by Molloy, Ruby
“You’re right,” Kayla says, nodding.
“Uh, guys, I kind of did that with Sid ...”
Nora shakes her head. “Not the same thing. Sid left the country and hooked up with God knows how many women in the States, which means he disrespected you. Also, there are always exceptions to the rule. Yours is an exception.”
“It is?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you figure?”
She looks uncomfortable, embarrassed almost, and I swear her cheeks are pink. “Well, uh, don’t hate me for this, but I needed an overnight bag – I’d left mine at Carred’s – and I searched under your bed. I found your, uh, keepsake.”
I know instantly what she’s talking about.
“Her what now?” Ella asks, immediately curious.
I should have hidden it more thoroughly, maybe snuck it away at the back of my wardrobe.
“Keepsake?” asks Kayla.
I look at each of them sheepishly before I explain. “I kept the cast from when I broke my wrist.”
Ella and Kayla look puzzled, while Nora has a superior, though benign, smirk on her face.
“I don’t get it,” Kayla says.
“Mason has a tattoo of a compass on his wrist. That day, the day of the attack, he sketched a compass on my cast and I’m not exactly sure why, but I kept it and stowed it under my bed.”
“Frankie ...” Ella looks troubled, her expression not dissimilar to Nora’s and Kayla’s. I know they’re concerned for me, but they don’t know the whole story. They don’t know that I’m in deep. So I tell them, regardless of the fact that Ivy has warned me a thousand times to think before I speak. “I think I’ve fallen in love with him.”
Just as I expected. Stunned faces all round. Nora bites her lower lip, Kayla sits with her spoon more or less hanging from her tongue, and Ella is frowning. Yep, the consensus of opinion is that falling in love with Mason is not a good thing.
“You think you’ve fallen in love him?” Ella asks, openly swapping glances with Nora and Kayla.
“Actually, no, I know I’m in love him.”
More glances.
“I knew it!” Ella says. “I knew she’d go and fall for him. Him with a head of hair like that, and now a beard to match, how could she not fall in love?”
“Ella, I’m pretty sure his hair and beard have nothing to do with my falling in love with him.”
“It’s his eyes,” says Kayla. “Those brown eyes, wild one minute, calm and sexy the next.”
“No, it’s his arse,” argues Nora. “It’s not as nice as Carr’s but it’s damn near close.”
“What are you going to do?” Ella asks.
Kayla glances at her, confused. “What do you mean ‘what’s she going to do? She’s going to enjoy it and wallow in the awesome sex!”
Nora shakes her head and bites into her chilli, waiting until she’s swallowed before saying, “Falling in love with a guy like Mason is bad news.”
I’m not sure how I feel about this and Nora’s comment does nothing to clear up Kayla’s confusion. “It is?”
“Yeah. Aside from the prison term, he has an ex he’s still in touch with and he doesn’t want a long term relationship, all of which means this is not a guy Frankie should be falling in love with.”
“I did not know that,” Kayla says, before turning to face me. “Why did I not know that?!”
“Because she’s in denial,” Ella throws in.
“This,” I say, gesturing between Ella and Nora. “This, is why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you thinking I’m crazy like these two obviously do and because even though they may be right, they’re also wrong. I know this is gonna sound ridiculous, but I really think he’s the one for me and I know I could be heading toward a heap of grief, but I believe at some point he’ll figure out I’m the one for him.”
“Oh, shit ...” Ella’s expression is one of pity while Nora obviously thinks I’m bat-shit crazy. And I don’t blame them, because I’m pinning my dreams on a guy who has given me next to nothing.
Kayla jumps to her feet and picks up the wine bottle. “More wine anyone?” She’s obviously hoping to defer the argument that’s about to kick off. I drain my glass and hold it out for a top-up just as Ella offers up her opinion.
“You ever heard of the expression ‘cut and run’, because if I were you, I’d be doing that just about now. Shit, I’d have done it weeks ago. As far as I can tell, your whole relationship involves you giving and him taking. And you know what? When the time comes, and he decides he’s had enough, how are you going to feel? Because I’m betting you won’t be feeling so good.”
