I started to sit up when Mason’s arms wound reflexively around me, his hands tentatively resting on my back. I’d expected them to let go as I started to move but they tightened instead of loosened, holding me in place.
“…Mason?” I asked, my voice rising in question, my heart beginning to thud erratically. There was no way he was thinking what I was thinking… was there?
“Lee…” he answered, his voice breathy, my name almost a sigh on his lips. My pulse pounded in my ears, beating a staccato rhythm in my head as we lay there on the bed, bodies entwined.
“Oh god,” he said, when I tried again to move away from him, his eyes closed, perhaps in delight, at the movement, his hips grinding against mine almost of their own volition.
“That… that feels…” he bit back a groan.
I understood. I was at a loss for words, too. I was fighting my own body, trying desperately not to grind back against him. He felt so damn good beneath me – his body firm and tight, his right hand sliding down to my waist, the left making slow circles on my back, his eyes still closed. I didn’t think he even realized what he was doing.
“Mason,” I whispered his name this time and his eyes flew open again. I looked into that stunning face, those beautiful lips, that all I wanted to do was taste. I could feel his breath on my skin as I leaned closer, and his hands tightening on my back.
The entire day, I’d been fighting my attraction to this man, trying to give him space. The last thing I wanted to be was like one of those crazy fans who were all over their famous crush. He wasn’t my date. Hell, he wasn’t even my friend. Yet here I was, almost literally throwing myself on top of him. Okay, not on purpose, but still… My heart was beating so loudly it seemed he had to be able to hear it. His eyes opened a little wider as I drew closer, and I watched as he swallowed nervously, apprehension skittering across his face.
Realization washed over me and doused my heated lust as surely as a cold bucket of water. Shit, I was an asshole. What was I thinking? This guy had endured a shitty life of people taking away all his choices, and here I was doing the exact same thing to him. In Mack’s bed, no less. The last thought sent a spasm of pain and guilt through my chest.
“I’m—Fuck!” I sat up abruptly, this time easily breaking his hold on me and rolling away from him.
“T-that was so out of line,” I said angrily, guiltily avoiding his gaze. Shame made me unable to say anything more, so I grabbed my things and fled, slamming the bedroom door shut behind me.
12
Mason
What the fuck just happened?
The day had been amazing. The night had been fun. But, oh my fucking gods. Lee Devereaux had literally fallen on top of me… and the memory of the steel rod in his pants made it pretty clear that he was as attracted to me as I was to him.
Or, was he? Fuck. The utter condemnation in his tone. And he was right. I'd been out of line. I’d had no right to take advantage of him like that, to grind myself against him, to wrap my arms around him and basically molest him when he’d fallen. Yet when the feeling of his body laid across mine presented itself, it was like my own body knew what it wanted, even if my mind didn’t understand how to go about getting it.
I lay there for a few more moments trying desperately to regain control of myself. The erection I’d been so eager to grind against Lee was starting to fade, and none too soon. Humiliation rolled through me. He must have thought I was some kind of—of pervert. Like Dreyven. Like Ricky. Just like all those other men who’d used me in the past – as soon as the opportunity presented itself, I’d tried to take what I wanted without caring about consent. Shit! I was just like them. Like him.
I crushed my forearm over my eyes. Tears of shame, hate and self-loathing pooled at the corners of my eyes and escaped to slide down my temples into my hair. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. Fuck. All those years of therapy and trying to overcome my past and at the first opportunity I’d turned into the fucking mini-me version of Dreyven.
Suddenly, I was no longer in the tastefully decorated bedroom in the woods in Ohio. I was back in the tiny, filthy apartment in Milwaukee, Ricky’s words and voice battering my already-bruised psyche.
