Loving Mason (Imperfect Love Book 2)

by Molloy, Ruby

  I hope someone sees them.

  I hope someone get curious.

  *****

  He’s found me. Sid’s come back to kill me. His shadow lies over me and I try to ward him off, but I’m too weak to move. All I have left is my broken voice.

  “Don’t kill me,” I whisper. He hovers nearby, moving, shifting, trying to trick me. “Please,” I beg.

  *****

  “Can you hear me?”

  The greeting is too loud. I roll my head to the side, away from the voice.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Go ‘way.”

  “Tell me your name and I promise to be quiet for a moment or two.”

  This sounds like the sweetest deal. “Fr ... Frankie.”

  “Good girl, Frankie. And what’s your surname?”

  I frown because this wasn’t part of the bargain.

  “Come on, Frankie, just your surname, my love.”

  “Finnie ... Finnegan.”

  “Fantastic. Okay, Frankie. I’m your nurse. Do you think you can open your eyes?”

  I try, but my eyelids are heavy and I’m tired. So tired.

  *****

  Voices again. Talking about me.

  “There’s a good girl,” someone says. I think maybe I’ve heard that voice before.

  I ignore them. My limbs are on fire. I try to throw off the blanket, crying out when it’s held down and I’m pinned to the bed.

  “Frankie, it’s okay. You’re in hospital, my love. If you’re not careful you’ll rip out your IV feed. Rest easy and we’ll take care of you.”

  I fight them off until I’m too weak.

  “That’s better. Good girl.”

  *****

  I wake to hushed voices and I know it must be late. A nurse is taking my blood pressure, her brown eyes kind and somehow familiar.

  “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  Disorientated, I stare up at her. “Not sure.”

  “Ha! I’m not surprised, sweetie, what with all the painkillers and drugs floating around in your system.” She catches me staring down at the pristine white bandage that’s now covering the bullet hole. “Probably best that you’ve been unconscious. We had to wash out the bullet wound and leave it open for a few days. Not a pretty sight. Had you on a ventilator too.” She glances at the screen to my left. “It was touch and go for a while, but you’re almost out of the woods now, Frankie. Sepsis is as serious as it gets. You’ve had one very concerned boyfriend camped out beside you. He’s gonna get one hell of a shock when he comes back from the bathroom and sees you’re awake.” Her expression becomes more serious, her voice softer. “You remember what happened to you?”

  The small nod I offer saps my energy.

  “Okay. Well, my name’s Jacinta and you’re safe now, ain’t nobody gonna hurt you here.”

  “Jack,” I say. “He was hit by a car. Is he okay?”

  “He the green eyed monster I’ve heard about?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, let’s see. Aside from his filthy mouth and bad temper, I’d say there’s nothing wrong with him except a concussion and a broken leg. Don’t you be worrying about him, now. It’s yourself you need to be thinking of.”

  Tears fill my eyes and flow down my cheeks.

  “Are you for real?” she asks in a phony stern voice. “You’re really crying over Jack Boyd? A guy who’s big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself? You do realise a guy with eyes that green doesn’t need sympathy from us females?”

  I snort and the nurse grins, happy she’s made me laugh. “Now, I don’t want you trying to move, okay?” She gently lifts my right hand so I can see the tubes running in and out of my arm. “You have an IV and antibiotics feed here.” Her hand rises to my septum. “And a feeding tube going into your stomach here. Also, you have a catheter to drain away your pee and two stitches in your top lip that will dissolve on their own. You need anything, anything at all, there’s a button here.” She lifts the cable that’s lying on the blanket. “You have any questions?”

  “My gran?”

  “Ivy? She’s been here the whole time, bless her.” She glances towards the open door and smiles. “She’s awake,” she says. Mason steps into the room and for such a tough guy, his expression sure looks soft. He comes to stand beside me, his hands shoved deep into his front pockets. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “I forgot how beautiful your eyes are,” he says. His voice is scratchy, barely above a whisper. “Never been so scared in my life.”