“No relationship comes with a guarantee―”
Ella huffs out of laugh. “Yours does; a guarantee it’s going to fail! He doesn’t want long term, Frankie. How can you not see this is doomed?”
I sip at my wine, trying to think of a way to explain my rationale. “It’s about no regrets,” I say, my gaze encompassing one set of green eyes and two sets of brown. “I want to look back in five or ten years and know I gave it my best shot. That way, even if it hurts like hell, at least I’ll know I tried.”
Kayla nods and smiles. She gets it. But I can see that Nora and Ella still have reservations. Ella is the first to speak. “But you already know it’s going to fail because Mason’s told you so himself.”
I shake my head and place my glass on the cardboard coaster we pocketed from Torment. “The first time Mason and I hooked-up was meant to be our last. Later that night he heard about the attack and came to check I was okay. That same night he drew the compass on my cast and told me he couldn’t see me again. That was almost three months ago. ”
“Oh,” says Nora.
“Oh my,” says Kayla.
“He said that and it’s been three months already? What the hell?!” Ella uncrosses her legs, brings her left leg uppermost, and crosses them again. “So what’s his definition of long term?”
“I don’t have a clue,” I tell her.
“Maybe we should flip this,” Nora suggests. “At what point do you want him to be on the same page as you?”
“Huh?”
“How many months are you going to continue without Mason committing to the long haul?”
“Uh, I don’t know.”
Nora lays it out for me. “Six months, nine months, a year?”
“A year?” I say, though I have no idea.
“A year!” Ella scoffs and slaps her thigh.
“Okay. How about nine months? Nine months shows commitment don’t you think?”
“Nine months is a long time,” Nora says. “But we’re thinking like girls. Six months would seem like eternity to a guy. Carred can only think in weeks. We start getting into months he can’t commit. Shaw has to sneak bookings in without him knowing, otherwise he’ll have a hissy fit.”
The idea of Carred having a hissy fit makes me giggle. The guy is well over six feet tall, tattooed and pierced. The kind of guy you don’t want to rub the wrong way, unless you’re Nora, because that’s her speciality and he can’t get enough of her.
“So you’re thinking six months?” Ella asks, nodding as if she’s in agreement. “I think you’re right, six months is a long time for a guy.”
“Okay, so let’s say it’s six months,” continues Nora. “How’s that going to help Frankie?”
We reflect on this dilemma with the help of more wine. Kayla fetches another bottle from the fridge and refills our glasses. I have to admit mine seems to need the most refills, but then again we are discussing my long term happiness.
Kayla, who can get drunk on a small glass of wine, sits down on the floor and cradles the bottle as if it’s hers, which it is as soon as she begins sipping directly from the neck.
“I know,” Nora says, waving her glass, spilling some of the contents down her top. “Oops.” She wipes it away and seems to forget she was on the cusp of revealing all.
“You were saying?” Ella reminds her.
�
��I was? Oh yeah! Well, instead of Mason deciding their future, why not Frankie?”
“How do I do that?”
“Simple. If you’re still together at the six month mark ask him if he sees a future. If he says no, you have the power to kiss his sweet arse goodbye and tell him he’s missing out on the best thing that ever happened to him. It’s still over, but you’ll be the one to end it.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s a solution―”
“Do you want the power or not?” Nora asks, her green eyes a little blurry, though there’s no missing her belligerence.
“I want the power!” I say, giving an air-punch. Unfortunately, this alters my centre of gravity and I teeter to the side. Kayla prevents my fall, shoving my shoulder to keep me upright.
“Six months it is, then,” Ella says and we hold up our glasses in agreement, although I’m not one hundred percent sure to what I’ve agreed.
With the wine consumed, our alcohol supply runs dry, but Nora comes to the rescue, producing a bottle of rum featuring a skeletal pirate on the label. It’s a warning, but one we don’t heed. Ella rummages in the food cupboard and produces a packet of unopened crackers that’s only a month out of date. We top these with cheese out of a tube.
