Trigger warning: This chapter contains scenes that some of you may find upsetting.

For those of you who choose not to read it, feel free to message me and I can give you a recap.

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Silence.

     At first I found it comforting, but with the time that has passed it's as though the silence in the air is shoving it's self down my throat, invading my nostrils and filling my ears, limiting me from speaking or giving him any false sense of relief I know he needs.

    The smell of tobacco that once lingered in the air is now gone, the warmth I felt from being near him vanished, the swaying of trees and rustling of leaves that could be heard but not seen had stilled somewhere in the darkness leaving us with nothing but silence.

   It's pitch black outside with not even one star in the night sky, the only source of light is the low waning moon hovering tenuously, and the bright street lights illuminating the gloom.

     And then there's him.

     It's almost as if he's clinging to the darkness around him, intensifying it in some way.

    I try to not let it bother me that throughout my time sitting beside him he hasn't given me a single glance. And overtime, I'm becoming more and more aware of the taut silence stretching between us.

     This is a bad idea.

     Sitting here beside him regardless of what took place earlier.

    I should be angry, picking a fight, yelling, screaming, stomping-my-feet-on-the-ground angry. But no matter how many times I try to stand up and force myself to walk away, I can't seem to move.

     It's almost as if my body takes comfort in his, like all my sorrows from earlier have reached its max limit and he's the only one with the drain to clear it all, take this weight off of me and make it all better.

     I have questions.

    So so many questions.

  And after tonight I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this- running around in circles lost and confused on him.

   I don't know how much more of myself I can give. But for some reason I still remain here frozen in time, mentally begging him to open up to me and take me away from all this.

    And just when I think I'm about to get up and leave, he speaks.

     "It was all my fault."

    His voice is so soft I barely even hear the words escape his lips. I cautiously look over at him, my mouth clinging shut over the fear of interrupting him and having him clam up again.

     He looks straight ahead into the night sky as he continues, "It was my idea to leave. I thought I was doing something right, good, but..." He sighs deeply, "I should have known better."

     Those nervous ticks of his are coming out, making me a bit anxious on where he's trying to go with this. But no matter what it is, I have to remember to try and understand, not judge or discourage him in any way. I need to show him that he can be honest with me, no matter his past or his troubled burdens, I'll accept them all.

    I never knew it was his idea to leave. And honestly, I'm not quite sure what to think about it. I guess a part of me always figured his mom was the one that pulled the strings on that one, my thoughts on that matter only made it easier to rid him from my mind at the time.

    It was easier to think that he wasn't the one who wanted to leave, like he was forced in some way- put up a fight to stay here with us, with me.

     And even though I know that with every drop of information he decides to share with me, I'll accept it, the sting that's formed deep inside my chest is still there.

   "I'm sure you've heard the rumors on why my parents divorced." He fills the silence again, his voice thick with fatigue.

     "Your father had an affair." I say to him, keeping my voice soft with not a tint of judgement.

     "We didn't know that at first." He mutters.

     I chew distractedly on my lip, studying how the man before me brings his hand up to scratch the faint stubble growing along his jaw before running it through his hair, pushing it in every wrong direction but still managing to look effortlessly alluring.

     He clears his throat before he takes a deep breath, looking pained by what he's about to say next. I reposition my body so my face is to him, sitting right by his side while he continues to stare outwards.

    I want to be here for him, show him in any way that I'm here, even if my presence is all he feels right now it's good enough for me.

    He toys with his hands and I get the sense that whatever he's about to say is right at the edge of his throat, the tip of his tongue and so I hesitantly reach my hand out over to his own, and cover my palm with the back of his.

     He doesn't say anything, but from the look on his face I can tell he's unsure- shocked even. I watch as his shoulders fall back, his eyes looking down at our hands softening at the mere glimpse of me stroking my thumb along the back of his hand.

       But even then, he still won't look at me.

   "When uh..." He begins, his hands starting to tremble a bit and I give him a reassuring squeeze, trying to bring him back to me. He purses his lips, looking lost for a few more seconds before he continues.

     "When Christmas morning came along my parents had already been divorced for almost four months." Another deep breath, "All morning my mother was in the kitchen, fucking slaving away and shit just to make the perfect dinner for us. I knew she didn't give a rats ass about seeing my father; that day would have been the longest the two of were going to be in the same room together since they signed the fucking papers. But she did it... for me. For some reason she thought I cared- shit, I don't know."