  My eyes pool with water as I absorb the beauty of his turbulent brown eyes. “Can I touch you?” I ask.

  His glance travels over the network of tubes.

  “Here,” Jacinta says, guiding him to the chair on the other side of the bed. She places my right hand, the one with the IV feeds, on top of his, and leaves the room. Mason sits on the hard plastic chair and I squeeze his hand.

  “Thought you were dead.” He swallows. “Thought he’d killed you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  He releases a sound that’s somewhere between anguish and laughter. “Yeah.”

  “Jus’ tired,” I say, as my eyes drift closed and I fall asleep.

  *****

  When I awake Mason is sleeping. His head is on the blanket and his hand’s curled beneath mine. I want to run my fingers over his hair and beard, to enjoy their familiar texture, but I’m too weak and have to make do with admiring the thickness of his lashes, the straight line of his nose, and the curve of his mouth, half-hidden by his beard.

  “He asleep?” Jacinta asks. I hadn’t heard her come in. She checks my readings and the flow of my tubes. “He’s been like the walking dead, poor guy. Refused to sleep the first couple of days, what with you being so poorly. Didn’t know who I should feel more sorry for, you or him.”

  “I guess he was kind of worried, huh?”

  Jacinta snorts. “Yeah, you could say that! Guess he knows it’s safe to sleep now.”

  “Was I really that poorly?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were knocking at death’s door for a while there. You’re almost out of the woods, but you’re still poorly. You slept through the doctor’s visit earlier, but he should be back shortly. Now, you want some ice? I expect your throat’s sore.”

  “Please.”

  The sensation of melting ice on my tongue is pure bliss, more so when I swallow and the cool water slides down my dry, itchy throat. “Can I have another?”

  “One more and that’s your lot.”

  I swirl the cube, crunching it between my teeth once it’s small enough. “Heaven!”

  Jacinta chuckles. “I guess it would be after five days.”

  “Five days?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow indeed.”

  After she’s gone, when it’s just me and Mason, my eyes close once more and just as I’m on the edge of sleep my mind drifts and I’m back in the trailer. Its rancid smell is in my nostrils, the filthy sofa at my back, and my wrist lies heavy at my side, weighed down by the handcuff. I squirm to be free, tearing at the cuff, trying to pull it free until a hand grabs mine and pins it to my side.

  “Nurse! Shit! Stop! Frankie, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

  My strength is gone. Fingers comb through my hair and I feel his mouth against my temple. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says. I trust him.

  *****

  My scream awakens me. My heart is beating too fast and the machine to my left is bleeping, though not the normal kind of bleep. This one is higher and faster, almost as fast as my heartbeat. A nurse, not Jacinta, is at my side, tending to my IV. She inserts a needle into the tube and I can feel my heartbeat slowing. Mason is at my side, watching with fearful eyes, his mouth moving though I can’t hear his words.

  Sleep reclaims me.

  *****

  He’s changed clothes. Yesterday, if it was yester
day, he was wearing a grey t-shirt. Today’s shirt is black and it clings to the curve of his spine. His head is resting on my bed, his hand back beneath mine. I squeeze his fingers and his head lifts from the bed as if my touch is an electric shock.

  “Hey,” he says in a voice that’s thick and gooey with sleep.

  “Hey again.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Honestly? Like someone’s shot me.”

  I guess he doesn’t find this funny. He looks exhausted. Done in. His eyes are puffy and his beard and hair are a dishevelled mess. I like it. He catches me looking and runs a hand through his hair. “I look rough, huh?”

  “Not sure I’m the one to comment on that at the moment. Pretty sure I look a wreck.”

  His eyes swim, become wild with emotion. “Don’t give a shit how you look. Just want you with me.”

