When I awoke that next morning, I was alone.
My eyesight was hazy, making it difficult for me to see, but when my surroundings finally came into focus, I gasped. Glancing down at the clock, I realized my alarm had been switched off – which I didn't recall doing; I had five minutes to take a shower, get dressed, and be sitting at the front desk, promptly waiting for Coop to give me another form to file away.
I rushed to the bathroom hurriedly, noticing I was even more a mess than usual. The entire right side of my face was bright red, from sleeping on my pillow funny, I supposed. Whatever it was, I knew makeup wouldn't be powerful enough to cover it up.
I hopped into the shower and was out within a minute and a half, happy to see that the blemish was gone and my hair wasn't as tangled. I ran to my room, seeing I had two minutes to be through the hospital's front doors. After changing with great haste, I headed for the stairs, pausing at the top.
Music gently wafted from the downstairs.
Had I left the radio on … all night? What a waste of electricity, I thought to myself as I dashed down the steps. I flung around the banister when I reached the bottom, knowing that I had to literally materialize to the hospital in order to make it there in time. When I turned to face the kitchen, though, I froze.
There in my kitchen … was a person.
Their back was turned to me, as they skillfully fried two eggs in a pan. I could tell it was a male by their broad, sculpted shoulders. He wore a grey hoodie that clung to his muscular body beautifully, along with ratted black jeans. At first guess, I would've thought it was Nathaniel; however, I knew it couldn't be, considering their hair was a striking dirty blonde. I also caught a glimpse of his arms, which were so white I almost mistook them for sleeves – shockingly enough, this person still was not paler than me.
"Uh," I stuttered confusedly. "W-who are you?"
He solidified, clearing his throat before responding deeply, "Guess."
"Um," I paused, examining his backside again. No specific person came to mind, and I'd discarded multiple faces from my memory after coming to Forks, figuring I'd never have to think about them again. "I give up."
The person startled me by laughing.
"What?" I wondered, glancing outside to see a stylish, expensive Mercedes in the driveway. Who was this guy?
He turned around to show me his face.
It truly was beautiful; his eyes were an electric blue, seemingly piercing through my soul. His mouth was curved into a smirk, yet there was some hint of remorse behind his smile. As for his face, he had chiseled cheek bones and a perfectly angled jaw bone – altogether, the face of a stone carving, virtually flawless. He stuffed his hands into his pockets nervously, trying not to laugh.
"Can you guess now?" His voice wasn't as deep as it was before.
I stood there, staring at him absentmindedly, but I still couldn't identify him. "Sorry. I don't know."
He laughed again. "God, Scarlett. You're not as intuitive as I remember."
I bit my lip nervously. Why could I not recognize this person? Something about him – his voice, his eyes, his body – seemed familiar. I rarely dwelled on things like faces, especially if it was someone I hadn't seen in a long time. So this was virtually impossible for me.
"It's me," he opened up his arms as if he were presenting something, that smirk a definite feature on his flawless face. "Mason."
"Mason …?" I remained clueless.
"… Ryder," He finished for me, flashing me a set of ultra white teeth.
I gasped. My memory was unable to run back that far – no one's memory should be able to. First time I laid eyes on Mason was in the second grade; the last time I saw him, we were walking off the stage at our high school graduation. Might I add that we had dated at least twice in between that period.
"Wow," I exhaled, utterly embarrassed.
I would've done so much if I knew he was coming; I would've painted over that hideous coffee stain upstairs in the hallway, I would've mopped the floors so this dump could look at least somewhat presentable, and I probably would've freshened myself up, without a doubt. However, I wouldn't do all these things because I still liked him – mainly because it was a competition to be better than him. By the looks of his clothes and his car, Mason was winning.
"It's been awhile, eh?" He laughed uncomfortably.
"Were you in my bed?" I blurted, my tone sharper than planned.
He stepped back, his joking expression vanishing into a frightened one. I could tell just by looking at his face that he was scared – it was rather hilarious actually. I would've laughed but all this irony had clogged up my throat.
"Uh, yes," He answered honestly, avoiding my eyes.
