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I seal my eyes shut once more, slamming a steel door down on that line of thinking.
Because that’s exactly it. But at least my silence provides me with the illusion that no one actually thinks that. We all know the truth. We all know the fates fucked up.
Seconds pass slowly, unrushed.
When it happens, I’m certain I’m mistaken. That he is drunk, just not reeking of it. That he is high—high out of his mind, which is the likelier scenario here.
Because there’s absolutely no way in this universe—in this timeline—that Mason Wyatt—Mason fucking Wyatt—is burying his face in my hair and kissing my head and holding me so tight I almost forget what it’s like to not be held.
“I’m gonna throw you a party,” he whispers roughly, his voice muffled.
A short, rusty laugh bursts out of me, and I’m blinking rapidly into the darkness. “No, you’re not.”
“Am so.” And he says it so simply, like it’s a done deal.
It reminds me of the Mason from before—the one who’d smile in the face of my bristling reluctance. The one who’d seek me out from across a crowded room, when I was certain I was invisible.
He was never as pushy or aggressive about things like Izzy. Instead it was more a comforting, matter-of-fact sort of determination that never failed to make me simultaneously outraged and weak in the knees. He knew me better than I knew myself…
Just like I knew him.
It’s been so long now since I’ve seen glimmers of the old Mason, that I forgot what it does to me.
But that Mason never held me like this…
Spurred by the sudden fear of losing this—losing him—I strengthen my grip on him like I could keep him here, keep him from destroying himself. Like it could make up for the fact I only have this to begin with—this touchy, cuddly Mason who needs me—because she’s not here.
And I think I get it now. Mom’s desperation tonight. Mason’s, too, every time he curls himself around me late at night, with only the moonlight and plastic stars and ghosts as our witnesses.
It sneaks up on you—this soul deep, terrible need.
It snatches you up in its spindly fingers, before you even realize your feet are no longer touching the ground. And you’re as helpless to break free as the person you smother with it.
Difference is…
In his arms, I’m a stand-in for someone else.
In mine, he’s everything I’ve always wanted.
Would I trade this to have my sister back?
Most days, I’d say yes. It would kill me, yes, but without her I’m already half gone, withering away by the day. Barely hanging on. So what difference does it make anyway?
Tonight though… tonight, I don’t know.
I don’t know that I could actually choose. This or her. Not when I have him to hang onto.
And that’s the ugly truth of the matter, one I’ll carry to the grave, one that won’t even scar.
It’ll stay buried inside me, pushing and squirming at my too tight skin until I’m old and gray. Skin that is currently smooth, and unbroken all over, save for the tiny red crescent-moons decorating my palms, the only evidence of this evening’s spiteful victory.
No, no. I’ll keep this one inside.
Let it rot me along with everything else.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
She beckons and screams
