"If I lay here, if I just lay here... would you lie with me and just forget the world?"

❀

I've been dreading this entire morning.

I think it's finally hit me that I've spent an entire week here at Jessica's house. Although I've been loving it, for some unknown reason it worries me a bit that Amy hasn't contacted me in the last couple days. We've sent messages here and there to each other, and during my first few days here I'd call and check in, but lately it's been radio silent.

I should probably go home and make sure no one has murdered anyone yet.

I haven't been in my bed in a week. I've been in Mason's bed. For five days- five whole days.

This casual sex thing isn't looking too casual.

In fact, it feels like more than that- much more. My newfound familiarity with everything between us also comes with the awareness of how fast all this is going. We've forged such a deep connection that's catching me by surprise, it's been a blur of laughter, cuddling, sex, and I don't want to get my hopes up on what this could possibly mean. In the back of my mind a voice is screaming that we wouldn't be acting this way, talking to each other this way if there wasn't the slightest possibility that this could be more.

The troubling truth to all of this is that I've been hurt by Mason before.

Not too long ago, I thought the two of us were building something, when in reality it was just a figment of my imagination. It wasn't real. None of it was. But then again, there's that other voice shrieking that this time is unlike all the other's because of the known fact that he's told me countless times that there is no one else.

It's all in my head. I know it is. But when you've been hurt by someone before, it can be hard to open yourself up to that person again. I've given him everything I have to offer, and I want him in so many unexplainable ways but I'm hooked. He's somehow managed to dig his way even deeper into my heart and there's no going back now.

Jessica leaves to go to Corey's after the two of us have breakfast and I quietly walk over to Mason's room, my heart tugging at me every step of the way, and when I see him I feel it. The warmth in my bones, the tingling in my veins, prickling of my skin. I feel the butterflies fluttering in the melted pit of my gut, and my inside throbbing at the sight before me.

Only a couple feet away Mason stands, his bare muscular back faced towards me and my gaze sweeps down his body, down the smooth, tan skin. A pair of black sweatpants cling around his tight hips, his hair is wet and glistening where the light reflects off the water saturating it. All the yelling, screaming voices in my head throwing out warning signs have quieted, and the only thing I hear is that whining voice dissatisfied over the missed opportunity of hot and steamy shower sex.

I pad over towards him as he shuffles through his dresser drawer, my heart reacting before my brain does when I circle my arms around his waist from behind, leaning my cheek against his back.

And then something happens.

There's a tremble in his skin, stillness of his body and the slight flinch as his arms squeeze tighter into his sides and his breathing stops. My arms loosen around him, an unsettling feeling hitting me when he turns his head around to face me, his body relaxing instantly.

"Don't do that." He says, and my brows knit together, my mind trying to decipher if he's talking about my sudden affections. He swallows, gritting out a faint, "I need to see you."

When I tilt my head up higher to look at him, all the rapturous feelings die in my throat. There's this vulnerability to him in this moment, it's flashing across his eyes and etching his lips into a small frown and my heart clenches as I take it in.

The look on his face tells me exactly what he's talking about, and why he doesn't want me to touch him without being under his eyesight, so I don't ask any unwanted questions or drag the memories higher above the surface. Instead, I circle in front of him, my arms still around his waist right before I give the skin on his chest a quick kiss.

"I'm sorry." Another kiss, as my eyes remain on his above me, "I won't do it again."

The expression he wears softens, his body leaning down a bit to give the crown of my head a kiss, "No, you can do it again- I want you to. I just..." A heavy sigh escapes his lips, fanning my nose, "I need to see you before you touch me."

I nod, "I understand." After the words are out I do my best to reclaim the situation, moving onto the next topic, "I just came by to give you a goodbye kiss."

If it weren't for my arms around him I swear Mason would have taken a bewildered step back, "Goodbye?"

Of course that's the only part he caught onto.

"I've been here for seven days now Mason, I'm going home."

"Or..." His arms wrap around my waist, dripping down to cup my ass, his nose brushing against the skin of my cheek and sparks infiltrate my bloodstream, charged tendrils dancing along every inch his fingers are tracing along my leggings, "You could stay."

Every last inch of me hums, my mouth almost opening to agree on its own volitation. The look on his face feins complete innocence, but those cunning eyes darkening above me say otherwise. He knows exactly what he's doing, and my head shakes, eyebrows pinching together seeing right through it.

His eyes crinkle, "So suspicious of my motives, maybe I just like having you here."

A breathy laugh escapes me, "So if I stayed we wouldn't fuck?"

"Oh we most definitely would." His long, rough fingers lift my jaw up higher, kissing my cheek and I roll my eyes, trying to hide my own smile. He moves his mouth to my jaw, my neck, "All morning,"- kiss- "I've been wanting those pretty little legs of yours around my neck,"- kiss- "I have such a bad craving for something sweet."

My mouth starts watering and my cheeks feel heated, tainted by a faint shade of red. He's warm and shirtless and sculpted in every way imaginable. The heat of his body washes over my skin and he smells of mint and soap and aftershave. My pulse drifts between my thighs and I squeeze my legs together while the hairs on every bit of my skin begin to rise from not only his words, but his touch, those lips, that I want molded onto me. I have to remind myself that he's scheming, and deceitful and using everything he knows I can't handle as an advantage.

I shake a little in his grasp, "Then eat some chocolate if you have such a sweet tooth."

His head falls down into the empty space between my jawline and shoulder, small puffs of air hitting my neck as low chuckles escape his lips, his damp hair tickling along the skin of my ear sending chills through me.

I brace myself against him, settling my hands on his chest right before he stands up, planting a single kiss on my cheek. That look of his searing through me and I know without a doubt that instead of my words extinguishing the fire in his eyes, they've ignited them.

He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, "Just didn't want you to waste gas."

"Why would I waste gas?"

"Because you'll have to drive all the way back when you miss me. You should just stay here and save yourself the trip later."

I cross my arms over my chest, "Oh yeah? Well then why don't you tell me again that you want me to stay the night so you don't have to waste time calling later on when you start to miss me."

His eyes spark with amusement, there's no smile on his lips but I can visually see just how he's trying hard to resist it appearing right in front of me. He runs his tongue across his teeth, and from the look on his face I can't tell if he wants to lock the doors and throw away the key, or bend me over his bed and fuck me until I can't see straight. The thought of the former happening doesn't unnerve me as much as it should, the latter however doesn't sound half bad.

"I like to think I possess at least some self control."

I step closer to him, mentally questioning how it always feels as though the air is thicker when I'm around him. The atmosphere always holds a charge,- electric, enticing, stifling- and I wonder if it's because the two of us remain to embody fire and ice, or because the way I feel about him has sunk so deep into my skin, coursing through my veins and warming my bones enough to make the air thicker to breathe in his presence.

I run my finger along his naked chest, every inch of my skin burning as if I was standing too close to a fire. Funny how I've touched Mason countless times, yet I still feel it, an inexplicable zap of heat like sparks bursting underneath my fingertips just as though I'm doing it for the first time.

He watches me, and I have to crane my neck upwards in order to meet his gaze, "Not with me you don't."

The smallest yet darkest smile pulls onto his lips, "No." He lightly shakes his head once, twice, "Not with you."

Butterflies.

Too many fucking butterflies.

His hand slides around my waist, searing my skin through the fabric of my shirt. Then slowly, they slip down from my waist to my hip with a firmness that sends my pulse fluttering. Pressing his lips to my ear, his voice gravel and slow he whispers, "Come back later. Stay with me tonight."

I inhale as his palm runs from my hip to my lower back, scorching the skin along his trail. I don't fail to recognize how his words weren't given off as a question, it was a demand. I go silent for a moment while I contemplate; over the last five out of the seven days I have breathed, slept and consumed everything that is Mason West. Not that I minded, as a matter of fact I didn't mind at all. The image of me not waking up with my head in his chest, or with his body spooning or pressing against mine with those small puffs of air hitting against my neck reminding me of how irrecoverably deep I am sends dread weighing down my chest.

I like waking up next to him, with my heart pitter-pattering over the realization that no matter where I lie he's always touching me, with his hands on me and his smell everywhere that's turning into my own eternal drug.

I like it so much the magnitude of it all scares me.

I sigh and he goes on, "This is all your fault, you know."

"My fault?"

"Yes." Heat curls inside me from the smallest pressure of his hand still currently holding me close against him, "Before you I had never slept with anyone. Now I know what it's like and I..." He looks away for a second and I get the smallest impression that he's uncomfortable, "I kind of like it. Waking up holding you."

My insides are melting, dissolving into mush. I recognize how telling me his true feelings is still quite difficult for him, but even then he still manages to make my heart burst inside my chest.

