I Hate To Love You

by J. P. Oliver

  “He’s right, you know.”

  “Rick’s an idiot,” he dismissed. “I told you, he’s just protective.”

  “I gave you panic attacks?” I swallowed. It felt awful to say aloud.

  The truth was really out to kick me in the balls today.

  Mason sighed, scratching behind his ear like he always did when he was uneasy. “Yes, but–”

  My stomach was in my throat. I shook my head, mainly at myself, in utter disappointment. “I’m not good enough for you, Mason,” I said flatly. “I’ve been so focused on not hurting you to realize that I’ve already hurt you. I mean, I know that. I just didn’t–”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbled.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Liam, I–”

  “Panic attacks, Mason. Do you really want to be with the guy who gave you panic attacks? Jesus Christ, I can’t–”

  And then Mason pulled me into a tight, almost bruising hug. He ran his fingers through my hair and pressed the side of his face to mine. It wasn’t until I felt the pressure of his body against my own that I realized I had been trembling. He shushed me softly, pressing his lips to my ear.

  “You did hurt me,” he whispered.

  I fought against the wetness in my eyes. I did. I did hurt him. And there was probably nobody who hated me more than myself. I attempted to pull away, but Mason kept me locked in his arms. Suddenly weary, I pressed my forehead to his shoulder as he gently stroked the back of my neck. It was a comforting sensation, to have his gentle, thin finger graze my skin like I was made of something delicate.

  “You did hurt me,” he repeated, “and I can’t exactly say that I’m completely over it.”

  “I know.”

  “I want… I want to give this a chance, Liam. I chose to give this a chance.”

  “But what if I do something stupid? Say something stupid? You’ll hate me all over again.”

  “People say stupid shit all the time, Liam. If I held onto everything, I’d be a very bitter person. I mean, yes. You called me a bunch of names when we were kids. And that really sucked.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Let me finish, would you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “It sucked. But you know what would really suck?”

  “What?”

  “If we didn’t give us a chance. To try. I’m not some wimpy kid anymore. I can handle it. And it’s not like you’re going to shove me into a locker or call me names, right?”

  “No, of course not,” I almost scoffed. “I’m not twelve.”

  “Exactly. We’re grown men. We know better. So I don’t ever want to hear you say that you’re not good enough. Don’t say stuff like that just to push me away. Okay?”

  I sighed into the crook of his neck and closed my eyes. Mason was right. He was always right. And for the first time ever, I wasn’t upset about the fact. Mason was always the voice of reason, always the one who tried to keep Drew and me out of trouble when we were kids. I used to think it was annoying, how he could so easily talk through things and think critically. But now, I appreciated it. Mason knew exactly what to say, and I felt so much better for it. I finally circled my arms around his waist and held him tight, doing my best to drown in the scent of his aftershave.

  “Thank you,” I whispered against his skin.

  And I meant it. I really, really meant it.

  “Let’s go back inside, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  17

  Mason

  Mom and Dad arrived almost an hour after we’d started with appetizers. A part of me was concerned that Dad’s eyes were all red and the shirt he was wearing had an old vomit stain. But the other part of me didn’t care. I didn’t care because Liam just said that he loved me and I was just so unbelievably, ridiculously happy.

  “I’m so sorry we’re late,” said Mom as she bent over to plant a kiss on the top of my head. She smelled like roses and tea.

  “It’s okay,” I asserted.

  Mom and Dad took their seats, looking a little disheveled.

  “Why’d you invite us all to dinner?” asked Rick, equally as curious as I was.

  Mom cleared her throat and nudged Dad in the ribs with her elbow. “Go on, dear,” she encouraged. “Tell them.”

  “What? Can’t a guy just want to treat his family to dinner?”

  “A guy can,” I mused. “You, not so much.”

  “Mason,” cautioned Mom.

  Dad sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the side of his face. “I have an announcement,” he finally managed. “I’ve decided to… I’ve decided to go to rehab. For my drinking issue.”