“You like being fucked, don’t you, Mason? Just like your mom. You’re just a slut, always asking for it. You love it when a big, strong man fucks you over good, throws you around a little bit, teaches you your place,” he’d said, holding me to the bed by my throat with bruising force. Occasionally his hand would lazily flash out and slap my face, my ass, or twist a nipple painfully. I remembered squeezing my eyes shut, feeling the spray of his spittle on my face and lips, the smell of his greasy, oniony breath as he and Dreyven took turns thrusting inside of me until the final, hated feel of his release in my ass.
The roil of my stomach gave me little warning, and I barely made it to the bathroom in time to unload the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
When I woke, many hours later, I was on the cold tile floor in the bathroom of Lee’s house. I remembered vomiting over and over until nothing came out but bile.
My head pounded, my joints were stiff and cold, and I had a major kink in my neck from the way I’d been lying. I could see sunlight pouring through the windows in the bedroom: I must have been unconscious for hours.
Groaning, I forced myself to my feet. My mouth tasted of vomit and fear, and I realized I’d never changed my clothes when we got home. Willing my body to move, I slowly got to my feet and leaned against the vanity, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I looked like shit. My face was pale and drawn. Dark puffy circles popped up under both eyes, and my hair was matted against my head with tears and sweat, and I was badly in need of a shave. A big bruise stood out on my forehead along the hairline above my right eye where our skulls had connected.
The pallor and bruises were like sirens, trying to drag me back to Milwaukee, and in the back of my mind, I could hear Dreyven’s voice softly calling my name. “Mason…”
I slammed my hand down on the cold counter-top and opened my eyes wide as my panic threatened to overwhelm me. Desperate, I tried using one of the grounding exercises my therapist had been teaching me.
“Focus, god dammit. You can do this, Mason,” I said to my reflection. “Focus.”
“Name five things you can see…” I muttered, looking around. “Reflection, mirror, towel, shower, toilet…” I paused, taking a deep breath in through my nose, then out through my mouth. “Name four things you can hear… fucking birds, wind, bugs, um… my voice,” I shrugged and didn’t care if I was cheating a little, repeating the deep-breathing exercise.
“Name three things you can feel… my feet on the ground, the hard, cold porcelain of the sink, the softness of the towel.” Again, deep breath.
“Name two things you can smell… my breath,” I said, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I got a whiff of my own body odor. “And… um… and the rest of me.”
Another deep breath, and my heart rate, which had rocketed only a few moments before, was starting to slow.
“Name one thing you can taste…” I paused. I really didn’t want to say vomit, so I grabbed the toothpaste off the vanity and used my finger to stick some in my mouth, replacing the taste of the vomit with mint. “…toothpaste.”
I sighed, spat the toothpaste out, then straightened, Ricky’s voice receding from my mind. Surprise slid through me as I realized the exercise had really worked. I wasn’t happy, exactly, but I wasn’t terrified, either.
I made my way to the bedroom and grabbed some clean clothes from my backpack. Refusing to let myself think of what had happened the day before in here, I took a quick, impersonal shower. I started to feel a little more like myself again, but my chest still held this heavy ache that Tylenol did nothing to eliminate.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at my hands, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to say to Lee when I saw him. A glance at the clock by the bed and I realized it was after 1
0 a.m.
I grabbed my phone off its charger and reviewed the schedule Lizzie had emailed me for the week. It was fairly light, thank goodness. She hadn’t wanted to have to do another round of cancellations if I wasn’t able to handle it. I didn’t have anything scheduled for today. Tuesday was a guest art lecture at a local college, and Wednesday was a current events roundtable at a community center in the evening. I had a week off then before the convention, which ran Friday/Saturday/Sunday, then it was back to Seattle. A strange twinge twisted in my chest at the thought of going back to my apartment alone. With Lizzie and her boyfriend getting ready to move, it just wasn’t the home it had been.
I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to figure out how to apologize to Lee and figure out if there was any way to salvage our budding friendship. Or, at a minimum, our business relationship.
