it, as he rubbed away what I can only assume was some speck of dirt on my face.

Dear God, please don’t let it be a crumb of the toast I had for breakfast this morning.

I tried not to look so affected from such a simple touch. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

And the oddest thing was, I believed him.

* * *

We didn’t knowwhen Max was going to be home, and Mason agreed to stay with me until then. I was pretty grateful for the company, especially since I was sure Mason had much better things to do with his time then to stay with me.

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