  His words, and the emotion in his eyes ... Now I’m crying and he’s a mess and Jacinta walks in, turns round, and walks right back out again. It takes a while to climb over that mountain of emotion. Seems like all we can do is squeeze each other’s hands, rub fingers, and wait until we’re on the other side.

  “Did I miss any more days?”

  “A couple. Been here a week now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Long time, huh?”

  “Must have been tough,” I say. I want to say more, but it takes a lot of effort to think and talk.

  “A little. Fuck, that’s an understatement! Worst fucking week of my life. But I’ve had company; the girls and Carred and Cooper, some girl called Charlotte who scares the shit out of me. And I visited Jack while he was here, but he’s home now.”

  “He okay?” I seem to remember someone saying he had a broken leg, but everything’s a little misty.

  “Broken leg and concussion. Had to have an operation to set it straight. Pins needed, but he’ll walk again.”

  “Okay.”

  “Kayla’s taking care of him.”

  “She is?” God, how did that happen?

  We’re silent for a while, but my senses are sharp enough to notice something’s troubling him. “What is it?”

  He takes a moment and finally shakes his head. “Not now,” he says. “Later. When you’re better.”

  “Okay.”

  “You think you can stay awake for another minute or two?”

  “I think so.”

  “In that case stay where you are. Don’t move.” He give me a cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners and as sick as I am, I still feel its impact.

  “Real funny, Zannuto.”

  He jogs from the room, and I keep my gaze fixed on the door, waiting for his return. When he comes back he’s not alone. Ivy is at his side, her hand gripping his arm, her dark eyes bright as ever when they settle on mine.

  “Oh my goodness, you’re awake!” With three spritely steps she’s at my bedside, her bony hand burrowing beneath mine. “Welcome back, Frankie! We’ve been so worried. I can’t tell you how many days and nights I’ve spent praying in the chapel here. Isn’t that right, Mason?”

  “Sure is.”

  “Four days ago – or was it five – well, anyways, they didn’t think you were going to make it. We all took turns in sitting by your side―Ella and all your friends. Course, Mason stayed with you the whole time, but then that’s how it’s been since they found you.”

  I give Mason a brief, sympathetic smile.

  “They had you hooked up to so many machines we could hardly see you. You were on a ventilator for three days, doctors and nurses coming and going, machines bleeping. I swear I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. But it’s good to see you’re a fighter. Wouldn’t want to live in a world without you.” Tears fill her eyes and she dabs at them with a tissue from her purse. “You’re never to scare me like that again, you understand?”

  I give her a weak smile and clutch at her hand. “Never again,” I promise.

  ♥ TWENTY-ONE ♥

  Skin and Bones

  Frankie

  Home.

  Actually, that’s not strictly true. It’s Mason’s apartment. He wanted me with him and Ivy’s coming to stay after the weekend, so I won’t be alone once mason returns to work.

  My four week stay in hospital is over. I now have enough strength to stand in the shower for a few minutes, a milestone on my road to recovery. My IV and feed tubes are gone, as is my catheter. My appetite is limited, my strength minimal, and I’m not sleeping so well. This is partly due to the withdrawal of medication and partly down to the nightmares.

  Seems it could take longer for my mind to heal than my body, least, that’s what the Doctors told me. Physically, I’m doing well. I’m way ahead of where the doctors expected me to be, but the trauma of ... Well, it’s going to take some time before I get back to my old self. As demonstrated this morning when Ivy brought me a fresh set of clothes for coming home. When I buttoned up my denim shorts, they sank so low it was indecent. I stared down at my hollowed out hips and the two inch gap between my thighs and I burst into tears. Real, gut-wrenching tears that wouldn’t stop no matter who tried to comfort me. All the bullying I’d been subjected to over the years for being thin and I’d never been this skinny. The thought that Mason had seen me looking like this, that he wanted me in his home and bed ... it sickened me.