  “Issue,” snorted Rick. “Don’t you mean problem?”

  “Semantics,” he assured.

  “Dad, that’s great,” I said. And I meant it. The first step to fixing a problem was admitting that there was a problem to begin with. This was significant progress on his part.

  Even if it was long overdue.

  “Thanks, son,” he grunted. “The other day, when you and your friend here had to drag me home, I– Well, it was embarrassing when I came to. A real eye-opener.” He blinked at Liam, a little dumbfounded. “I’m Steven, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to officially meet you, sir,” said Liam.

  “Anyways,” continued Dad, “I wanted to set things right. My drinking dependency hasn’t been fair on any of you. And I can’t stand the thought of causing you any more trouble. So consider this my celebratory going-away dinner party.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” cooed Mom.

  “Thanks, Cassie.”

  The server popped by to take our orders, and the food arrived less than twenty minutes later, piping hot and looking absolutely delicious. I ate quietly, preferring to listen to the lively conversation Dad and Mom were having about their plans. The rehabilitation center was about two hours away by car, just outside New York City. Dad was obviously going to have to stay there alone, so Mom was fully prepared to take care of the house while he was away. The entire time I listened, my fingers felt tingly and light. It was suddenly that much easier to breathe, like a terrible weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I didn’t know if rehab was going to work, but it was better than nothing. I was grateful, though, knowing that my Dad could at least recognize he needed the help.

  All throughout dinner, Liam held my hand. My family noticed, but said nothing about it. Save for the occasional eye roll Rick gave us, mainly because to most teenagers outward displays of affection were gross, but that was about it. I felt bright and warm, safe and at peace. It had been a long time since I’d felt anywhere near this secure. And I was sure I had Liam to thank for that.

  When dinner was over, we said our goodbyes in the parking lot. Mom dragged me into a suffocating hug, kissing me on the cheek.

  “You and Liam, huh?” she said a little flatly.

  “Yes.”

  Mom glanced over at Rick a little nervously, but held her tongue.

  Rick just rolled his eyes. “Your life, man,” he huffed. Before my little brother got into the backseat of my parents’ old silver Chevrolet, he turned to Liam and glared. “If you hurt him, I’ll end you myself.”

  “Got it,” replied Liam as he nodded his head once in understanding. Rick slammed the door closed, ending their brief exchange then and there.

  Mom kissed me on the cheek before getting behind the wheel. “Call me when you get home?”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “Drive carefully.”

  Mom, Dad, and Rick all got into the same car and drove off, pulling out of the busy parking lot on their way home. The moment they were out of sight, Liam slithered his arms around my waist and pressed me against the car. I jolted against the frigid metal.

  “Cold,” I gasped.

  “Sorry,” he apologized as he kissed me hard. “Let’s go home. I think I promised you something about spending the whole day in bed together.”

  “I don’t know,” I hummed. “I don’
t know if I’m feeling it. I might spend the day cleaning the apartment.”

  “Oh,” Liam said, pulling back immediately. “Okay. We don’t have to if–”

  I laughed, cupping his face. “I’m kidding, babe.”

  “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he chortled, tickling my sides. I burst out laughing, squirming under his playful attack. He eventually found my lips again, holding me in his strong arms as we explored each other’s mouths.

  “Come on,” I huffed when I was finally able to drag myself away. “Let’s go home. I want a turn on top.”

  “You think you can handle it?” he teased.

  “Was that a challenge? That sounds like a challenge.”

  “Try me, tough guy.”

  “Tough guy?” I repeated, pleased.

  “Don’t like that? How about shnookums?”

  “That’s even worse!”

  Liam slipped his hand into my front jeans pocket and pulled out the car keys. “Let’s get going.”

  Traffic was relatively light, so we made it back to the apartment in record time. I spent the ride peering out the window, enjoying the glimmer of the city lights. New York was a different place at night. It was almost magical and charming in a way. The hustle and bustle of people and cars never seemed to cease, but at least you never felt truly alone.