     He uses his free hand to rub his eyes, trying to erase the pain glimmering off of them but it's no use. I noticed earlier how his jaw tensed at the mention of his father, and how it looks as though he's trying to focus on keeping his breathing steady, and it only sends me giving him more reassuring squeezes and gentle touches along his hand.

    Hearing him talk about Christmas morning brings me back to the day before- Christmas Eve, the last day I saw him.

     I know how hard this must be for him, opening himself up to me, showing me that vulnerable side of him he tries so hard to keep closed off. I don't want to risk saying the wrong thing, or make him even more uncomfortable than he is now, so I decide to remain quiet until he finishes.

     I'll be here to listen to whatever he has to say.

   A few seconds pass and I watch as he squeezes his eyes closed before opening them and looking back into the darkness.

     "By the time everything was finished I set the table and the two of us sat down and waited. Then thirty minutes passed, an hour, two... The look on her face..." He scoffs, shaking his head in both frustration and disbelief, "She acts like she doesn't care about that piece of shit but she does, even when he doesn't deserve it."

     The short pauses he takes in between sentences doesn't go unnoticed. It proves to me just how sensitive this topic is for him. I see the anxiety rising in his body, the uneasiness, agitation, all of it. As I caress his skin his muscles seem to relax a little, washing the suffering away piece by piece from my affection.

      My actions encourage him to go further, "She thinks because the two of them had a kid that he deserves all the chances in the world, but after that time I had fucking had it. I left, drove over to his new house on the town over and right when I pulled up to the curb I saw them. My father, his wife... and their son."

     I try my hardest to swallow down the emotions I feel. Their son?

My pulse starts hammering, mind running too fast for me to comprehend while I make sense of it all. I had no idea that Mason's father had another child. After he moved out of town I never heard anyone speak of him again, until Mason and his mother vanished that is.

     When I see the look on Mason's face in front of me I immediately come to my senses, letting my anger from earlier subside and untangle my legs below me, shifting my body over his lap so I'm straddling his hips. He doesn't even register what I'm doing, just flicks his gaze down onto his hands, keeping his head low and eyes out of sight from my own refusing to look at me.

     "He looked about three at the time." He says, and my heart falls into my stomach.

     I can't imagine how that must have felt for him, seeing something like that, witnessing it with his own eyes and realizing just how long the affair was. Before I have time to think about what I'm doing I reach both of my hands out, placing them on either side of his cheeks.

    Even now, in a moment like this I can't ignore the way my body reacts at the simple touch of his, the buzzing, firing pit in my belly.

    My fingers stroke along his cheek, "Look at me, Mason." I softly beg him, becoming lost on the lack of feelings I get when his eyes look into mine. He ignores my pleas, closing his eyes and keeping his head down and I lightly push it back up with my hands, pressing his forehead against mine and finding peace when our exhales tangle together. "Please look at me. Please."

     My stomach turns at the realization that something in him is different now than it was before.

     He won't touch me.

   Even with me sitting on him, caressing his soft skin he still won't do it. Normally he would have wrapped his arms around my waist, brought me closer to him and savored our unrestrained intimacy, but right now I can't help but think that it pains him even more.

   But then his eyes slowly open,  and I let him take all the time he needs before he lifts his head back up. Those beautiful green iris' of his leisurely trailing up my lap, my torso, my lips, before meeting my own.

     The misery plaguing him is seen in his eyes, the redness surrounding them, darkening  down below. I take in how pale his skin is, all except the prominent dark circles, they're puffy and bleak looking and my heart falters.

       I run my fingers along his cheek and he let's me, watching me as I do so.

     "Mason..." I begin, but he cuts me off.

     "I need to get this out baby, or else I'm afraid I'll never say it." I study him, swallowing the urge to hold him in my arms as I nod my head for him to continue. "I didn't even go inside, I don't know what I would have done if I did. I was just so angry, not that he'd done that to me, but that he'd do some shit like that to her on Christmas for fucks sake."

     He pauses, running a hand swiftly over his hair before dropping it back down to his side, making sure not to touch me.