  It took some persuading to get me in his car. Him begging me, telling me that seeing me this way is not repulsive, that I’m alive and that’s all he ever wanted. Him promising to help me get my strength back, get me back to where I was before. I listened, but the first thing I do on reaching his apartment is step in front of a full length mirror.

  It takes a while to absorb the full horror of my reflection. I never counted myself as vain. Never spent overlong on my hair because curls like mine do as they want, not what I tell them to do. And, yes, I wore make-up, but never foundation or primer or any other gunk that made me look like a child trying to pass for a grown-up. But, this ...

  I once saw a drug addict at a music festival, a pitiful sight with her hair frazzled, bones poking through her skin as if they were going to tear it open. That’s what I’m reminded of when I look in the mirror; a dried out husk. My hair is frizzy, my skin dry, and that photo Josephine once pinned on my back – the one of the anorexic girl – that doesn’t look so different from the person staring back at me. And it’s not like I’m going to look different next week or the week after, because my appetite, the appetite which always belied my skinny frame, it’s gone.

  Mason comes to stand directly behind me. I can see his hand reaching towards my waist and I spin away, out of harm’s way, screaming, “Don’t touch me!” His eyes widen and I know I’ve hurt him, but with everything I’m feeling this doesn’t seem to matter.

  “Frankie―”

  “Do not touch me! Why would you want to anyway? Can’t you see what I look like? I’m hideous!”

  Anger blazes from his eyes. “Fuck that!” He steps towards me and I run into the en suite, slamming the door behind me. There’s no lock but I lean against the door, holding it closed as Mason calls for me to let him in. I slide to the floor, my emaciated legs stretched out in front of me.

  “Open the door, Frankie!”

  I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to quieten the big, heaving sobs that shake my frame. Streams of gunk pour from my eyes and nose and I spin the toilet roll holder, tearing off reams of paper, wiping at my face when Mason’s voice filters through the door. “Babe, please don’t do this to yourself. Don’t let that fucker win, not after he left you to die in a fucking trailer. Do not let him win! You survived. That’s all that matters, babe, not how you look.”

  “I’m skin and bone, Mason. How can you bear to come near me?”

  “How about because I love you? That a good enough reason?”

  “But ... I look hideous.”

  “You look sick, which is what you are, babe. You telling me you’re going to ditch me if I get sick?”

  “No―”


  “If I lose my hear when I’m old?”

  “No!”

  “Right. So the fact that you’ve lost a few pounds because your psycho-ex almost killed you―you think that’s going to bother me? I mean, sure, you’re going to have to keep those elbows away from me in bed so they don’t puncture a lung or anything ...”

  I laugh and cry at the same time, grabbing more tissue to wipe away the gunk that’s still pouring from my nose. “It’s not funny, Mason.”

  “I don’t give a shit. I’ll try every trick in the book to get you out of that bathroom and into my arms.” There’s silence for a beat. “You wanna open that door now?”

  I rise to my feet and open the door, my head dipped low so I don’t have to look him in the eye and he doesn’t have to see my snotty face. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “Jesus, don’t do this to yourself. You were on a ventilator, pumped full of antibiotics and Christ knows what and they were talking about amputating your arm! You think you’re going to walk away from that looking your best?”

  “You’re right, I know, but I’m not ready for you to touch me yet.”

  “Fuck! For how long? Until you gain, what, a pound? Five pounds? A dozen? When Frankie?!”

  “Don’t!”

  “Don’t what? Don’t yell because my girlfriend thinks she’s too fucking ugly for me to touch her? I fucking love you! I don’t care how you look, I just wanna hold you! Don’t you wanna hold me? Haven’t you missed that?”

  I lift my head, knowing he can see how much I missed that because it’s written all over my face.

  “Fuck this!”He comes at me, careful of my arm, but otherwise he’s not overly gentle. His arms snap around me, drawing my body against his until there’s nothing separating us but fabric. “Christ, that feels good. Doesn’t that feel good to you?”