  Liam parked the car alongside the curb next to his apartment complex. We immediately hopped out, eager to get back inside where it was nice and warm. We climbed the front steps together, but stopped just short of the door when Liam noticed that his shoelace was undone. He bent down quickly to tie it.

  “I don’t get you sometimes,” I mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Why are you tying your shoelace when we’re about to get naked?”

  “What if I trip on my way in and scrape my knee?”

  “Who’s the tough guy now?” I laughed.

  “Are you picking on me?”

  “Not at all.”

  Just as Liam stood back up, I heard the shuffle of frantic footsteps on the hard sidewalk pavement.

  “Get the fuck away from Mason, you bastard!”

  A brief glimpse over Liam’s shoulder had my heart stop mid-beat.

  It was Shawn.

  There was a crazed look in his eyes, which were red from lack of sleep and puffy from crying. His hair was a knotted mess. Shawn’s clothes were wrinkled and greasy.

  But that wasn’t the scary part. The scary part was that he had a gun in his hand.

  And it was aimed right at Liam.

  My body moved on its own accord, before I could even think. Adrenaline surged through my veins, left me lightheaded. I shoved Liam out of the way and knocked him to the ground. It all happened so quickly that I didn’t even remember hearing the gun go off. Then the corners of my vision started to blur as red bloomed across my chest.

  The last thing I remember before I closed my eyes was Liam frantically shouting my name.

  18

  Liam

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” wailed Shawn. He’d dropped the gun in horror. He stood there shaking, mouth agape and eyes wide. “It was supposed to have been you!”

  “Call 911!” I screamed at him. I was bent over, pressing my hands against Mason’s bullet wound. He’d been hit in the abdomen on his left side. My palms were stained red, sticky with fresh blood.

  I wanted to cry.

  How was this happening? How could our night have turned so awful so quickly?

  I trembled violently as I fought back tears. “Mason?” I called. “Mason, can you hear me? Say something, baby. Please, say something.”

  But Mason wasn’t responding. His skin had become distressingly pale. His breathing was incredibly shallow. There was no doubt in my mind that he was in shock.

  “This is all your fucking fault!” Shawn sobbed. My eyes fluttered from the gun to Shawn to Mason and then back to the gun. As much as I wanted to get up and beat the ever-loving shit out of him, I needed to remain calm. For Mason. He was my number one priority. I’d failed to keep him safe.

  I couldn’t fail at keeping him alive.

  “Just calm down,” I told Shawn firmly, choosing my words carefully. I didn’t want to say anything to provoke him. The last thing I needed was for him to come back to his senses, pick up his gun, and finish the job. “Just calm down, all right?”

  Shawn wept into his shaky hands, wheezing past a stream of hot angry tears and snot running from his nose. He was hyperventilating. I hoped silently that he’d just swallow his tongue and do us all a favor and drop dead.

  “I need you to call an ambulance, Shawn,” I said. I hated how frail my voice sounded. “Can you do that? Can you do that for Mason? We need to get him to a hospital. They can save him. But you need to call 911.”

  “O-okay,” he stuttered. “Okay.”

  While the idiot fumbled for his phone, I fumbled to keep pressure against Mason’s wound. It didn’t look like the bullet went through him, which meant it was lodged somewhere in his gut. I could barely think over the pounding of my pulse in my ear. I was breathing so hard that I thought I was about to pass out. But I knew I couldn’t let that happen. Willing myself to concentrate, I took a deep breath, fighting against the awful scent of iron flooding my nose.

  The police arrived before the ambulance did, so I assumed one of our neighbors must have made the call before Shawn managed to. Two officers rushed over, one of them immediately apprehending Shawn and cuffing him. He started to panic, started to scream Mason’s name wildly.

  “This is a mistake!” he screeched. He kicked and flailed, but the officer’s grip was absolute.