He leans in, "Your. Fault."

"Okay, fine I accept the blame on this one." As if he's not just to blame. More often than not the man sleeps naked for fucks sake, "But I like waking up next to you."

The current mushy state I'm in causes the words to slip out before I can stop them.

Friends with benefits. Friends with benefits. Friends with benefits- fuck.

Is he my friend? I don't want him to be. The word itself causes a wave of nausea to curl inside my belly.

Awareness brushes my skin from my head to my toes as he flicks his gaze back down to mine and I find myself speaking before my brain even thinks of what to say next, "But I don't have any of my stuff here."

His hand tightens around me.

"What would you need?"

"For starters, a toothbrush."

His chin dips down, "You can stop pretending you don't use mine."

Silence. My mouth clamps shut, embarrassment flooding my face even though I was in no way hiding the fact that I've been using his toothbrush this entire time. I just didn't know he knew, he never said anything. The longer I'm quiet the more the corner of his lips lift upwards and my top teeth pierce my bottom lip to convey my unjustified innocence. His smile lifts.

"Clothes." I give him another answer, saying the first things that come to mind.

"Wear mine." He leans down, kissing the skin of my neck and the skim of his damp hair against my jawline sends a tingling sensation through me, "Or better yet," he whispers, "None at all."

He softly bites down and a sharp gasp tears through me right before his tongue flicks against the skin.

"Makeup wipes." I blurt, his lips still buried in the crook of neck, my body humming with the lightning bolt exploding in my chest from his lips alone.

He pauses for a moment, "You barely wear makeup, but if you need any just use Jessica's. Conveniently enough, her room is right down the hall."

My chest presses against his hard, warm abs as a shiver makes its way down my spine.

"Underwear."

Another pause.

"I think you already know my solution for that. In fact, since we're on the subject I think I might instate on a no-panties ban for you while you're here. Don't see the point of them anyway."

"You just have the answers for everything don't you?" My voice comes out breathier than I intend it to.

"That's where you're wrong, baby." His kisses now trail upward, above my neck, along my jawline to the corner of my lips, "When it comes to you, I'm as clueless as it gets."

I swallow, I don't know what to say to that, especially while being pressed up against so much skin. I open my mouth, and all that comes out is, "Even then, you want me?"

He pulls his head out, body now standing straight right in front of me and as we stare at each other something heavy flows through us, languid and hot. I can feel my heart beating erratically in my chest as he stands there, half-naked with his wide shoulders, defined chest and sculpted stomach. But then something pulls on his lips, something suggestive with a hint of that panty dropping charm he possesses.

"Even then." His warm, calloused hand picks mine up. I notice how small it looks in his, how delicate, and the gentle, tender grip he has on it tells me he's thinking the same. He brings it up to his lips, placing a kiss along my knuckles, "Come back tonight."

Yes, is what I want to say. But then the realization hits me that he isn't asking.

"I'll think about it."

I attempt to take a step around him but he drops my hand to grab my wrist. His grip has tightened slightly, feeling like a brand of fire around my skin and my pulse flutters when his thumb brushes against my knuckles. I tilt my head up, regarding him. We are standing so close his large presence obliterates mine, the expression on his face turning dark around the edges and suddenly my heartbeat goes straight between my legs.

His tone was rough and dry, "Aren't you going to get what you came in for? I thought I heard you mention a kiss." He leans in, nose skimming, lips brushing, teasing, taunting, "So do it. Kiss me."

The air around us stills, every previous graze of his skin on mine blazing from heat. I tilt my chin up, getting close enough to where our breaths intermix. My hands find his chest but I don't do as he said right away, instead, I tease him back. Seconds pass, his bottom lip brushing my top one, so faint and soft the movement barely passes as a kiss.

When I hear a frustrated groan climb up his throat, I finally let him have it. My mouth tingles when ours touch, and he shudders, shoulders relaxing in satisfaction. Little shivers of pleasure shoot through me as he deepens the kiss, parting my lips for him. Warmth spills in my chest and spreads outward when I feel him suck on my tongue, a whimper escaping me.

His hands find my hips again, digging me further into him and the rush of sensations crawling across my body become maddening. My breasts now crushed against his rock-hard chest, close enough I can feel the hammering of his heart. The raw, husky groan he releases tickles my lips and sweet, hot pressure builds inside me.

I pull back, trying to catch my breath, but before I get the chance he grabs the back of my neck and brings me back to him, kissing me hard.

A throaty sigh escapes him as my tongue tangles with his, exploring, dancing in each other's mouths, not eagerly, but hungrily. It's wet and messy, wild and rough, I feel complete and consumed while I let him steal my breaths straight from my lungs, content with never having to breathe again.

Featherlight, my hands slowly slide up, curling my fingers into his hair, and when he nibbles on my bottom lip I feel a soft tug on my nipples. My pulse sparks like crackles in a fire, every kiss sending a hot, slick thrum between my legs.

"One round." I hear myself saying against his mouth and his quirk up instantaneously, both our breaths hard and ragged, going out one of our lips and straight into the other's.

I realize he doesn't need to be told twice as he lifts me up as if I were made of air. My legs wrap around his waist, vision blurring from how quickly he moves me over to the bed.

"Two." He says, his mouth hovering over mine, "You know, for good measure."

And my laughs echo off the four enclosed walls of his bedroom as he gently drops me down onto the bed, his body fitting mine like a puzzle piece I didn't even know I was missing.

❀

The strength Mason possesses will never be underestimated by me again. It took approximately thirty minutes to somehow squeeze myself out from under his grasp, and it didn't come easy.

I threatened him. Many, many times saying that if he doesn't release me sex will be put on a temporary ban and all he did was laugh, hold me tighter and say 'like that'll ever happen.'

When I licked his face, he only licked mine back and when I threatened to spit on him the fucker opened his mouth.

I'm surprised he even let me go. But I wasn't even able to walk out his room without his lips attacking my face first, giving me as many kisses as he possibly can as if he wanted more of me on him.

When I open the front door and step into the residence I've lately grown unaccustomed to, the fire burning low in the fireplace isn't enough to ease the trepidation burning in my throat. The flames crackle, warmth from the burning wood cozying the place, imitating the way a home would feel. But as I take in my surroundings, I can't ignore how my muscles still tense, how there's still a burning, growing pit in my stomach, how the pictures on the wall remind me of moments that now seem like they were a dream and not reality, and how for the first time in a long time this place doesn't feel like home to me.

My eyes catch movement in the corner and my head turns, spotting Nora with a blanket wrapped around her, black rimmed glasses perched right on the bridge of her nose and a book in hand, eyes on me. When our gazes meet, I remember a time when I would wake in the mornings right in the chair she's currently in, waiting in the sunlight for her to return home. Sometimes, on the worst days I would imagine their presence- both her and my fathers- as if they never left. I would picture my father's laughs, the jokes he would make. I would imagine him ruffling up my hair like he always would, or walking through the front door after work and instantly smiling when he would see me, kissing the crown of my head, asking how my day was.

For Nora, I would picture our time baking in the kitchen, our fights we'd always have with flour or sugar, creating games to see who could make certain shapes out of dough the fastest. I would think of her brushing my hair before bed, singing with me at the top of our lungs during car rides, the way she would wake me up from jumping on my bed and squeezing me into the tightest hug every single birthday.

Now those moments don't even feel like memories, only dreams that occurred nowhere else but in my head.

And that's all it takes, one look at Nora for me to regret ever showing up here in the first place.

"Isabelle," Her voice pulls me back into reality, and I force myself to relax my shoulders as she sets her book and glasses down on the coffee table in front of her and stands up from the chair, "I was wondering if you'd be back today, you've barely been home."

"Well, like mother, like daughter." I mutter under my breath, a sharp twinge of guilt collecting in my stomach from my words as I turn from her to head upstairs towards my room.

I should probably pack more clothes if I'm going to be staying with Mason longer. He was right, I do miss him. And every single time I walk through the threshold of this building carrying the worst years of my life, I feel like the walls are closing in on me. Memory after memory suffocating me until I can't breathe. One look at her, and all of my past recoveries and wounds I've had no choice to lick myself come ripping open, shattering and bursting into a pile of nothing on the floor.

"I wanted to ask if you'd like to come to dinner with me tonight."

Her words stop me in my tracks, my body unwillingly turning on it's heels to face her. There's something glistening in her eyes, if I look closely enough it can easily be mistaken for hope. Hope that I'll forgive her, hope that we can go out to dinner and move forward as a family- hope that I can't give her.

"I was thinking that we could go to Trabocco."

My breath catches in my throat, but I don't show the change of emotion on my face.