"So that wasn't a dream," I shook my head, mystified. I knew there had been a certain feel about it – a feel that was too blatant to be a product of my jumbled up thoughts.
"Uh, no," He glanced at the floor before looking back up at me.
I'd definitely missed him, but I'd never admit to it. It had taken some digging, but he had been stored in the back of my brain for the longest time; in grade school, I'd honestly had a sort of obsession with him. However, that had passed with the coming of eighth grade. By my freshman year of college, Mason had completely and almost permanently slipped my mind – it wasn't until now that all my memories of him resurrected.
So many questions popped into my head then; how had his life gone since I last seen him? He'd always been smart, a straight-A student. Obviously he was doing well in the money department; that car had to be at least a hundred thousand dollars. He had to have a girlfriend – unattractive wasn't a trait of his; it never had been. But then again, why would he be here if he had a girlfriend? Why would he come to me if his life had equaled up to be nothing short of perfect? More importantly, how did he know where to find me in the first place?
"How'd you know where I live?" I wondered.
He scratched the nape of his neck nervously. "Honestly?"
I nodded, watching as he squirmed under my gaze. Guilt began to blanket his teasing expression.
"I Zava-searched you," He admitted, waiting for my response.
Typically, I exploded. "Is everyone digging into my personal records these days? Are they just out there for the whole world to see? I should just make it easier for everyone and put a giant billboard up with my social security number on it!"
Unintentionally, an adorable confusion crossed his expression.
I simpered, acknowledging his perplexity. "I'm still weird. You must remember that quality of mine."
"Oh," He chuckled. "I remember that."
"Um, well," I played with my fingers tensely. "I see you've already started breakfast."
He turned and looked at the pan, remembering he'd left the flame on. "I hope you don't mind. They're a bit burnt."
"It's fine," I smiled. "Let me just make a phone call and then we can sit."
He began to slide the eggs onto two plates as I picked up the telephone.
I quickly dialed the hospital's main number, clearing my throat just before Krista picked up on the other line. "Hello. Forks Community Hospital. How may I help you?"
"Hey, Krista," I coughed, developing what I thought was a convincing fake cold. "I can't come in today. I feel awful."
"Hmm," Krista pondered. I had to remember she had two teenagers who probably faked sick all the time. "Did you take your temperature?"
"Yeah," I lied. "It was 102º. I don't think I should come in."
"If you're sure," Krista agreed; something in her tone, however, made me think she'd caught my lie. "When do you think you'll be back in?"
"Maybe two days from now," I allowed. "At most, three."
I glimpsed over at Mason, who had a wide smile on his face. He wasn't looking at me, but he was secretly containing a laugh – I could tell by the light in his eyes.
"Well, feel better," Krista finally accepted my lie.
"See you later," I pulled away from the receiver and finished it off with a slight sneeze, just to add to the effect.
"You get some sleep now," Krista ordered before hanging up.
As soon as I put the phone back in the dock, Mason guffawed, "Same old Scarlett. Why'd you take off three days? I only intend to stay today."
Honestly, I was happy he was staying, even if it was just for a couple hours; there was so much I wanted to talk to him about. "I need some days off."
"Where do you work?" he asked placing our meals on the dinky wooden kitchen table I'd gotten at a yard sale.
"Forks Hospital," I answered.
His eyebrow rose. "You're in the medical business?"
"No," I replied. "I'm just working there to keep the cash flow coming."
"Then what do you do?" He wondered as we both sat down, staring at me with deep, oceanic pools for eyes – I was swimming in them in no time.
I snapped out of my trance. "I'm an author."
He laughed. "I should've suspected nothing less."
Honestly, I wasn't that hungry, but I knew it'd be rude if I didn't eat what he made for me. I stabbed my fork into the eggs and stuffed it into my mouth. "Mmm. This is really good. I didn't know you were a cook."
Mason leaned back in his chair, appraisingly me carefully. His smile faded as he answered, "My wife taught me."
I gulped, accidently swallowing a forkful all in one massive bite. So he did have a wife; I bet she was beautiful, far better looking than me – blonde most likely, athletic. Everything that I wasn't.
"Y-you have a wife?" I stammered, trying not to make it obvious how painstakingly upset I was.