  I tuned out his pleas, focusing on keeping a level head. The second officer rushed over to me, took one glance at Mason, and dropped to his knees to assist me.

  “What happened?” he asked quickly, but clearly as he helped me to apply pressure.

  “He shot him,” I said, shakier than I intended. “We just got back from dinner.”

  “Do you know the assailant?”

  “Y-yes. He’s the ex. Shawn Murphy. There’s a restraining order against him.”

  At that very moment, the ambulance arrived, rolling up onto the curb. A team of EMTs jumped out of the vehicle and dashed over.

  “Let us take over now,” said the officer.

  “But–”

  “Now.”

  I got out of the way, watching as the paramedics moved with lightning quickness and surety. It was hypnotizing, watching them operate like this was just another work day for them. They’d probably witnessed scenes far more gruesome, dealt with people far less agreeable. They pulled out all sorts of gear from their emergency kit. While one of them was busy applying pressure, the other was checking Mason’s blood pressure. It wasn’t until the officer placed a hand on my shoulder that I snapped to.

  “I need you to breathe, son,” he said.

  But I couldn’t.

  I just stared down at my blood-soaked hands and felt the ground beneath my feet crumble away. What if Mason didn’t make it? What if I lost him forever? How was this fair? None of this was right. How could I tell him I loved him only for the universe to take him away? This was just too cruel, too bitter and nasty to fully understand.

  Fucking thanks, universe. What did Mason ever do to deserve this?

  “His BP’s really low,” snapped one EMT to the other.

  “He’s crashing,” noticed the other.

  “Starting CPR.”

  “What’s going on?” I breathed. I was so dizzy my fucking eyes felt tingly. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Sir, I need you to relax,” warned the officer. “Who is this man to you?”

  “He’s my boyfriend,” I answered immediately. “I need to go with him.”

  With a very brisk nod, the officer allowed me to follow the EMTs into the back of the ambulance as they lifted Mason inside on a stretcher. Just as the doors closed, the vehicle sped off, sirens wailing loudly just above our hea
ds. I felt so stupidly useless, sitting there on the cold bench and staring in utter disbelief as the paramedics got to work. I wanted to close my eyes, wanted to cover my ears so that I didn’t have to witness what they had to do to him. While one started chest compressions, the other applied a bag valve mask and began squeezing to encourage Mason to breathe.

  My legs were heavy like lead. I felt absent of my body, like I was watching everything unfold, but I was two inches to the left. It was just us in this metal box, surrounded by fancy equipment and the stink of blood and disinfectant. I felt simultaneously cold and hot, sweaty and parched. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and my heart wouldn’t stop caving in on itself in my chest. Before I even knew that I was spiraling, one of the paramedics forced me to bend over so that my head was between my knees.

  “You’re having a panic attack,” he informed me. “I need you to calm down.”

  “Promise me he’ll be okay,” I gasped.

  “We’re doing everything we can.”

  “Promise me,” I started to cry. I hadn’t cried this hard since the night my parents kicked me out. It felt awful. Hot tears streaked down my cheeks. My nose was plugged, making it that much harder to breathe.

  “We’re doing everything we can,” the paramedic repeated. I knew he couldn’t promise me anything. It was the right thing to do, not to get my hopes up just in case Mason’s condition decided to take a nosedive into the deep end. But it wasn’t what I wanted to hear –needed to hear.

  I don’t remember the ambulance arriving at the hospital. I don’t remember chasing after Mason as he was rolled away on the stretcher, immediately attended to by nurses and emergency room doctors. I don’t remember damn near having to wrestle some of the staff when they said I couldn’t follow Mason into the operating room. When Mason disappeared behind the massive swinging doors, I suddenly knew what emptiness felt like. It was horrible. Light, love, hope, happiness, laughter –it was all gone, ripped away from me in a matter of seconds. I ran my fingers through my hair, paced around anxiously as worried medical staff tried to get me to sit down.