Trabocco. My dad's favorite restaurant.

My gaze trails down her arm, the sunlight coming through the window reflecting off the silver band around her ring finger catching my eye. I wasn't aware that she had never taken it off, I know the choice is hers in that matter but still, seeing it right before me fades the uneasiness I feel, replacing it with a surge of anger. Not that she kept it, I expected her to. But because that ring to me isn't a reminder of their marriage, it's a reminder of the fact that she never showed up when he needed her the most.

She never went to his funeral.

She left that day, the day he was buried, the last day to say goodbye. His death was sudden, horrific, the closed casket because the burns and damages done to his body was too significant. But that day gave us a chance to make our peace, to tell him how much we loved him for one last time before he was gone forever. She not only abandoned me, she abandoned him too.

Her eyes track mine, tucking her hands behind her back within seconds.

"I'm not hungry." I decide to tell her, but that isn't enough.

"I was thinking about making reservations around seven, do you think you'll be hungry then?"

"I'm actually going back to Jessica's." Silence for one, two, three seconds, "I just came to get some more of my things." I turn back around, mentally debating if I should just forget my clothes altogether and just wear Mason's for the time being, but right when I take a single step she speaks up again.

"Isabelle, I would like to fix things between us." Her voice has changed now, before it was calm, civil, composed. Now it's firm, more strict, but still quiet.

I notice how she's still keeping her distance, her eyes flicking from the ceiling and back towards me and I can't help but question why, when I pulled into the driveway I didn't see anyone else's car here so I know we're the only two here at the moment. When I had originally seen that, I should have pulled back out and driven back to Jessica's. I don't know what I was thinking, I can barely even stand to look her in the eyes, let alone stay in a house with just the two of us.

"I'm not ready."

"When will you be ready? I've been here for weeks, I never see you, you're never here. I understand that building a relationship with you will take time but we have to start somewhere in order for that to happen-"

"I can't give you what you want." I allow myself to take a small, slow breath as I fight to keep my composure. The last thing I feel like doing is arguing, but something tells me we might not be so far off. "I don't know how. I don't know how to just... forget. You had a choice, I never did. You decided when you wanted to walk away, and when you wanted to come back, so I should be allowed to do the same."

She's quiet for a moment, her shoulders flinching forward slightly from my words, but when she speaks, her voice is low and full of sorrow.

"I know I wasn't the perfect mother but-

"I didn't expect you to be perfect Nora, I just expected you to be there."

Her eyes lock with mine, I feel the burn in my throat, the tears in my eyes threatening to escape but I blink them away. She's seen me cry far too many times over this. The pain of this conversation reaches out into the distance between us, tightening my own chest and dredging memories of the family I once had.

"You deserted me, you left me all by myself when I needed you the most, and you promised you'd be there." My voice has wavered a bit, growing shaky over my own emotions, "And I hated you for it, because you could have come back so many times but you never did. You destroyed me, you tore me up into pieces that I didn't even know I had left and the worst part is... I thought I deserved it. But... Dad, he never did. He deserved better than that."

Silence again, but this one has a weight quality.

I'm breaking her. My words are piercing into her with each syllable I speak. I can see it, the way her fists are now clenched into balls to keep from trembling, there's tears filling the brim of her eyes, slowly falling, falling, falling, one by one. Her mouth is pursed, eyes far from mine as if she doesn't want me to see. Yet, here I stand and I can't comprehend why. Why after all she's done, seeing her like this, devastatingly dejected, is somehow breaking me too.

She's my mom, even after everything.

She clings onto the sleeves of her sweater with her fingers, bringing them up to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks. The misery plaguing them is seen in her eyes, but then she lifts the corners of her lips upwards, sliding a mask into place and shielding me from seeing the pain on her face any longer.

I recognize the gesture. I would do it for months after she left. Pretending I was okay.

"Isabelle, your father-"

"Dont." I interrupt, "You don't get to talk about him."

"Isabelle, enough!" Her palm comes down onto the kitchen counter and I wince from the strength in her words. Frustration climbs up my throat and I try my hardest to keep it locked in. I can tell she's doing the same by the way she's trying to steady her breaths in front of me, "I am trying, here."

"It's the fact that you even have to try at all." My voice begins to shake, and I remind myself that I can't melt into a puddle in front of her or else I'll become completely unraveled. "You were the one I depended on the most and you let me down in ways I can't even..."

I turn around for a quick second to wipe a single tear that's unwillingly fallen from my cheek. It's difficult to wrangle my emotions into compliance in front of her. Standing here, a few feet away evokes images of the way things used to be. Of her kindness and warmth, how good it felt to be held in her arms whenever she'd catch me crying alone under the confinements of my bedroom. Now all I feel is a withdrawn coldness. I know she won't hug me the same way, tell me stories to lift my spirits like she used to, more importantly I know the reasoning behind all of that is because I won't let her. I can't.

"I know I let you down." She agrees, taking a step closer to me, her cheeks reddened, eyes damp, "I can't do anything to change that. But I'm here now-"

I almost laugh.

"For how long? Until you find a big enough check to steal?"

Her face pales a little, the step she just took is retracted by the two steps she takes back, eyebrows raised, mouth parted as if my words physically hit her, and the expression on her face nearly has me feeling guilty. I have long since locked away any emotion her own destruction has caused, buried them deep and thrown away the key. But now I realize that there's a good chance they've never really been kept that deep at all. I wear her own failures right below my skin, the mere mention of them making me feel hot to the touch.

She shakes her head, "I don't know what you want me to say-"

"You don't get it Nora, I don't want you to say anything because I don't want anything from you." I press my lips together to stop my bottom one from trembling, taking a broken composing breath as angry tears threaten to blur my vision, "You left... You left like I was never a reason to stay."

Her hands come up to her hair and for a moment I get the impression that she wants to rip it out. A groan travels up her throat, "Isabelle, I did what I needed to do to survive!"

Her words come out in a yell, as if I have broken the last remaining bit of her self control. Survive. She needed to abandon me in order to survive. She made a choice, and she chose herself, and I can't help but wonder if given the opportunity to go back in time, if she'd do it again.

For months while she was gone I had hope. I'd stay downstairs, preparing myself for just the right words to say in case she returned. I'd go over our last moments in my head, nitpicking at each word I had spoken to find if there was anything I said wrong to make her pack up her things and get on the next flight out of here.

I waited.

And everyday took another piece of me. Everyday ruptured me until I had to let go and remind myself that I get to decide what breaks me, and I was tired of giving her the power to do so.

My voice comes out small, quivering and unsteady, "And I was stuck here holding myself together with tape and glue."

Her eyes press shut, collecting the moisture for a few heavy seconds before she opens them back up to me again.

"I know you hate me. Leaving you that day is the biggest mistake of my life. I won't ever be able to take that back, but you're my daughter." She says that word as if it holds any meaning, "We're family, and that means something to me." A short pause, "Just like it did your father."

The mention of my father has red hot anger creeping in. Family meant the entire world to him, and yet she was so quick to toss him aside just like me. My jaw aches from clenching it shut so tightly, biting my tongue in order to refrain from saying something I know I'll regret.

Tears sting the back of my eyes at the mere mention of him. I miss him. So, so much.

"Honey, I know I've made mistakes, but I love you-"

Now I laugh. It's bitter and sounds nothing like me.

"Love me?" I question, looking at her in nothing but disbelief. "You don't even know me."

I can handle our back and forth arguments, the constant never ending push and pull, but I can't contain the anger rising in me from using my father's love for his family as a way to pull me back in. Then on top of that, adding a lie into the mix.

She doesn't love me. That wasn't love. You don't hurt- abandon the people you love.

"You know there was a time when I thought I couldn't live without you." I tell her, my chin rising, back straightening, "But now I can't stand the sight of you."

Her pursed lips tremble, hand coming over her mouth as she chokes out a sob I know she was trying her hardest to keep in. I've lost count of how many times I've made her feel this way, of how many times I've made her cry, and no matter how often the cycle repeats, there's still a deep burn in the center of my chest.

I look away, needing to get out of this situation before my own tears start to fall.

I pull out my hand, placing my car keys on the kitchen counter beside me and she watches, a confused look lacing the saddened features on her face. Years ago, she would tell me those same words- that she loved me. She would tell me that she'd be nothing without her family, whisper to me how blessed she is, how thankful she is to be my mother. She would love me like a mother should love their child. Being without me seemed to be her deepest fear, the worst hardship.

Then one day she faced those fears, and she won. She left.

Now it's my turn to do the same.

"Here." I dip my head down towards the keys, pulling my wallet out to retrieve my debit card and set it right beside them. "Drive yourself to the airport. Buy yourself a plane ticket for all I care-"

"Isabelle, please."