"Excuse me," He cleared his throat. "I meant to say ex-wife."
I didn't respond. I simply stared at him blankly.
"I guess I should explain all of this for it to make sense," he paused, glimpsing up at the ceiling before beginning. "After high school, I went to Harvard."
"No surprise," I shook my head.
"What?" He grinned, toying with his food but never eating it.
"Considering you're such a genius," I giggled, and he laughed along with me. His eyes seemed vivid, it was exuberating.
"As I was saying," He continued. "I went to Harvard, studying to become a doctor, and I met this girl there, Madison. She was great – smart, funny, sporty. Enough to keep me on my toes …."
I looked at him, watching as his facial expression lifted as he recollected the apparently joyful memories.
"We got married a month after graduation," He explained. "In my opinion, I could never be happier with another person in my entire life. To make it even better, we found out Madison was pregnant with a boy. Man, I was excited. I had everything planned – I would teach the kid to play baseball and he'd be the captain of his high school team, maybe even college. It was all perfect."
He sighed as his chuckle morphed into a frown.
"And then he came out," Mason shook his head, as if he didn't want to believe what he was saying. "With cerebral palsy."
I watched as he grew more and more disconsolate.
"It was a real blow to everybody," His eyes darted out the window, mainly to avoid eye contact, I assumed. "The doctor said he wouldn't live to be one …." his voice trailed off.
I thought about how egotistical I had been when Mason got here – how it was such a contest on whose life was better. It seemed like, in the luck category, I was in the lead … but I certainly didn't want to be. His life was unfortunate and horrible – so much pain and suffering had tainted what could've been the ideal life. It was obvious just by looking at his face how much pain this caused him.
And then he picked up again, "My son lived to be two. After that, everything just went downhill for Madison and me. We argued constantly, our marriage wasn't as fun as it used to be. She would come home drunk and I would be high all night. I used to put my cigarettes and joints under the cushions on the couch just to annoy her …"
I interrupted. "You smoke?"
"Not anymore," he assured me. "Then one night, she packed her bags and left the divorce papers on the bed without another word."
"That's terrible."
"One might think," He shrugged. "So after that I lived with my parents and worked at a hospital in downtown D.C. About two weeks ago, I got fired. I was unpacking some boxes, found our old eighth grade year book and flipped through it. Thought it'd be fun to see where everybody was now."
I nodded.
"To be honest," He admitted. "I skipped over you. But then I just couldn't take it anymore, and then when I saw when you were in a town I'd never heard of – I looked it up and it only has 3,000 people in it – so I just had to know what you were doing in the middle of nowhere. I thought you were like an undercover spy or something ridiculous like that."
"I like it here," I confessed.
"Why?" he criticized. "It's all rainy. I don't know how you can put up with all this bad weather."
"You get used to it after awhile. I can't imagine living anywhere else."
"So," He grinned, leaning back. "While were on the topic of what you're doing in this wilderness, how'd you get here? What'd you do after high school?"
"Hmm," I sighed, not really wanting to go over the topic of my life – it was too dreary. "Well, I went to Brigham Young, in Provo."
"Did you convert to Mormonism?" He wondered.
"I've been asked that a lot … but no," I answered, then continued, "I got a degree in literature. Then after that, I lived in New York for a week."
"A week?" he questioned condemningly.
"Taylor and Ashley live there … you remember them?"
"Uh-huh," He nodded. "I'm still vaguely in touch with Taylor."
"Well, I attempted a life in the 'city that never sleeps' with them," I explained. "But I'm not much of a city girl, so I moved to London …"
"London's a city," He commented.
"Yes, well, London is better merely because it's not America," In that one sentence, I sounded much older for my age.
He laughed wholeheartedly. "So you're anti-American?"
"For a brief period of time, I was, yes," I simpered. "But then Lilli told me to come back because she needed help with rent and whatnot. So I did, and Karolina came to live with us as well."
"I remember them," He snuck into my autobiography.
"So after about two years with them, I got an impeccable deal from Little, Brown," I smiled. "Who just so happened to offer me half a million for every book I spit out."