      "And when I got home I couldn't lie to her, I should have. Fuck-I-I should have lied but I thought it was the right idea to leave. We packed our things overnight and left in the morning. We stayed at her friend's place in Seattle until my mom got her own apartment. I uh... I didn't go with her, I got my own place... I thought... I thought I was doing everything right. That we'd start over- she'd start over."

     He shakes his head once more, his voice becoming strangled and broken again, chin starting to tremble and I shift myself closer to him, my thumb continuing it's motions, stroking his cheek as gently as I can to remind him that I'm here for him.

     "That's when I started fighting. I met some people and we got so wrapped up in it all- the money, alcohol, drugs... " He looks at me for a moment, "sex- shit we couldn't get enough of it." I ignore the uneasy feeling in my stomach from the last part he spoke and nod along, letting him go further, "I think she started to notice something was wrong but just pretended like she didn't. She should have talked to me... Then maybe I would have known, I..."

     His words get caught in his throat, eyes moving away from mine, while I carry on with offering some comfort.

    "Known what?" I ask him, and he brings his eyes back to me, swallowing thickly.

     "My mother ended up re-marrying a year after we moved to Seattle. Simon." The hatred laced in his voice at the mention of his name is evident, the single word coming off of his tongue sends his body stiff again, his hands balling into fists, knuckles turning white under me. "I fucking hated him from the start, I didn't trust her with anyone. I should have protected her but I was trying to move on, to move forward I guess."

     My face scrunches up in confusion, "Protected her from what?" It doesn't take long before his face falls, and I can visibly see the walls slowly crumbling back to life before me.

     This is too much for him, I know it.

     I can't push him as I did earlier- it nearly broke him the first time.

   "It's okay if you don't want to tell me." I say to him, bringing a hand behind his neck and roaming it through the back of his head, coursing through his hair to show him the honesty behind my words.

    I want Mason to open up to me, but I don't want it to break him in the process. I know hearing what took place the last three years will require babysteps, I don't imagine him telling me every little detail about what happened now.

     I wanted him to try, and he did.

     And it is enough for me, he is enough for me.

    "No, I want to. I don't want to keep hurting you anymore baby, I can't." He sighs deeply, "You should know."

    I nod apprehensively, preparing myself for what he's about to say next.

     "One night after training I left the gym and called her to let her know that I'm going to swing by to pick up something from her place. It kept going to voicemail and I had a bad feeling, like something was wrong. So I drove there and right when I opened the door there he was, sitting in his fucking La-Z-Boy drinking a beer. He didn't even notice me come in, he was so invested in whatever the fuck kind of show he was watching so I just walked inside. She wasn't in the kitchen, or her room... And so I uh, I went into the bathroom."

     He tears his eyes away from mine again, pressing his lips into a firm line to keep them from quivering. His eyes flick in different directions, as if he's remembering things right in front of me. His breathing becomes shallow again, lines creasing onto his forehead, smacking his lips as if he has a bitter taste in his mouth and no matter how many times I try to bring him back to me nothing helps.

    The constant never ending war raging on in his head has hit a detrimental point, taking pieces of him inches away from me and I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me to try and keep him safe from the darkness trying to seize him.

     I look into his eyes, waiting for his body to relax from my touch.

    "I found her in the bathtub." He whimpers against me, and my whole body starts to feel numb, "She... all I remember was seeing bruises... some looked new while others seemed like they'd been there for a while. Then I-I saw the tears, cuts, the blood. Next thing I know she's screaming at me, yelling at me to stop and pulling me off of him." He brings his grief stricken eyes back to me, "I almost killed him Isabelle, fuck I wanted to. But she wouldn't let me, she just kept crying and... She made me promise."

     A whirlpool of emotions start to engulf me, but I remind myself to not let it show. Over the years with him gone I imagined just about every scenario you can think of, every reason why he could have left, and what his life was like in Seattle- I imagined it all. But never did I ever imagine the trauma he could have experienced.

     I can't even fathom how hard that must have been on the both of them. Seeing someone you love hurt, I presume it to cause the worst pain of all.

     I'm crushed at the fact that he had to go through it all alone, even hearing the words come out of his mouth sends daggers into my heart and a sick queasy feeling in my stomach that this happened to him and his mother.