I don't respond to her pleas for me to return to her, for us to talk it out and move on from the situation altogether because I'm not quite sure I'm even capable of doing so. When my back turns to her I let the tears fall, feeling my chest crumble as I clamp my mouth shut to keep the rest inside.

I don't want her to see me this way. To see that she still has an effect on me.

I'm halfway up the stairs when I hear the front door slam shut, and my body freezes, a few seconds pass as I stare blankly at the rest of the steps in front of me until the numbness turns into despair that scratches my chest, steals my breath and bubbles up my throat into sobs.

My hands grip the railing, squeezing tight enough for my knuckles to turn white and count.

I can break down now, I can let it all out and give it permission to destroy me yet again. Or, I can count to five, breathe in, breathe out and continue on.

No more tears for her. I've cried enough.

I press an arm against my abdomen, using my other hand to cover my face, shoulders shaking, sobbing openly.

One... Two...

I almost choke on the lack of oxygen I'm letting in, my chest heaving, angry and hurt tears flooding down my cheeks until my vision blurs and a distinct salt flavor starts to coat my mouth.

Three... Four...

I draw in a breath, readying myself for a stop. Breathing in and out, my lungs expanding, the aching in my chest starting to spread.

Five.

Then the numbness creeps in, my cheeks wet, eyes heavy and swollen. But I stopped. I remember a time when it would go on for hours, the flow of my tears wouldn't end until Amy came home from work, laid in bed beside me and held me close. Closing my eyes, I inhale another breath, exhaling steadily until I know I'm ready to get back to my day.

I wipe my tears with my hands until I'm all the way up the steps. The first thing I notice as I walk down the hall is that my bedroom door is ajar. Great. So they're going through my room when I'm gone now too.

I swing my bedroom door open and walk in. Right when I close the door behind me, my face falls, the knot in my stomach tightens and the fire in my veins immediately freezes into ice. The cold sensation crawls down my throat and fills my lungs. My heart beats loud against the deep and loathing silence in the room, the beat resounding beneath a cold sheen of fear.

I lick my dry lips, struggling for a moment to find my voice. The words on the tip of my tongue almost dying in my throat when I see those blue eyes I never expected to see.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, in a state of both shock and anxiety.

I can't read the emotion on his face, his brows are creased, posture straight and composed, eyes offering a false sense of warmth, but I know better than to think there's any kindness in his gaze. Images of our last encounter resurface, sending a shiver of awareness down my spine knowing that we're alone once again.

"Your mother let me in." He says, standing from my desk chair that he previously found himself comfortable in and taking a step closer to me. I take a step back. "She's a nice woman, you shouldn't speak to her that way."

His words send a fire raging beneath my skin but I force myself to keep it at ease. After what just occurred between Nora and I, I don't have it in me to get into another argument. I'm mentally and emotionally drained, wishing now more than ever that Mason's arms were surrounding me.

I've come to realize he's my safe place.

Safe. A feeling I feel far from at the moment.

"You shouldn't be here, Aiden-"

"I've been in your room before, Elle." He chastises, tossing my rejection in the trash yet again.

"Yes." I say firmly, backing away from the door to rid myself of being trapped, and walking past him until there's enough distance between us. "When we were dating, which right now we are very much not."

I keep my chin up, noticing how my words already angered him and the nerves in my chest expand, my hands growing sweaty, my mind hoping that he moves past it. When I look at him I don't even recognize the man I was with for two and a half years. He looks the same, only a bit taller and more muscular than before. But the biggest modification is his eyes, they're dark, empty, and are the reason behind my apprehension.

Now I know why Nora was trying to keep quiet. I'm sure he heard everything.

"I'll make this quick then since you aren't in the best mood. I've had time to think about what happened between us, and I hate where we left things."

"You mean when you tried to hit me?" The words slip out of my mouth, attitude cutting through and piercing the sentence like a sword with an intent to do none other than hurt him the way he tried to hurt me.

Something flashes in his eyes. Guilt? Remorse? I can't tell, it's gone before I can decipher the meaning behind it, and is replaced with irritation and impatience. My eyes trail down to his sides, his clenched fists until he flexes them, relaxing each finger but maintaining the rigid muscles in his body, and the unyieldingly tense jaw.

"You know I would never hurt you. I was just upset."

I shake my head, not giving in, "Aiden, I need you to leave."

"I'm not done yet." He snaps, the harshness of his words sounding like a warning and my heart starts hammering harder in my chest.

He takes another step forward and I watch him with cautious eyes as he brings his body close enough to make me uncomfortable. He raises his hand up slowly and I wince, my breathing coming out in shallow, rapid breaths. His fingers brush themselves along the side of my face, my skin crawling underneath his touch.

"I would like a second chance-"

"Stop it." I move swiftly away from him, the desire to wash my face from his skin on mine at an all time high. "You can't touch me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like we're together." I inform him, my voice leaving no room for question. My stomach tightens with unease as he takes another step toward me, his presence alone consuming me like a bad aftertaste. "Aiden, I don't love you. And I can't forget what you've done. You need to stop with all the voicemails and the texts, and emails, and you need to move on."

"Move on?" A small laugh escapes his lips and I get the sense he's mocking me. "You're so quick to toss me aside after everything I did to help you?" He shakes his head, "Huh, maybe the apple really doesn't fall so far from the tree."

He's baiting me. I know it. I shouldn't fall into another one of his traps. But I can't help curiosity from getting the best of me.

"What are you talking about?"

Another step closer, the distance between us now less than an arm's length. "I heard your little conversation with your mother downstairs. Let's face it Elle, you were miserable without her."

He's right. I was.

Another step. And I remind myself to keep my body tight and stiff in order to refrain from trembling. But all my efforts turn to ash when he reaches out and toys with the ends of my hair, wrapping it around his fingers as if what he's doing doesn't have me shaking beneath my skin.

"I remember all the times you'd cry yourself to sleep waiting for her to come back to you. And during all that time I was there, I would wipe those tears, and lift your head up higher when you didn't have the strength to. I stuck by you during your darkest moments and all I'm asking for is a second chance." His fingers grasp my chin, lifting my head up to meet his strong gaze. "Don't you think you owe me that much?"

All the composure I had seconds ago has vanished, and I'm blinded with rage, throwing all self control out the window. I hit his hands away from me, using every ounce of strength I possess to push him away.

"Owe you?" I can barely get the question out of my mouth. My voice has changed, shifted from being calm to an enraged yell. "I don't owe you anything. I was the one that got myself out of bed in the mornings. I was the one who found the strength to brush my hair, to shower, and put on a clean change of clothes and continue on with my life. I did that, not you!"

His fisted hand comes down onto my dresser, generating a loud thud to ring throughout my room, and I flinch. "Another thing you're ungrateful for."

"I don't want to argue with you Aiden."

"Then say yes. I know you better than him, I can treat you better." He closes the distance between us again, both of his hands grabbing either side of my cheek, forcefully pulling me to him. I feel sick to my stomach over how close we are, but it only seems to edge him on. "One more chance, Elle. I'm the one who's always been there for you. Not him. I'm in love with you."

A lump stretches in my throat and I don't even have the energy to swallow it down. The strong grip he has on me is squeezing my tears out, one by one, rolling down my face before I even have the chance to stop them. A weight sits on my chest as I draw in hard, shallow breaths, looking up at him and hoping that when he looks into my eyes, he sees all the pain he's causing me.

"Then why does it hurt so much?" I ask, my voice breaking with each word I speak through the tears spilling over. "It's not supposed to hurt, Aiden. If this is love..." I wince when his hold on me gets tighter, "I don't want it."

If this is what love feels like, the inevitable pain and loneliness, then I want no part of it. I know it isn't easy; when it's devastating and life-changing and extraordinary it's supposed to be worth it in the end.

It's not supposed to hurt. It's supposed to heal.

His jaw tenses as he clenches his teeth, and I give myself a few reassuring deep breaths. His figure in front of me is a blurred haze from the uncontrolled tears clinging to my eyelashes but I make sure not to break eye contact, using what's left of my confidence to stand my ground.

"You only want me when you can't have me." I say through my gritted teeth and a sharp gasp escapes me as he lets go of his hold on my chin and grabs my arm, hauling me closer to him with quick force I can't help but yelp.

I hate how I expect him to hurt me. To take his anger out on me and I look around my surroundings, noting every possible way I would be able to escape when it happens. The anger flowing through him is making me more and more anxious, and the venomous look in his eyes isn't helping calm the warning bells ringing in my head.

