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My gut churns, and my mouth waters sickeningly.
I’m vaguely aware of Waylon barking Mason’s name, telling him to get out…
Shouting it.
Suddenly, Mason’s being yanked from my lap. I didn’t even realize my arms had fallen lifelessly to my sides. Through a veil of unshed tears, the scene before me plays out, as if I’m watching it through a rain-smeared window.
“W-Way?” Mason says, as if just noticing his best friend is in the room. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s a tug of something—an awareness. But it fizzles into the background, there and gone as quickly as it made itself known.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Mason’s seated in front of me, with his back to me, head hanging.
Then—
“She’s gone.”
I blink.
“She’s gone, she’s gone…”
Mason’s on his knees, careening forward. Waylon manages to catch him, hold him steady.
“She’s really fucking gone,” I hear uttered, croaked. And my vision tilts.
There’s a hitch of breath, followed by Waylon whispering, “She’s gone.”
No.
Nononononono.
I’m vaguely aware of my body curling into itself, like I could somehow ward off what’s coming—what’s happening.
“I wish it was you.”
“Me too.”
I’m not even sure who says what. It doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.
And it’s all wrong.
“I wish it was me more.” Mason.
“Sometimes I wish it was you too,” Waylon admits quietly.
“How did we get here?” Mason sobs.
“I don’t know, man.”
“How did this happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“H-how do you do it?”
“I don’t know.” This time, Waylon’s voice is small—smaller than I’ve ever heard it.
There’s a thud, and my daze clears just enough for me to watch as Mason collapses forward, sobbing into the floorboards.