     All I want to do is hold him in my arms and keep him safe from harm.

   So I grip him a little tighter, my fingers stroking the back of his hair while I absorb the rest of what he needs to say.

    "She told me to come back here, wait for her... made me promise not to come back. She was screaming at me to listen and then I... I just left. I left her in that fucking house with him, I-I believed her. I believed when she said she'd leave him and come back here to me and I shouldn't have." He takes another deep breath, "She called the house one morning and-" He stops mid sentence, looking back up at me, "I remember you picked up the phone."

     Me?

    I take a moment to think about it, memories of this summer rewinding at full speed in my mind until I grasp onto exactly what he's talking about. The night Mason destroyed his room, me cleaning off the blood and later arguing about God knows what comes rushing back to me.

     That was his mom on the phone.

     "She told me it's going to be a little longer, that he'd taken her on a vacation to work things out or some shit.... She hasn't been home since, I don't even know where she is. She texts me sometimes. Before I left I told her to reach out whenever she needs me, anytime of the day and I'd be there, but it's not as often as I'd like."

     Every little bit of information he gives me is just another piece of his puzzle I put together, slowly connecting the dots and realizing that that must be the reason why his mood oftentimes changes when he looks at his phone.

     My mind is drowning with all the realisations hitting me, everything gradually starting to add up and make sense of each other.

     I know the pain he feels, not knowing where your own mother is, if she's happy, safe. It makes you realize just how important counting your blessings really is. I went through hell without her, it felt as though a piece of me- a big piece- had been cut out of my life and I felt so lost on what to do next without it.

    And to think Mason is familiar with that pain.

    It's something that can destroy you if you let it.

    But I'll be damned to let it happen to him.

   "I shouldn't have left. You were right, it's the one thing I know how to do best." He lowers his head back down, looking ashamed and the dagger in my heart twists.

     "I didn't mean that."

     "Yes you did, Isabelle-"

    "I was just upset. I said that to you out of anger and I shouldn't have. But don't you dare think that any of this is your fault-" I keep my voice firm, leaving no room for doubt to register to him but he interrupts.

   "I told her we should move. I thought I was doing the right thing for us and look how that turned out." A resigned sigh escapes his lips and my fingers scrape over his jaw, his cheek, and I nearly melt into when he leans his face into my palm, closing his tired eyes.

   After a while of us like this I give him my response, "You can't blame yourself for what Simon did to her. Those aren't your actions, they're his."

     He opens his eyes, revealing the same dreadful look in those orbs of his.

    "I left-"

   "She's your mother, it's her job to keep you safe. Even after everything that happened her top priority was getting you out of there. She was trying to protect you-"

  "Well who's going to protect her?" He snaps at me, the expression on his face resembling something dark.

    I don't let the change in his voice discourage me, I know he's hurt and he's never learned how to deal with all of these emotions. I see regret flash in his eyes, the tense structures on his face softening and he brings his head closer  until he rests his forehead against mine, the faint scent of alcohol tainting his breath.

     I give himself time to adjust, to let himself relax and ease the temper firing up in his mind. And when he's finished he shifts his body backwards a bit, far enough to meet my eyes but close enough to still feel the warmth in my bones.

    His lips so close to my own, our recycled breaths merely sending me over the edge.

     "She won't talk to me about it." He whispers, "Thinks I won't understand or some shit so she tries to put on a brave face. It's bullshit- her thinking I won't get it. I can't do anything about it, I mean fuck, it's all my fault."

     "Mason, moving was-"

   "I'm not talking about moving." I pause to see if he has anything more to say, before narrowing my eyes into him.

     "Then what is it?"

    It looks as though he's contemplating his next few words, his body becoming stiff again below me and I look at him confused.

    "The thing is... I do understand. I fucking understand all of it, and maybe if I had been honest with her from the beginning she wouldn't be in this situation."

     His words settle heavily between us, "What are you talking about?"

    And there it is again: the silence.

   But this time it isn't hovering over us, it's settled in between us, trying to pull us away from each other, force us apart. I stare into him while he looks away from me, focusing on the gashes along his knuckles, the cuts I'm sure will scar, the loose string on his pants, anything else but me in front of him.