"What!" he leaned forward, his tone questioning my sanity. "You must be raking in cash like there's no tomorrow!"
"Not necessarily," I responded. "You see by book, I mean novel. And by novel, I mean typing up a 500 page word document. This isn't your average English paper, my friend. You try typing a group of words that long and see if they all make sense in the end."
"It doesn't seem that hard."
"Then maybe you should give it a try and send me a copy of the finished piece when you're done with it in ten years," I joked.
He stopped to laugh, finally taking a bite of his delicious creation. By the look on his face, he didn't like the taste – he swallowed it reluctantly, after which he dropped his fork, surrendering. As he wiped his mouth with a napkin, I noticed something on his arm.
"What's that from?" I questioned.
"What's what from?" He dropped the napkin, glancing up at me.
"That scar on your arm," I wondered after swallowing another bite.
"Oh," He looked at it absentmindedly. "About three months after our divorce, Madison's Facebook relationship status went from single to engaged to married in about two weeks. So I texted her, asking if it was a joke. Just to tick me off, she sent me a picture of her and her new husband. I was so pissed, that I picked up my laptop and threw it at the window. So … yeah, a glass shard cut me."
"Oh," I mumbled incoherently. "I …." I began but then stopped.
"What's wrong?" He inquired, his mouth curving into a sneer.
"Nothing," I lied unconvincingly.
"Obviously it's something," He accused.
"It's stupid," I shook my head, tapping my fork against the plate impatiently as he eyed me. "You'll laugh at me."
He leaned forward, stopping about three inches from my face. I could feel his breath cleanse me – it was refreshing. With a seductively persuasive voice, he instructed, "Just tell me."
"Well …" I paused before continuing. "There's something kind of … sexy about that."
He laughed loudly, the noise echoing throughout the house. In that moment, the whole house seemed to shudder, probably from the wind – however, it sounded an awful lot to me as if the house had been so tired of seeing only my face everyday, only me being utterly lonely; the sound of another living human being was exhilarating to this abode, and it was equally as thrilling for me.
"Sorry," He chuckled. "That was out of line. I shouldn't have laughed."
I was breathless – unable to respond articulately.
"I just didn't know getting cut by glass was sexy," He snickered quietly.
"To a normal person who lives a normal life, it's pretty normal," I clarified matter-of-factly. "But I've been lonely for a very long time."
"Well, that's poignant," He responded. "What do you do all day? Mope?"
"Actually, yes," I answered, frowning – I was reasonably ashamed as I admitted this. "I spend a lot of my time crying."
"You've always been a crier," He recalled. "I liked that, though."
I blushed excessively, picking up my legs and wrapping my arms around them protectively.
"What do you cry about?" He wondered.
"Oh, stupid things," I answered, staring up at the ceiling before looking back at his face. "I cried when Lilli left – she lives with me, but she had to be in Japan for her job the past several months. I cried when I watched Breaking Dawn, and still to this day, I cry when I watch any Twilight movie, even if it's slight. I cried when I was sick. Sometimes I sit down on the couch and just cry randomly. The most recent was about a week ago, at Thanksgiving, when I cut myself while slicing the turkey."
He wondered randomly, "Did you spend your Thanksgiving alone?"
"No," I glimpsed at him questioningly. "I spent it with a friend from work and her family."
"Will you spend Christmas with them?"
"Probably not," I replied. "Christmas is a family holiday, a holiday you spend with the people you love … I would never burst in and ruin something like that."
He nodded.
"Besides," I continued. "I'm not that much fun anyways. I've never made great company for someone."
"That's a lie," He blurted.
For a long moment, there was silence between us. The only sound was my iPod dock – which we hadn't turned off or turned down. A soft song was filling the background, acoustic guitar ironically matching this empathetic mood. Mason's face was charmingly serene; I didn't know what face I was making, but it was almost certainly not as hypnotizing as his was.
"So, Lilli lives with you?" he broke the silence.
"Yes," I answered – my voice a little shaky. "A couple months ago, she got an anime job in Japan. She should be back in about two months, and then she can work from home."
"I haven't seen any of my grade school friends in the longest time," He stated. "It's kind of funny how you remained in such close contact with yours."