"You have no idea how wrong you are." He says to me, crouching down in order for us to be at eye level and I recoil away from him, checking my arm and letting out a relieved sigh that he didn't leave a bruise there this time.

My eyes continue scanning the room for a way out, and when I spot the one thing I least expected to see in front of me I nearly choke on my own breath.

"You went through my stuff?"

There, sitting right on top of my bed is my shoebox.

The lid is off, granting me the access to see how the once organized and concealed box of mine is now wide open, the inside now messy and chaotic. My shoebox. The place where I kept all of Nora's postcards, the small gifts my dad has given me, letters and pictures of everyone who has ever walked away. Keepsakes to remember them by incase I never saw them again.

When the people closest to my heart walked out on me, I couldn't bear to keep their pictures. There's only a few now of my father in the hallways, and one in my room. Nora however, is only in the living room. There's only one photo of her in the entire house. I took them down myself, allowing me the chance to move on and prevent any more self destruction.

The photos of Mason that were once in my room are gone as well.

They're all gone, but I kept my favorites in the shoebox. A few only for my eyes to see when I missed them. When I needed them the most.

I have never shown or told anyone about it.

I watch as he walks over to pick it up and I have this sinking, unshakable feeling that the worst is yet to come, while Aiden on the other hand looks as if he just won the lottery.

"This?" He holds it out to me, "If you didn't want someone to find it you should have picked a better spot than under your bed. Really opened my eyes to some things.... You never really let him go, did you?"

I lunge for him but he takes a step away from me, "Give it back."

His face scrunches in anger, "You think you deserve my kindness after everything you've done?"

I hold my hands up defensively, eyes darting down to the box in his hands, the one thing that kept my grip on the thread I was hanging by when my entire life fell to pieces. More tears fall from my eyes as realization hits that he wins. Again. I'll swallow my pride, beg him if I have to to give it back to me. The last memories of my father are in that box.

"No, Aiden, I'm sorry." I lie through my teeth, speaking through the sobs tearing right through me. "I'm sorry, I just- just give it back to me please. Please, Aiden, I-" I take a step towards him and he raises his hands in the air. Fear of him dropping it down onto the floor has my eyes widening, body charging towards him. "Give it back!"

I grab hold of the box, wrestling for it in his grasp but he's much stronger than me. My heart pounds in my ears and a scream creeps it's way up my throat as he shoves me back. Throwing me against the wall so hard the wind gets knocked out of me as I collapse onto the ground.

My body curls down onto the floor, a silent scream escaping my lips as I watch him smash it down onto the ground, raising his foot to step on it and do more damage right in front of me, and all I'm able to do is try to get a breath in between my sobs.

I use my arms to help me crawl closer to it, the hands squeezing my lungs finally releasing as my breath steadies. My shaking fingers flip the box over, eyes examining every little thing right in front of me.

My heart breaks. No.

"No... no, no no..."

I hold my fathers funeral program out in front of me. Soaking wet. Drenched by my Nora's perfume I kept that's now broken, shattered to pieces inside. More pictures, each one more soaked than the last. I bring out the oldest picture taken of him, the one I took with my camera a month before he passed. It's bent, and the shards of glass have cut up some of the photograph, and I hug it to my chest regardless, hunching over and crying out.

Aiden takes another step towards me but I don't have it in me to move away, I can barely breathe. His thumb and forefinger grip my chin again, lifting my head up so high pain sears below the skin of my neck. I look up at him while he stares down, a satisfied lift of his lips adding to the expression on his face while I sit down on my knees completely devastated.

"And you wonder why people leave you. You make it so difficult for someone to love you." He snarls, his voice raising because of how loud my cries are. "You pretend like you're worth it, but you're not. You're just some girl damaged girl with mommy issues. I am sick and tired of you playing the victim, acting like you're the only one who's been hurt...Have you ever thought for once in your life that you're capable of being unlovable?"

His words pierce through me as if he's cutting me open with a knife.

Unlovable.

"And here I am, trying to and you're refusing to let me. Everyone leaves you Elle, he's no different." He inches closer and I can physically feel my body shrinking a size or two from his cold glare, "Think about what I said. You need to stop driving people away because sooner or later you'll have no one left to save you."

And then he says one last thing before he walks out and slams the door shut behind him.

"And then you'll be alone."

❀

The raw ache in my chest hasn't faded since I've been here. My heartbeats continuously shatter one by one as I check for every item I've placed in the now demolished shoebox sitting on my lap in front of me. My vision hasn't cleared either, the photographs and letters I've written still remain unclear, but I tried to do as much as I could with what I had.

After picking up every item that had fallen onto the floor in my bedroom, I didn't waste a single moment to leave the house. Surprisingly enough, my car keys and debit card were still in the same spot, completely untouched.

I sink my body deeper into the bean bag chair I'm currently sitting in, grateful for the illumination the battery operated string lights offer me, allowing myself to see the pictures better in the dark.

When I left my house, my body traveled to the one place I'd seek solace many years ago,- the treehouse. Throughout my days with Mason, we spent a couple hours fixing it up, dusting, cleaning and throwing away useless things we didn't need anymore. Our pictures on the walls remained, but Mason added lights, placed bean bag chairs in the center with plush blankets and small little throw pillows.

I remember how loud he laughed when I found the condoms he left on the shelf by the door.

Now I sit outside on the small balcony, snuggled up in a blanket and going through every memory I tried to bury in the box that holds more pieces of my heart than I realized. The night has fallen, the dark sky adorned by countless small stars, twinkling like little pulses of light, no less inferior than the bright moon above me.

My hair blows slightly in the wind and I hug the blanket tighter against me, despising the fact that even surrounded by such beauty the sky brings, I still feel nothing but cold and empty. Once alone, and the crying began again it flowed like I had just opened a dam that had been closed off for years, the memories of everything the box held only adding an even heavier weight on top of my chest.

A weak sense of vulnerability coasts through me at the thought of Aiden seeing me the way he did, so distraught and heartbroken after everything he had done. The mere thought nauseates me. I remember how I triple checked for any marks or evidence of what he had done on my skin and thankfully, there were none. I didn't want to carry on a reminder like that again.

Being out here for hours calmed me in a sense I almost can't describe. There's something about it, looking out the vast sky that can help put things in perspective. It reminds me how miniscule I am in the grand scheme of things, no matter how painful and all-encompassing my problems feel right now. The notion of it all is what allows me to catch my breath, to inhale, exhale, and put my mind at ease for the time being.

That is, until I see headlights piercing through the darkness from below me. I immediately freeze wondering if Aiden somehow had followed me here. He doesn't know about this place, another thing I'm now grateful for keeping to myself.

A state of panic grips every nerve in my body and I find myself clinging onto the blanket tighter than I was moments ago. I hear movement from under the treehouse, following my small trudges up every step, growing louder and louder, the sound beating against the drum of my ear.

Fear hits me in the chest, but is quickly replaced with relief so strong I feel breathless.

My tired, bloodshot eyes land on familiar green ones, and his body stops, gaze taking me in, a hundred different emotions flashing in them at the same time. I notice he's holding a paper bag in his hands, and I don't even give him a single warning before I'm running into his arms, holding him as though he's my anchor, afraid that if I let go, he'll drift away from me.

He reacts instantly, pulling me tighter against him, his arms around my shoulders, cheek dropping onto the top of my head while his hands rest on the back of my hair. In a mere fraction of a second, everything is right again. The coldness and despair within me evaporates, the missing pieces fall into place.

His presence alone begins to sew my heart back together, and a weight lifts from my chest. A lingering sadness is still there, but all the pressure that was within me has been rushed out, his arms hugging me so tightly as if it's squeezing out all the pain away.

And that's all it takes, the familiar scent of him, the feel of his heartbeats and the safety his arms provide for me to break down into a million pieces all over again. My arms wrap around his waist, burying my face into him while I let it all out.

My lungs feel tired of struggling for small intakes of breaths, my eyes feel a thousand times heavier and my throat feels as dry as sandpaper, but his arms are strong, his breathing is steady, his whispered words above me replacing the ache in my chest with a different kind- a good kind.

"It's okay, baby." His body slightly shakes side to side, keeping me wrapped in his arms, "I've got you."

A few seconds pass with us like this, him holding me, his fingertips gently stroking the back of my head, me pouring my emotions out onto him until I'm almost positive a big enough portion of his shirt is now wet, until he gives in.

"What happened? Who do I have to hurt?"

I almost let out a chuckle, wanting more than anything for Mason to beat the living daylights out of Aiden, but for some reason there's this small, faint voice in the back of my mind telling me that I'm sure that's what Aiden expects. For me to run off to Mason, have him save the day while I play damsel in distress. I know that I need to get him out of my life for good before things escalate to the worst possible scenario, but I want to be able to fight my own battles. Protect myself without someone else needing to do it for me.