   My impatience starts biting at me, my skin growing itchy, on the verge of going numb while I wait for his answer. My heart thuds, chest growing tight threatening to break me as his breaths become more rapid.

    He attempts to blow his cheeks out, trying to steady them while running a shaky hand through his hair, the expression on his face tight with strain.

    The longer I sit here, observing his behavior, worry starts to flood my mind and I float my hand over his cheek, before lifting his head up and bringing him closer to me.

     He still refuses to meet my eyes but I don't care, my head is spinning trying to understand what's waging on his head.

     "Baby, what is it?"

  The words are out before I have a chance to stop them and his eyes snap over to mine, widening in shock but I'm thankful when he doesn't dwell on it. Instead in the sadness teeming in those orbs of his has been relatively washed away, replaced with a glint of bliss.

     And if I look close enough I can almost see a smile forming on those lips of his.

   Then large calloused hands snakes around my waist tugging me closer to him. Having his touch back feels as though a weight has been lifted from my chest; it's almost unnatural how he's able to make me feel, even in moments like these.

    But then his smile fades, it's gone as quick as it came and I pull my hands forward, brushing them against his cheeks trying to calm him again. And I hold my breath as I watch him lift his hand up, placing it over my wrists as if he's trying to keep me there.

     "The first time my father hit me I was seven." I suck in a sharp breath, his words devastating me, "I didn't even really understand it, it wasn't a big deal but then... things got worse. It started happening more and more, to the point where I would hide them."

     Hide them?

    "The bruises, cuts, cigarette burns- I'd hide them all so she wouldn't see. My parents' marriage had always been a shit show, and I just... I didn't want to cause her anymore pain. The truth is, I've... I've never told anyone."

    He hides his face from me, looking embarrassed and my own body aches for him. He hurt him, this man who has engulfed every part of me has been hurt in the worst way and I can't stand the thought of anyone ever causing him that kind of pain. I would do anything to keep him safe, make him feel protected and secure again.

    I don't know his father well, or at all really. Every time I saw him he'd always be quiet, keep to himself, but there's a deep fueling, firing pit of hatred I have for him for laying a hand on the beautiful man before me.

   Hearing him say he's never told a single soul crushes my heart even more, living in that kind of agony all by yourself... I can't bear the thought of it.

     I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his torso before placing my head against his chest, holding him tight. His grip on me tightens, body relaxing a bit under me as he continues.

     "Then my mother got promoted at work, they started to send her on business trips and that's when things were at their worst." He pauses for a moment, blowing out a heavy nervous breath, "There was this storage room under the stairs... Sometimes he'd leave me in there, for hours, days. It got to the point where I'd be sitting in a dark room for so long I'd lose track of time. He wouldn't give me anything- well, except... for the knife."

     I sit up so I'm able to look at his face, "Knife?"

    "He'd give it to me, lock the door and scream on the other side of it telling me to kill myself. I was twelve."

    I feel my eyes start to water and I fight back the tears, he doesn't need them now.

    I cling onto him, swallowing the tightness in my throat listening to how distraught he sounds.

    "I couldn't do it, I swear I'd look at that fucking thing for hours until my hands started shaking and all I could think about was her. I'm all she has, I just... I couldn't do it." He shakes his head, his voice cracking and I hate how he feels the need to try and explain his reasoning to me.

     It's not his fault.

    None of this is his fault.

  "Everytime I try to be good...happy," He says the word like it was poison on his tongue, 'happy',  foreign concept to him. "Something always comes along and fucks it up- I fuck it up. And I can't do that to you baby, I can't ruin you, I won't."

     He takes his hand off of me, wincing from my touch as if I'm burning him again. The last piece, the last full piece of him, is shattering right in front of me while he chokes on his own breath, his body trembling.

     "He was right, I don't have it in me."

    I grab his face with my hands, forcing him to look me in the eyes and wishing I could exorcise those demons out of them. He grimaces when I touch him and I feel beyond sick that someone's compassion and empathy is unfamiliar to him. He doesn't handle his own emotions well, but he also can't grasp onto the idea that someone would want to care for him either.

    "Look at me." I urge him and after a few seconds he finally lifts his eyes to mine. "Don't do that. Don't push me away and try to play the hero, and don't you ever for a split second think anything he ever said to you was true-"

   "I'm nothing, Isabelle. I'm just..." He scrambles his mind trying to find the right word, "Broken."

