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I haven’t run since the time with Asher at the football field. But it feels like the only way to relieve this anxiety. So I swing my bag over my shoulder and across my chest.
Without even a stretch, I run all the way home. My legs burn, my lungs burn, but I don’t care.
It feels better than not being able to breathe. It feels better than the pain I feel every second of every day since Mason left.
When I reach my apartment, I don’t stop. If I stop, the burn will stop and the other pain will come back. So I keep going and going and going until I feel like I’m going to pass out.
With my chest heaving and my entire body on fire, I slow down to a jog and then a walk, and cross the street to the beach.
I collapse onto the sand and fall back, not caring that the sand will get everywhere, inside everything, and stick to my sweaty skin and hair.
Staring up at the sky, I try to make sense of my thoughts, of anything. But I’m too lost, too jumbled, too fucked up.
When I sit up, I look up and down the beach and sigh.
I can’t be here anymore.
I can’t grieve here.
I can’t go on like normal, go to class, and study, run, and hang out with friends like Mason isn’t dead in the ground back home.
I need to go back there.
I need to be close to Mason.
I need to be close to my parents.
I need to go home.
ChapterTwelve
Asher
I throw myself into work and school because that’s all I can do. If I sit at home, I dwell.
And dwell.
And dwell some more.
I stare at Mason’s things. I sit in his room and remember the times in here, playing videos or doing drunk stupid things.
And then I get so fucking angry I need to leave.
One night, all I could think about was breaking something. So I boxed up some plates and drove out to a deserted road. I smashed every plate I brought, so fucking mad at the universe.
Why him? Out of all the people in the world, and I’m sure there’s lots of shitty ones, why did it have to be my best friend? I feel like I’m in a time warp.
Fuck. I’m so lost.
So fucking lost.
And watching Madison fall apart kills me. It shatters my heart into a million tiny fragments. Since the football game, I’ve given her some space. I can’t keep showing up on her doorstep and falling asleep in her hallway. But I can keep the line open. I text her every morning with a simple have a good day and every night with a simple goodnight. I want her to know I’m always here.
Sometimes she replies and sometimes she doesn’t. But at least I know she knows I’m thinking about her.
I’m on my way to work when my phone rings. The name John Blackwell flashes on my phone and my stomach twists.Why would Mason’s dad be calling me?
“Hey, Mr. Blackwell. How are you?”