Instead of giving me enough time to muster up some response, he bends down, swoops me into his arms and picks me up, never releasing me, even after he walks over to the bean bag chair and sits himself down right on top of it. His arm is as firm as a band of steel around me and I nuzzle my cheek into his chest, squeezing my eyes shut as his body warms me from the inside out.

Those fingertips of his brush against my hip, offering comfort as he kisses my temple.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I can just hold you like this if that's what you'd like."

A heavy tug pulls at my heart, and I sniffle back a combination of snot and tears, suddenly self aware that I'm now creating another damp spot on his black shirt. That's one thing I've always liked about Mason, he respects boundaries. After revealing our past secrets we've grown more mindful of asking deep and personal questions, especially when the other person doesn't seem to be in the right state to answer. He doesn't force me, doesn't try to guilt trip or shame me for being so reluctant, instead he recognizes it, respects it and moves on.

"What's this?" He asks, and I look up to see what his eyes are currently on, following it until my own land on the shoebox I placed on the floor.

My shoulders tense a bit, my mind reeling from flashbacks from before, but then I feel him sense my hesitation and his fingers go back to grazing my skin. Another kiss to my temple, as if to tell me that it's okay if I don't choose to answer.

But I want to.

I've never wanted to tell anyone about it. I once thought that memories I held in my head of my father were my most prized possession, but I was wrong- it's this. The real, physical reminders of the way we used to be.

I want to share it with somebody, and I can't think of a better person to do it with.

"My shoebox." I answer, my voice hoarse and scratchy from the amount of crying I've done today. I reposition myself in order to collect it off the ground, then snuggle back against it once I have it in my hand. "My most important things are in here. Some are ruined..." I let out a deep sigh, "Destroyed, but I was able to save a couple."

He eyes me warily as he slowly extends his arm out to pick some things up, giving me enough time to refuse him if I wanted to but I don't. I watch as he pulls out a napkin still damp and reeking of Nora's perfume. Black blotches of ink cover the surface, and my heart falls into my stomach at the sight of it.

"My father's eulogy." I inform him and I notice how he holds it more delicately in his hands, even though there's no chance of ever mending it. "Nora was supposed to do it but then..." I can't even get the words out, so I move past it, "I didn't have much time to prepare so I used one of the napkins at the service and wrote as much as I could on it with the time I had."

I remember how panicked I was, fearing that my words would never be enough to express the man who I'd loved wholeheartedly. They were just words, words on a napkin, but they were the last words I spoke to him.

He regards each and every item in the box with the same full attention he gave the last. He never asked questions that weren't related to what he found, and he accepted every bit of information I could give him. Holding my hand, kissing my knuckles and cheek as I cried when I told him about the postcards, when I showed him family photos of Nora, my father and I, how I mentioned that one day I'm afraid I'll forget what he sounded like, when I held out her broken perfume bottle, revealing how I'd sometimes spray it on my pillow, close my eyes and pretend she was near.

I watched as his eyes widened slightly when he picked up a photo of us. It was the last picture we took together before he left, the oldest one of him that I had. I pressed deeper into his chest as I whispered to him how that's the sole reason why I kept it, because it was one of our last memories together, and although I knew he'd grow over the years, I imagined that how he looked now couldn't have been that far off from then.

And when I did, he kissed me slowly, wiping my tears with his fingers and pressing more kisses under my eyes to the place they had fallen.

"Keep it." I tell him after we rummage through all the matchbox cars my father had gifted me with over the years. How on random occasions he'd come home to place a new box of one right on my bedside table, to surprise me when I came home from school.

He holds the black motorcycle matchbox between his fingers, shaking his head profusely over what I had just him. I wriggle in his grasp, shifting deeper into him so I'm able to breathe him in. His smell is like nicotine, a drug burning through me, spreading through my bloodstream. Listening to the sound of his heartbeat has almost made me forget about everything else, how strong it is, how perfectly in sync it is with mine.

"I can't. Your father gave it to you."

"And he'd want you to have it." He shoots me an incredulous look, a heavy gush of air leaving his nose showing just how much he doesn't believe me. My fingers tighten around his, squeezing. "He liked you, you know?"

That gets his attention.

His gaze flicks to mine in seconds, an unreadable expression on his face and I go on. "Everytime I would ask to go out with Jessica, the first thing he'd always respond with was if you're going to be there. I think he trusted you'd keep me safe, even then."

He stays quiet, looking off into his one world for a moment before he snaps out of it and looks down at me. Thumb brushing along the skin of my knuckles before he wordlessly brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it.

And when he agrees to accept it my heart jumps, noticing the adoration of the tiny object he has in his eyes, swelling my own emotions in my throat.

He continues to toy with it as I go on, running it across my thighs as I eventually fill him in on what happened with Nora, expressing how I feel terrible for not being able to forgive her while also feeling like a horrible person for not believing a word that comes out of her mouth. Voicing how if I do forgive her, she could find another way to break me all over again. Either way I lose.

My shoulders slump again, moisture building in my eyes until he wipes the tears away, whispering in my ear how strong he thinks I am, how none of it was my fault, telling me all the ways she missed out, and naming reasons why my father would be proud of me for everything I've overcome.

His words mean everything and more to me. Picking up all the shattered pieces of me and gluing them back together. And when he does the thing I love most- kissing me all over my face, cherishing me in the way he knows best- I let out a small laugh, the sound leaving my mouth feeling a breath of fresh air.

His lips hover over my nose as he stares down at me, corners of his mouth shifting upwards over the fact that I've finally laughed after all this time. He pauses for a moment, the way he's looking at me sending tingling sensations under my skin. His hand comes up, palming my cheek, thumb brushing along the skin.

"I hope one day you're as happy as you pretend to be."

My heart spasms, and all I can do is stare at his green orbs, watching them look between my lips with a small twinkle of desire. The meaning behind his words offers a faint sting from truth, but I tuck it away just as he does with his own happiness. It feels a bit overwhelming to have so many vulnerabilities at the surface, ready to break at the seams. But it's worth it for moments like these.

And right now I don't care if there's no labels to it, if we go on as whatever we are, refusing to establish what this really means.

Because this right here is real.

I know it is. I feel it in my bones. I'm more positive about it than anything.

"You too." I tell him, meaning every word.

He sighs, leaning down to press his forehead against mine. "I don't pretend baby, I'm no good at it." His voice is so soft I barely hear the words coming out from his lips.

Comfortable silence looms over us for a few moments, and I take the time to go over what he just said. I'm no good at it. As if happiness requires hard work and effort. All I want to do is hold him in my arms and keep him safe from every form of misery plaguing his mind, wrecking those negative thoughts and past traumas with just how strong my own feelings towards him are.

Unlike love, life is supposed to hurt. It's supposed to have it's moments where it can break you down in order to teach you the true strength behind getting up again, but it's not supposed to destroy you.

I hope the man in front of me finds true happiness, the one that's easy and makes everything worth living for. He deserves it. He deserves it all.

I lift my hand up, caressing the soft skin of his cheek, not wanting this conversation to put Mason down into that deep spiral of his own locked up emotions, so instead of giving him a response to that I decide to change the subject.

"How'd you know I was here?"

His shoulders square just a little bit, a small frown forming on those plump lips of his as if remembering what it was like to find me alone, teary eyed and saddened by today's events. And although I still feel emotionally drained from the amount of tears I have cried, his touch, his words, his kisses all make me feel warm and tingly inside regardless.

"I tried calling you after you left but you didn't answer. Hours passed and I got worried so I rode over to your house and saw your car was gone. You weren't answering so I thought maybe you were mad at me, I don't know, but when I couldn't contact you this was the first place I thought of." In my ear, so quiet and gruff he whispers, "You were right. I missed you."

A thrill streams down my spine. Realizing that everything him is exactly what I've been needing.

"How long did you last?"

"Twenty two minutes." He says with certainty, and I lean in, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, recalling how quick I was to get back to him as well.

Then I remember the relief that flooded in me over seeing he was the one that arrived instead of Aiden, distinctly recalling how his hands weren't empty.

"What's in the bag?"

His body stils for a second or two, "Shit." He curses to himself, arms extending down to the floor to pick up the paper bag he brought with him. "Fuck, it's probably all melted now."

Melted?

He settles it onto my lap, warmth exploding in my chest like fireworks when he pulls out a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Every last inch of me wants to cry again as if he just bought me something priceless, because I know what it means.

"I remember it being one of your traditions." He says, "Giving another person their favorite ice cream as a form of apology. I didn't know if you were upset with me or not, I didn't know how to fix it if you were but I figured this would be a good start."