I opened the door to the bedroom and walked through into the hallway. The door to Lee’s office was open, but the light was out. I peeked into the room, but the pillow and blanket on the couch were folded neatly, and there was no sign of my host.
I walked through the living room to the kitchen. The place was empty except for the click and whir sounds of the air conditioning switching on. I spotted a piece of paper with an M scrawled on the front of it.
I froze when I saw it, my mind conjuring all kinds of things it might say. The most likely one was that he was disgusted with how I'd behaved and he wanted me out before he came back.
Hell, I was disgusted by how I'd behaved. Fuck. How could I have been so stupid? My hands were shaking as I reached for the paper, Ricky’s voice still whispering to the back of my brain. I half sat, half fell into one of the kitchen chairs to read it.
Mason –
Heading to work. I left an ice pack in the freezer for you, in case you needed it for your head. I didn’t want to disturb you last night. I should be home by six. Help yourself to food in the fridge. There’s coffee if you want it.
I think we need to talk.
Lee
Well…it didn’t sound like he hated me. Maybe. Fuck. How the hell should I know? I mean, I knew he was gay. The whole male “fiancé” thing kind of gave that away. Plus, he had to have the most gay-friendly family I’d ever seen. He had two moms after all, and my gaydar had pinged strongly on each of his siblings I’d met. But the whole “we need to talk” part sounded ominous.
Shit. I'd no idea what I was doing. This was going to require expert help.
I sent a quick text from my phone, then grabbed a peanut butter sandwich and headed back to the bedroom. I pulled my laptop out and read through some emails – Lee had given me the wireless passwords yesterday. As I sat there trying to distract myself from everything, my phone pinged, announcing a text message. Thank god. Help was coming…
LIZZIE: Hey, Bug! How’s it going in the Midwest?
ME: Heya Liz.
LIZZIE: Whoa! Restrain yourself, boyo. Don’t overwhelm me with your excitement.
ME: Sorry. Rough day. Night. Whatever.
LIZZIE: Wha…? What happened? I thought all was golden yesterday?
ME: Operative word: WAS.
LIZZIE: Tell Aunt Lizzie all about it.
ME: /sighs
ME: I fucked up.
I stared at the phone, waiting for Lizzie to type a response, when suddenly it vibrated, displaying a photo of my best friend and manager as it played the Dixie Chicks “I’m not ready to make nice”. I smiled and clicked the Accept button.
“Hey Lizzie Bear,” I said, turning the phone on speaker.
“Mason!” she squealed, her voice only slightly tinny sounding through the tiny speaker. “How are you, Bug? What happened? It feels like forever since you went to O.Hi.O.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I heard the concern in her voice, and I leaned back against the pillows. Lizzie Meringue, (yes, like the pie, and no, friends, didn’t even think about joking about it, because she would end them) had been my best friend since we met in college, and I could honestly say I owed my life, and livelihood, to her brilliance.
I'd lived with Tira and Zem for five years after escaping from Ricky. Tira had been like the grandmother I’d never known and Zem had become my little sister. I’d loved them both, but I knew that if I wanted to do anything with the chance, the life, she’d given me, I needed to get an education. While I’d earned my GED online, I'd refused to let Tira pay for college and Washington State University had provided me with the best financial aid package.
I’d been anxious, exhausted and more than a little lost when I’d shown up on the grounds of Washington State on Orientation day. I’d thought that I'd planned for all possible problems and allotted ample travel time, plus a bit of cushion, to be able to arrive in Seattle and try to find someplace to live before school started, but the bus ride from Wisconsin to Seattle had taken almost twice as long as I’d anticipated. It had eaten up all of the extra time I’d allotted, and then some.
I’d had a full-on panic attack during registration when one too many people had brushed up against me. Lizzie found me sobbing in the disability access stall in the women’s bathroom where I’d fled in my terror.