"Funny," I repeated quietly to myself.
Mason looked out the window then, watching the individual droplets of rain hit the glass. He briefly studied the setting, glancing from the woods on the right to several houses on the left. My neighbors' houses were drastically different than mine – older. I'd hired a contractor to build my house, but I'd designed it to look aged on purpose. The rest of the houses on my street had been built approximately in the seventies, but their exteriors were constantly being renovated, replacing the eroding siding with stronger material able to survive the weather.
I turned and examined my kitchen with approval. I liked the way I'd chosen to build it – the color, the cabinets, the floors especially. The whole house was neutral colors: a lot of blues, dark browns, and greens – as if there wasn't enough green outside already. My bedroom I appreciated the most, but I despised showing it to people; it just proved my overwhelming Twilight obsession. I designed it to look identical to Bella Swan's in the movie, and I believed that it was a definite success.
Actually, the entire house's layout was identical to Bella's. But it wasn't my fault that the Swan household had little architectural taste. I'd wanted it to be authentic, making my place exactly indistinguishable to that in the movie; but, in spite of myself, I just couldn't stand the lack of matching colors and updated appliances. This proved my unparalleled desire for perfectionism.
"Sorry about this morning," Mason apologized out of the blue, snapping me from my reverie.
"You mean how you just randomly burst into my house?" I accused. "How did you get in anyway?"
"You left the front door unlocked," He said indifferently. I flushed a pinkish shade of scarlet. "And I am sorry for bursting in without warning. But I was referring to something else."
I raised an eyebrow.
"I turned off your alarm," he seemed distant, staring at something far away.
"Why?" I questioned. Why he was apologizing for this intrigued me; as did why he did it in the first place.
"I didn't want you to wake up," He frowned. "I didn't want you to leave because then I wouldn't be able to talk to you. But you stumped me."
"I stumped you?"
"You often do," He smiled amiably. "Apparently, you have a mental alarm clock in your brain."
I glanced out the window, grinning.
"So are you going to give me a tour or what?" He inquired, inadvertently leaning closer to me.
"Am I inclined to?" I smirked, standing.
He stood as well, promptly stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I suppose."
As we exited the kitchen and entered the main foyer, I smiled up at him, "I assumed you already explored."
"I'm not that nosy," He chuckled.
"Well," I shrugged, leading him into the living room. I pulled my sleeves over my fists restlessly, watching his observing gaze. "This is the living room."
He eyed the room carefully, examining everything from the small hand-me-down couch to the elderly TV I'd carried on with me from my college dormitory.
After a long while, he stated, "It suits you."
I exhaled nervously, my eyes remaining on him. He proved successful when it came to hiding his emotions and he always had been. He appeared to be paying attention at first glance, but there were always core feelings underneath, under the surface. I hadn't known this forever, though; it'd taken me years to figure out what was going on in that brain of his – I was pretty clueless as it was, still.
"What's out there?" He wondered, gesturing towards the door on the far end of the living room.
"That's the porch."
"Do you ever use it?" He chuckled silently. "Aren't porches meant for enjoying the outdoors. What's enjoyable about the outdoors here?"
"I use it sometimes," I glimpsed up at him, walking towards the door. "But you might want to bundle up first."
"I'll be fine," he headed back to the foyer, grabbing his coat and returning. He placed it around my shoulders courteously.
"Thank you," I mumbled timidly, wrapping it tightly across my shoulders.
"You're welcome," He opened the door for me, letting me exit out first.
The wintriness caught me immediately, chilling me to the bone. Mason must have been freezing, but he didn't show it. He stared blankly out to the forest's edge, beyond that point was indecipherable.
"This place …" he paused to think of the proper word. "There's something … kind of nice about it."
"It is beautiful," I agreed. "When I first moved here, I went into the woods. And when I got high enough up," I exhaled. "It was incredible. You should've seen the sun peeking through the cloudbank. And the dew covered the tree trunks and ground."
He nodded.
"It's very mystifying here," I finished.
Out of my peripheral vision, I saw him sneak a peek at me right before he replied, "Yes, it is extremely mystifying here."