I almost forget about things like that, how he knows more about me than what he's learned within his time being back. I've known him almost my entire life, and can't help but feel a bit guilty for not realizing just how much Mason pays attention to the little things. Now that I think about it, this isn't the only time he's gifted me ice cream. He did the night everything went down with Isaac, I was angry with him at the time, hurt, and miserable from all the events that took place, and he left me ice cream outside Jessica's door.

I never realized he was doing something that I've done with my mother since I was ten years old. He was apologizing with desert.

The center of me constricts, heart skipping a beat, "Did you bring any spoons?"

He nods, reaching back into the bag to bring out not one, but two. I take one in my hands, not caring the slightest bit when he opens the lid, peels back the plastic covering to find the contents more a little liquid than solid.

I thank him immediately, knowing that after everything, my body being wrapped tight in Mason's arms while we share a pint of my favorite ice cream under the stars is the only sense of happiness I've felt since I left him this morning.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" I ask him, body shrinking from how the thought of going back home sends a wave of panic through me.

He looks at me, a small frown forming on his lips as he reaches out to tuck a few stray strands of my hair behind my ear.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, baby."

I'm not sure how much time passes, the two of us chuckling under our breath when our spoons hit, him occasionally bringing his own up towards me for me to eat off of, giving me small, gentle and affectionate kisses while we talk about the most random things.

"Have you ever been in love?" I ask him, licking the contents off my spoon and digging it back inside the carton.

Those three powerful words were said to me twice today. And yet, while I was with both Nora and Aiden I had never felt so unloved in my life.

Unlovable. That's what he said to me. As if I'm to blame for my tragedies.

Mason draws in a deep breath, his chest falling as he exhales. The look on his face makes me wonder if I've asked him the wrong question. I expect him to pull away and run, like all those times he used to. Steeled armor forms around my heart at the possibility.

"Do I look like someone who has?"

"What does someone who's been in love look like?"

He doesn't say anything to my question. He only closes his eyes, like he's savoring the sensation of everything my touch brings him when I rest my cheek in the crook of his neck, sweeping my thumb across his skin. He shuffles closer to me, my nose grazing against his jawline, feeling my cheeks warm when he kisses it.

"What does it feel like?" He murmurs against my scalp, "Being in love with someone?"

He nudges his nose closer, sliding his hand under the material of my shirt to rest on my lower back and pull me tighter to him. There was something about the tone of his voice, as if he has never truly felt any form of love in his life.

"Part of me thinks I've never felt it."

"I thought... I thought you loved Aiden at the time." The words sound painful coming out of his mouth, like they taste bitter along his tongue, and from the way he tightens his grip on me I know he never plans on saying them again.

"I did too." I look back at him to see his face has suddenly become serious, his brows are pinched together and I can almost see the gears working overtime in his head trying to understand what I'm trying to say.

"And he didn't love you?" His voice is soft, so soft I barely hear it.

My eyes fixate on his, "Not the way I wanted to be loved."

He stares off into the distance, his thumb absently stroking my skin, drawing out goosebumps. There's something about this moment that deepens the yearning I have to be able to see into his thoughts. Although he's been quiet since my answer, his mind is racing, eyebrows knitted together as if deep in thought, and everytime I feel as though he's about to say something, silence remains.

I wish I could ask. Squeeze those sentiments out of him, but I understand. After all, at his core he is just as uncomfortable with emotional intimacy as I am.

"And," he says, the words traveling out his throat are hoarser than normal and he clears it. I untuck my face from being buried in his neck, sitting up straight to look him in his uncertain eyes. His pupils scan my face from eyes to lips. He touches a thumb to my mouth like he wants to steal it for himself, "And how do you want to be loved?"

"You seemed to know the answer to that very well not too long ago."

The words he spoke to me that night replay in my mind, "You want a love different from everyone else's. A love that consumes every inch of your body, and makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. You put on this whole good girl facade, but that's not you. You don't seem like the type for simplicity, you want more."

I assume he's aware of what I'm referring to, because his head nods slowly. "I was only talking out of my ass, saying what everyone wants, how everyone describes it."

The way he says it makes me think I have an answer to my question. How everyone describes it, like he has never truly felt the feeling for himself. I think back to when I was in my last relationship, how I felt, if I was in love, but I fall flat. I didn't feel it. I know I didn't.

Unlovable

My body shudders at his voice in my head and Mason looks down at me, taking it for a shiver, wraps his arms tighter around me and squeezes. But then a sinking feeling weighs down my stomach as he looks away from me.

"And that's what you want?" His mind is back to that faraway place again as he stares outwards, looking at nothing but the inky blackness ahead of us, "That all consuming love?"

He shifts under me and my body moves with his.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's still out there."

His focus moves to me, "And other times?"

I roll my head back, staring up at the stars. There are thousands upon thousands of them, each a flashing pinprick in a veil of darkness. His eyes are still on me, I can feel it. Deadset on my face, and when I turn my head away from the night sky his pupils jump back and forth between my two irises like he can't choose which to stay on.

"Other times I feel like life without love isn't a life worth living." At my words, Mason's eyes deepen, wetting his lips as he blows a heavy breath through his nose, looking away from me once again. Something inside me clicks, "You seem lost on the subject."

He shifts under me for the second time and I realize that either my weight on top of him has grown too heavy, or it's because he's uncomfortable.

"I am. Was never taught it."

My brows furrow, "Is love something you teach?"

He nods, his eyes looking up at the stars. I know he's more comfortable in the dark, and I wonder if the serene quiet provided by it is why he seeks solace in the shadows. Just like I do.

"I think your parents have a lot to do with how you view love and relationships- sets standards." His arms tighten, eyes still anywhere else but on me, "My father hated me. He didn't have to say it, I could see it in his eyes. And my mother... She was too wrapped up in her own pain to recognize mine. I understood it, being in that house... it suffocates you."

My throat closes up and I barely breathe, afraid that anything I say will halt his words in its tracks, preventing them from being spoken. An ocean full of pure hatred fills me from the mention of his father, followed by an overwhelming sense of sadness that he felt so neglected as a child, that he still feels it.

The word he used to describe how growing up in his childhood home clings to me.

It suffocates you

I know the feeling. Being in my home, walking in the hallway around all the pictures, surrounded by memories of what feels like a past life makes it feel as though a pair of hands are around my neck, draining the life out of me. I nod my head, choosing to stay quiet so he can continue talking, allowing himself to speak freely in hopes that it lifts some of the agony he keeps bottled and tucked away.

"She'd go out of town a lot, or come home late by the time I was already in bed trying to cover up the evidence of all that occurred while she was away. It wasn't..." He shakes his head, his body shuddering, "I wanted a family. To be... loved."

My eyes catch how the hand on top of my thigh is now in a clenched fist and I grab a hold of it, unraveling his hands and lacing them through my own, and squeeze it, giving Mason a physical distraction. He squeezes back.

"But something was always missing, something was always wrong. For a while I thought it was me, that I was broken. Maybe I didn't have the qualities to be loved, maybe even if I did I wouldn't feel it. I-I didn't feel anything at that time."

His lips press into a firm line, eyes bouncing from place to place as if memories of his past are resurfacing and I bring his hand up to my mouth, placing kiss after kiss on his knuckles just as he did for me. My actions gain his attention, finally bringing his gaze to mine, features on his face softening, muscles in his body relaxing as he exhales a long breath.

That war in his mind has returned, threatening to slip the mask back into place and I continue with my wordless affections, stopping once Mason gives my cheek a small, gentle kiss.

"I wanted it all once. Family... love...happiness... it just didn't want me."

My heart plunges from all the emotions exploding in my chest because of the words he just spoke. Based on the state I was in before he came, to the one I am in now I realize that he's my own personal brand of salvation, yet right now I recognize that I'm not the one who needs saving.

It's a rare sight to see all of his emotions written along the features of his face. He regularly hides them, but when I look back into his eyes I catch a glimpse of all the pain suppressed inside of him. I just want to wrap him in bubble wrap and shield him from any harm. Never let anything hurt him ever again.

Unlovable.

I wonder if he feels it too.

Within an instant I push myself up on my knees, reaching my leg out to the other side of his waist and sit down until I'm straddling his hips. Chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. He wraps his arms around my lower back, pressing me closer, eyes closing as I kiss both cheeks, under his eyes, his forehead, and my chest, my ribs, my heart are all a throbbing messy ache.

Once I'm finished I rest my head on his shoulder, my nose grazing along the skin on his neck, arms wrapped around him, fingertips floating tenderly through his hair as I sink forward, body clinging to his.