I’d been huddled on the floor in the corner of the stall. I still remembered the curious look on her face when she had swung the door open and rolled into the stall. We’d sat there for a few minutes as my sobs slowed and my mind had slowly calmed from the adrenaline coursing through my system, her soft brown eyes looking at me, but without pity or judgment.
“So,” she’d said finally, her voice calm and mildly curious. “Which are you, today?”
My tears had finally stopped, but it had taken a few minutes for my mind to wrap itself around her words.
“…What?” I’d managed to choke out.
“Which are you?” She repeated, rolling her wheelchair towards me. “Sometimes in life you’re the windshield. Sometimes you’re the bug.”
She punctuated her question with a skinny finger poking into my chest.
“Which. Are. You. Today?”
“Um, today?” I managed to rasp out. “I think I’m the bug,” I said. “I think I’m always the bug.”
She flashed me an insouciant grin.
“Nice to meet you, Bug. I’m Lizzie. Now wait outside. I have to pee.”
Lizzie had helped me register for classes, including setting up an account online so I could avoid the horrible crowds going forward. She’d taken me under her wing, and from that point on, we’d been almost inseparable. She was a sophomore going to school for business while I'd applied to the school’s fine arts program. It had been Lizzie’s constant encouragement that had convinced me to pursue my dreams and get my graphic novel published. She’d helped me through the process of legally changing my name, and guided me as I created the persona and brand of Mason Cameron.
Her business acumen, intuitive understanding of human nature and her ability to sweet talk just about anyone into just about anything had resulted in a partnership that made both of us happy.
I shook my head. She knew me well enough to tell when I was lying, so why bother?
“I’m fucked, LizBiz,” I said.
“Tell me,” she demanded calmly. So, I did. The awful first day in the airport. My panic attack at the hotel. The high of the signing, dinner, D&D… and then, “The Fall”…
“Well, fuck,” she muttered, as I told her about Lee’s exit. “And there for a minute I thought he might be a keeper.”
Me, too. I thought, sighing, but refusing to say it out loud.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, her voice sharpening. “I know that sigh, Mason Cameron Malone. It is way too soon for you to be giving up on this guy.”
“I’m not giving up,” I countered defensively. “Not exactly. I’m being realistic.”
“Really?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just like you were ‘realistic’ about your chances of getting published?”
I harrumphed. This wasn’t the same thing, and I told her so.
“You’re right,” she agreed, far too easily. I knew something was up.
“It isn’t the same thing. It was much less likely that you’d get published than that you would meet a guy who thought you were as amazing as I do.”
I sighed again.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” I said. “He was so amazing… Liz, you’d love him,” I smiled. “He’s beautiful, strong, sexy. And a huge nerd,” I laughed. She laughed with me but let me continue.
“I just… Liz. I didn’t ask, I just acted. W-what if… What if I end up like him,” I got out, finally naming my worst fear, but unable to bring myself to say Ricky’s name. I dropped my hands into my still damp hair, grabbing it tightly. Over the years I'd shared my whole story with Lizzie, so she knew damn well who I meant when I said “him”.
“Oh Bug,” she said, her voice low with sympathy. “I wish I could get you to see yourself the way I see you. You are not now, nor ever could be, anything like your uncle.”
I sighed. I wanted her to be right. Hoped she was, even. But I kept remembering the look on Lee’s face when he’d told me I’d been out of line…
“Speaking of family,” I said, deciding a change of topic was in order, “How’s your mom doing?”
“Smooth, Mason. Real smooth. I’ll allow you to get away with such a clumsy transition just this once, because she’s much better,” Lizzie answered. “We finally got her blood sugar levels under control. They’re talking about installing an insulin pump to help before she goes home.”
Lizzie’s Mom had been a type II diabetic for most of her life. Lizzie had planned to come with me to Akron, but two days before we were supposed to leave, Lizzie found her mom unconscious in her apartment with sky high blood sugar levels. If Lizzie hadn’t been there, she would have died.
Mason's Run Page 15