I don’t remember much of anything after that.
When I wake, the pain is intense, as if someone is punching me in the head, repeatedly. A tsunami of nausea hits me and I have time enough to haul my arse up the stairs before my stomach rejects last night’s bender. This happens repeatedly, hour upon hour until the sun is setting once again and all I have done today is vomit and drink water, which my stomach rejects and the cycle begins once again.
Nora and Ella left a while ago. I know they told me where they were going, I just don’t recall what they said. They took a sick-looking Kayla with them. She was walking like the living dead.
I have made it to the sofa without having vomited for an hour and I’m thinking this is good news. The TV is on mute because my head is still pounding and the quietest noise is violently intrusive. A knock comes at the front door. I ignore it. Whoever it is can go bother someone else.
The knock comes again. On the fifth knock, I roll to my feet. Immediately, my head feels as if it’s going to explode, the pain strong enough to have me groaning. I lift my hands to my head as if this will prevent further pain and walk to the door. I’m wearing my clothes from last night―denim shorts and a black t-shirt that says ‘it’s not a hangover, it’s wine flu’. The irony is not lost on me.
Mason is standing on the doorstep.
Strangely enough, he doesn’t look impressed by my messy hair, bleached skin tone and crumpled t-shirt. I leave him to his judgement and walk back to the sofa, lowering myself carefully onto the cushions until I am once again horizontal. Covering my eyes with my arm, I hear the door close and Mason’s footsteps stop next to the sofa.
“You forget something?”
I’ve forgotten pretty much everything since last night. I can barely remember my own name. I give Mason’s question some thought, but this only makes my nausea return.
“Dinner at Harry’s. Five o’clock. Remember now?”
I lift my arm and meet eyes that are shining with a combination of anger and humour. “Oh my god. I am so sorry.”
“Yeah, you look sorry,” he says, his gaze shifting to the empty bottles that are still scattered along the coffee table.
“I am,” I insist, though I don’t have the energy to instil that in my tone. “Did you wait long? What time is it?”
He checks his watch. “Gone six. I waited an hour.”
“Sorry,” I say again.
“Your head hurt?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Good!” He looks at the half empty glass of water on the table. “You taken any pain killers?”
“No, just water.”
He disappears and I lower my arm over my eyes once more. I hear noises from the kitchen; the sound of a plug switching on, the quiet roar of the kettle and the ting of a spoon against a mug.
“Here.” I move my arm once more to see Mason placing a mug of coffee on the table. He holds out his hand, palm up, exposing two white capsules. “Coffee and painkillers,” he says.
Waiting until I’m upright, he hands me the tablets and I swallow them down with my water. “Thank you.”
My head is still throbbing with an almost auditory pulse. When Mason sits beside me, a mug of his own in front of him, I resist the urge to sink against him.
“You really tied one on last night, huh?”
“You could say that.”
Twisting one of the empty bottles he checks the label. “Rum?” he asks with amusement.
“Shit, that explains my head,” I say.
“You eaten?”
“Uh, uh. Not yet.” I don’t tell him about the vomiting, though he’s probably picked up on the clues. He spends time playing with his phone, his thumb skimming over the glass as if he’s on a mission, while I sip at my coffee, cradling it between hands that are resting on bent knees. When my mug is empty I place it back on the table and do what I’ve been wanting to do for the last five minutes. I lean into him. His arm comes around my shoulders, cradling me against him, and I fall asleep.
I wake when Mason gets up to answer the door, returning with a pizza box and two smaller boxes balanced in his hand. I’m not sure I can eat, but when he raises the lid and my nose snags the aroma, I surprise myself. I grab a slice and biting into the cheesy beauty of a pepperoni pizza.
“You are a wonderful person,” I say between bites.
“I’m doing this for me,” he says, grabbing his own slice. “I had a dinner date lined up, but she was a no-show.”
“Really? What a bitch.”
“Nah, it’s cool. She gives good head.”