     He looks lost in his own mind and I make sure to keep every once of sincerity in my words on full display for him.

  "You're not broken, Mason." I say, cupping his cheek, my thumb gently stroking his cheekbone, "You're... Strong."

      He looks at me confused, "Strong." He slowly repeats, but not agreeing with me. He says it as though he's trying out saying the word for the first time, not fond of how the word feels rolling off his own tongue.

     "Yes. I understand why you feel hurt, broken down from everything that happened to you. But the last thing I ever want you to feel is alone in this. You understand me?" I don't mean to scold him, but I have so many emotions whirring inside of me I can't control it anymore.

     I can't stand the thought that he's been hurt.

    "I'm here Mason, I'll always be here-"

    "I hurt you, Isabelle. I left you-"

    "You were doing what you thought was right for you and your mother. I understand why you did it. You were trying to be happy, and you deserve that chance."

     I don't know what's coming over me, but even if his darkest moments my instinct is always to comfort him. To be there, no matter the cost. Even if it means letting go of the past, accepting it, I'll do it for him.

    "Happiness is the last thing I deserve. She's out there somewhere in pain and I'm here with..." He doesn't continue his sentence, so I do it for him.

     "Me... You're here with me."

     He looks at me, his actions from earlier slowly starting to make sense to me.

     He feels guilty.

    That's why he's tried so hard to push me away, to make me angry, even risk me hating him at times.

     He notices my reaction, "I don't deserve you."

    "Don't say that."

    He shakes his head, the broken down walls in his mind building itself back together, "You should have stayed away from me."

     No.

    My face drops, refusing what he's saying to me. I try to give him reassuring touches, showing how much I care about him in the ways that came naturally to me. But it seems as though nothing can console what's going on in his head, I can't seem to ease what's troubling him.

     "I'm not going anywhere." My words don't turn that frown, soften the creases in his face or bring the liveliness back into his eyes again. He simply searches for dishonesty in my face, trying to decipher the true meaning behind my own words.

   "How do you do that?" He asks, his voice in complete disbelief, "See the good in people? In me?"

     I respond to him without hesitation, "You're more than what happened to you, Mason."

    He takes in my words, looking at me with a pensive expression on his face and I wish more than anything that I can just crawl into that mind of his and see what he's thinking.

    "I didn't mean it." He begins and I screw my face up in confusion, "What I said earlier today, I didn't mean it. Any of it."

     It's hard to imagine hours ago we were screaming at each other, I wanted to practically rip his head off of him and now we're sitting here, whispering softly together and I never want to leave his side.

     "I know." He looks away from me, the darkness in his eyes returning, "It's not your fault, Mason. You were a child, what he did to you wasn't right. Look at me." I urge him once more, wanting to look him in the eyes when I say this and I feel relief when he brings himself back to me. "It's not your fault."

     My words crumble the last remaining piece of him and he pulls me closer against him, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I wrap my arms around him, cradling his body against mine while he starts to shake again, his breathing starting to go shallow, every word he speaks strangled and hoarse.

    "Then why did he do it? Why did he do that to me?" He chokes against me, and this time I'm unable to keep the tears in.

    I grip onto him a little tighter, pushing my fingers through the back of his hair, stroking him gently, and holding onto him with everything I have.

     "I don't know, baby. I don't know."

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A.N.

Hello readers, I know it's been a while.

Throughout this book Mason has been very closed off, and I know all of you have wanted to read why that is the case, but the reason why I put it so late in the story is because I wanted to show that can be very difficult to talk to someone about things you have gone through, especially physical & emotional abuse. Even if you've known the person your whole life, it can be a challenge to open up about it.

As you guys read on you'll know a bit more.

Thank you to everyone who reads my story! I'm almost at 200k!

Don't forget to vote & leave a comment on how you felt about this chapter. I'd love to read your opinions on it and if it changes how you see Mason now.

And if anyone needs to talk, my messages are always open.
Also, I'm thinking about creating a playlist for this story.

If anyone has a song that reminds you of Mason and Isabelle please comment or message me & I'll add it :)

-yourunknownteen