We were silent for a moment.
The pounding rain seemed almost musical today, as if the entire world was at a certain peace. The trees swayed as if they were dancing to the downpour as the wind whooshed by, echoing in my ears.
"You look freezing," he commented.
Now that he mentioned it, I did feel a bit frostbitten. "I'm fine," I lied.
He ignored me. "C'mon. Before you get sick."
Mason guided me back into the house, refusing his jacket when I tried to return it to him – "Keep it on for awhile," he'd said. I didn't object; I was too addicted to the smell to protest. I couldn't describe the scent. It smelled like a memory that I had forgotten, potent but subdued and soft by now. Perhaps that was all Mason was to me. A memory.
"There's the dining room," I commented as we passed by it on our way back to the foyer.
He followed me back up the stairs, almost silently. I had to check behind me to see if he was still there, and he was, smiling beautifully back up at me. When we reached the second floor, I ignored the closed door on the left, not wanting to show it to him.
That was the only room in the house that had any sign of Twilight in it, and it was the only room that was going to – it was the only room that Lilli and I had allowed. She and I had agreed that we were adults now, and we shouldn't have signs of our younger days in the house since we needed to be completely mature. So we assigned that room to be the room of outcast childhood memories; naturally, it was crowded with Twilight memorabilia.
He must've understood that I didn't want to reveal the room, so he didn't mention it as we passed by.
I lifted my hand and tapped another closed door with my knuckle. "This is Lilli's room. I don't go in there, and I won't until she's back."
Mason nodded thoughtfully.
"Here's the bathroom," I continued down the hall as he followed.
As I reached for the handle of my bedroom door, Mason assessed, "I'm guessing this is your bedroom?"
"You guessed right," I nodded, opening the door embarrassedly.
"I hope you don't mind," He said as we entered, analyzing the room carefully. "I explored this room a bit while you were asleep."
"Did you sleep at all last night?" I wondered.
He shrugged. "Jetlag."
"Sorry, it's a mess," I apologized.
He looked around the room, as did I. The walls were light and green. I had a desk up against one wall and the bed on the opposite; in the corner sat a rickety old rocking chair, which I sat in to read from time to time. Beside the rocking chair was a massive bookshelf, filled with binders and copies of all my published and non-published junk. In one glance at the cluttered bookshelf, I could definitely say I was proud of myself – I'd wasted countless hours of my life compiling all of these together, and I guess the bookshelf stood as a trophy in itself.
"It looks different in the daylight," Mason interceded between thoughts. "It seemed a bit less … gloomy last night."
"It's hard to remember where I am at night, except for the rain," I said. "Lack of moonlight makes my house feel completely isolated, as if it's the middle of a black emptiness."
"That doesn't make you feel disconnected?" He wondered.
"No," I replied. "It inspires the creative juices that keep an author fluid. If I were to write about feeling inaccessible, I should feel it firsthand, you know?"
He muttered silently to himself, "Unbelievable."
I stepped back, appraising this picture carefully. My room seemed drabby compared to him; his expensive clothes, his poster-child physique – he seemed so out of place in the norm of my bedroom. To see something so beautiful standing among something so normal, it felt unnatural.
"Scarlett," He called for my attention.
I hadn't noticed he'd been looking at me – I'd been too busy looking at him.
"I have a question for you," He grinned, stepping closer. I said nothing, so he assumed he could continue, "I was wondering if I could stay a bit longer …?"
I nodded. "You just got here. There's no point in taking a plane back immediately …"
"Not because I have to leave," he sighed. "Because I don't want to."
I went blank. "You don't want to leave?"
"No," He responded, a memorable smile flickering onto his face.
He reached forward, and I didn't pull away. His hand gently caressed my cheek before he softly pulled me into a kiss. His lips tasted sweet, like sugar. He was reserved at first, but after a few seconds he became more passionate, wrapping his arms protectively around my waist. I placed my hand on the nape of his neck, feeling instantly intoxicated and needing to hold onto him to remain stable. He briefly pulled away, resting his forehead against mine. Exhaling, that beautiful smirk crossed his alluring expression.
"I don't want you to leave either," I breathed.