A few heartbeats of silence pass until he speaks, "Were your parents happy? It seemed as though they were."

I try to smile as I recall memories of both my parents together, but all it does is bring a sharp pain into my chest.

"So disgustingly happy."

His fingers work their way under my shirt again, calloused hands of his tracing random patterns along the skin of my lower back and heat collects between us and blooms across every inch of me.

"How did you feel about that?"

One hand of mine drops down lower to caress the skin along his jawline. The weighted sensation in my body back, this time only different. It's fogged up my lungs, squeezing around my heart, a feeling that would commonly come across as heavy, when it's actually light. So light.

"It's a lot to live up to." Is the answer I give him.

He lowers his head, nuzzles it inside my neck, the ends of his curls brushing against my ear. We both sit under the stars, holding each other, my arms around his shoulders, breath fanning his throat. His presence is becoming an addiction of mine, filling the cracks of my heart and soaking through my skin, infiltrating my veins with each inhale.

His voice is nothing more than a faint whisper, "It is."

❀

I didn't keep track of how long we stayed like that. Talking, keeping the conversation within safe boundaries as we comforted each other, listening to what the other person said and letting our attention be known by soft touches and kisses.

It wasn't until he asked if I had eaten anything when we decided to leave. When he found out the last meal I ate was during my breakfast with Jessica, he grabbed my hand, pulled me off of him and told me he'd feed me.

After turning off the battery operated string lights and shoving the bean bag chair back inside, we made our way down the latter and walked hand in hand towards my car. He insisted I leave it here overnight, expressing his concerns for me driving while I still had tears coming out my eyes and I agreed.

I didn't want to be separated from him. Plus, he told me over and over how he can pick my car back up in the morning and drive it to his place so I can sleep in.

He promised me thai as I shut my trunk, leaving my shoebox inside for the time being until I find a safer place to put it. Telling me how he can't wait to hold me while we eat in his bed and watch the next Marvel movie. And as we sauntered over to his motorcycle, he whispered in my ear all the ways he can make me feel better later... in graphic detail.

"Food first. Sex later."

The corner of his lips lift up slightly, "Does this postponement of sex include oral?"

I think about it for a moment, "No. But I need all eyes on Chris Evans."

We stop right in front of his bike and his hands squeeze mine, eyebrows knitting together, jaw tensing for the slightest second before he relaxes. I remember the first time I mentioned Chris Evans to him while we were in bed watching Captain America The First Avenger. I was lying in between his legs, head against his chest and his arms tightened across my waist, shifting me tighter against him as if there was ever a possibility he could take me away from him.

I can't help but admire him. Even like this. His gaze dips down to my mouth and I pull on his hand, wanting him to bend lower so I'm able to kiss him.

He obliges, lips connecting mine instantly and all the chaos raging through mine is silenced the moment our lips touch. The feeling of him doesn't make me feel as though I'm surrounded by stars- it makes me feel like I'm in them.

He whines against my mouth, releasing my hand and slowly sliding it up my wrists, along my arms, erupting a trail of goosebumps over my skin until he reaches my face and rests his palms against my cheeks. And when my hands wrap around his waist he inhales sharply through his nose, breathing the entirety of this situation in.

I didn't think it was possible to want a person this badly. To never be close enough to him. I feel the electricity, the mirage of joyous colors in my head. We move our lips so delicately, the both of us enjoying the moment for what it is.

I breathe him in as our lips separate, mouths still millimeters apart, eyes closed while he kisses my lower lip softly, just once, then comes back in to kiss my mouth fully a second time.

I nearly melt against him when he rubs my cheekbone with his thumbs and smiles into my mouth, his teeth almost touching my lips before they close in on each other again. I wonder if he can feel the floating sensation just as I do, the gentle intimacy of it causing euphoria to fill my veins as my head remains up in the clouds, stomach containing so many butterflies.

I've never felt so secure in someone's arms. So wanted. So needed.

In the intensity of the moment our lips separate, forehead against each other, chests rising and falling as we inhale small breaths. High off a feeling I'm still trying to place, I open my eyes gradually, staring into beautiful green orbs looking right at me.

Seconds pass.

Both of us refusing to break eye contact, both of us never wanting this moment to end.

I wrap my hands around his wrists, his palms still pressed against my cheek. "I'm happy you're here." I say, and his body goes rigid in a flash and worry rises in me, "Is that a terrible thing to say."

Considering the circumstances. All the reasons why he's here with me right now. His mother.

I open my mouth to apologize but he shakes his head and beats me to it, "No." My eyes drift away from his and he catches it, "Sometimes we have to make the best out of the worst situations."

My gaze meets his again, "Is that what you think this is? The best outcome out of the worst situation?"

His thumb continues it's strokes along my cheekbone, his voice so soft and gentle, "I know it is, baby."

My skin feels flushed, crawling with heat as I lift myself up on my tiptoes to kiss him again, mouth lingering on his for a few seconds. So sweet. So soft. So much compassion.

"And back massages in between?" I whisper wanting massages while the movie plays, and his mouth widens into a grin.

He nods, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip, "Smile for me." His intentions make his wishes effortless, a smile- the first smile in hours- grows upon my face and he kisses it, a laugh spewing out of me from his quick actions. "I've missed that smile...Fuck, I could get lost in you.."

I am lost in you.

Is what I want to say, instead my lips find his again and again. Losing myself in him until I run out of oxygen and have to come up for air.

❀

I hug his body tighter, letting my fingers run under his shirt as the smell of his cologne whips past me, motorcycle revving down the empty street, trees blurring with each tick on the speedometer.

Body still ignited from the swaths of flames from my chest against his backside, chin on his shoulder, adrenaline coursing through my veins from how the whizzing wind whips at my sides and seeps under my clothes.

The wind ruffles his hair, and out here with not a single vehicle in sight, nothing but trees upon us and street lights illuminating the night sky, he looks completely at ease.

"Stand up." I hear him say, his voice loud enough to be heard against the wind.

Stand up? He is out of his mind.

My grip tightens on him and he speaks up before I get a chance to refuse. "I want you to feel it."

I sigh, digging my head closer against him and contemplating his words. I have nothing against doing what he suggests, but the thought of falling off and having my head cracked open on the cement does cross my mind once or twice.

There's been no cars since we've been on the road. He wouldn't even give me the option in doing so if he didn't think I would be safe. If there's one thing I know when it comes to Mason it's that I trust him. Completely.

I swallow down my nerves, sucking in a resigned breath and wonder if he can feel my heart hammering his back through my chest.

My hands are shaking without my control, my mind overly cautious of how fast we're going when I try to shift them upwards to grip his shoulders. It takes me longer than I originally imagined it would, and I come to the realization that in order for this to work I need to let go of all my pessimistic thoughts and fears.

Stand up

My pressure on his shoulders grows as I triple check that my feet are placed sturdily on the pegs of the bike, crossing off every chance of this ending in a complete disaster. I take one last clear breath in, remembering that once his face isn't blocking most of the wind, it could be more choppy and make it a little more difficult to breathe.

Once my body starts to move I feel more at ease, gaining more self confidence when I inch myself up and off the seat, using my grip on Mason for extra support, not stopping until I am fully standing right behind him on the back of his motorcycle.

A surprised laugh escapes me, suddenly feeling proud over the entire situation. The cool brisk wind blows against my eyes and I close them before all the moisture in them evaporates. Then all the background noise disappears, everything that happened today, every action that tried to break another piece of me vanishing until the only thing left is me, him, and the broken pieces he glued back together.

There's a tingle in my fingers and toes, much like a feeling I have when I'm anxious, but instead of worrisome it's warm and pleasurable, strong enough to feel like an ocean wave washing away the stress inside and leaving me refreshed, new again.

I open my eyes, taking in my surroundings to savor it in my mind to remember the blissful experience for later. The tranquility of flying down the road followed by the elated feeling from everything about this moment brings a rush of serotonin through me, and before I know it I'm laughing. Laughing through the biggest smile I've worn in a while.

My gaze flicks down towards him, seeing his hands curled around the handlebars, fingers clutching controls, eyes looking at me through the rearview mirror, a smile- a real smile, that reaches his eyes and brightens his entire face- looks up at me.

And then I feel it. Alive, blissful, free.

And pure happiness. 

❀

A.N.//

SHEESH it is 5 am where I live and I am pooped. I wanted to give you guys this chapter since I've been promising it. So sorry it's late, it was my birthday yesterday and I didn't have time to upload. 

Turned 21 so cheers to being able to buy my own alcohol before listening to Taylor Swift

As always, don't forget to comment and hit that ☆ button if you enjoyed this chapter!

Thank you for reading. And for your patience.

-yourunknownteen