“She does, huh?”
Last night’s conversation rises through my brain fog. I don’t want to think about that now, I want to enjoy being with Mason, sitting here on the ratty sofa, eating pizza, soaking up his warmth. We find a movie we both want to watch and Mason rearranges the cushions, moving until we’re lying lengthways on the sofa, my back against his chest, his hand cupping my breast.
The movie is a slow burner and I’m asleep before the excitement builds. I’m vaguely aware of Ella and Nora returning. I hear them say goodnight to Mason, but I’m already drifting back off to sleep again. Mason wakes me next morning by rolling me to my back. He’s on top, but he’s taking his weight on his arms. “I need to go,” he says.
“No,” I say, wrapping my arms round his neck.
He tries to loosen them, and even though I’m fresh from sleep I have enough stamina to resist. But just in case, I wrap my legs around his too.
“Frankie, I’ve gotta go.”
“Uh-uh. Stay,” I plead.
Supplication plays no role in our relationship and yet here I am, doing exactly that. He resists for a while, his hands sinking into the sofa as he pushes against my arms. When his efforts don’t work, he bends his arms giving me his full weight. I feel his heat and the contours of his body pressing into mine. I need more, but it’s six in the morning, I have morning breath, and we have no privacy. I groan against his shoulder, stretching out beneath him.
“You’re not playing fair, Frankie,” he groans.
I can feel his cock, hard against my thigh. He rolls his hips, a soft groan rumbling in his chest. We haven’t had sex in weeks and I don’t know when I’m going to see him next. The need is almost painful and I’m raising my hips against his downward glide, hissing at the contact.
“Fuck this!” Mason says, pushing up and away. He’s breathing hard, his cock pushing against his jeans and I don’t know which of us is suffering most. He shoves a hand down his jeans, rearranging his equipment, his expression pained. “Come back with me. I’ve got meetings this morning, but I’m free this afternoon.”
I’m already shaking my head. I have a tutorial this afternoon and an exam first thing tomorrow
. I need to prepare. I can see his frustration, read his anger.
“When?” he demands.
We run through our schedules and there’s not one night this week that we’re both free. His hours at the nightclub don’t exactly fit in with my study needs and I’ve worked too hard to give up my study time. I need this degree. I need to achieve a First and no matter how much I want to be with Mason, my degree has to come first. In the end we settle for meeting up on Saturday at Torment. I’ll travel back with him and though he’ll be working through Saturday night I’ll at least get to spend Sunday afternoon with him.
It won’t always be like this, but I wonder if that even matters. Mason could call time on us at any moment and I guess us not having time for sex could be the tipping point.
“I’ll call you,” he says, already moving out of the room.
I hear the front door close. Staring at the ceiling I focus on the ugly, brown spider in the corner, watching it spin and weave its gossamer thread. It’s only when I hear movement upstairs – the sound of the shower running, drawers opening and closing – that I can motivate myself to get up and start preparing for uni.
I walk the three miles, removing my jacket along the way. It’s May and the sun’s out. It’s not yet hot enough for t-shirts, but my pace is fast and I’m working up a sweat. Josephine is sitting on the uni steps with her cronies. She’s sitting to the left of the doors and there’s no way to avoid her as I climb the steps. Just as I walk past she leaps to her feet. Half-convinced she’s about to launch a physical attack I flinch and she laughs in my face. I hurry away, their laughter following me down the hall as I try to ignore their taunts.
I take the empty seat next to Prisha. “Hey, how’s it going?”
She smiles shyly. “It’s okay. I’ll be glad when tomorrow’s exam is over. I’m not sure my brain can store any more information.”
“God, me too! It’s going to be a tough one, but I think I’ve prepped as much as I can.”
“Are you still coming to the study pod this afternoon?”
“Yeah. Who else is coming?”
The tutor’s voice overrides Prisha’s. It’s his normal talking voice and yet it fills the room as if he’s using a mic. Prisha smiles, silently acknowledging the end of our conversation.
