Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I own some very strange word association, pencil-buns, Vans poetry, and a bunch of yeahs.
Prereaders: _ss77_, LuvinJ, Dinx Betas: Perrymaxed, Mac214
Playlist: Move Along by All American Rejects, Hands by Jewel
Chapter 6: The Day I Cut Masen's Hair
"That was so painful to watch." Angela covers her eyes and peeks through her fingers.
"It wasn't that bad," I say in mock defense.
"Yes, it was," Embry says, snatching a handful of my kettle corn. I pull away. He's not getting any; kettle corn is sacred.
"You had him falling all over himself."
"Hey," a familiar voice says. I didn't know he was going to make it. My night just keeps getting better and better: first, free kettle corn, and now, Masen's here.
I turn to see him: board in hand, beanie on head, hoodie zipped, adorable.
"Bella flirted herself into some free kettle corn, but she's not sharing," Embry gripes.
"Who says I'm not sharing?" I say, taking an obnoxiously large step over to Masen and holding out my bag to him. He grabs a handful and pops it into his mouth.
He jerks his head back in surprise, eyes wide, as though saying, "This is the best tasting thing ever."
"It's so good, right?"
"Yeah." He nods.
"Better than PB and J?"
He shrugs, making a face that clearly says, "No."
"What are they talking about?" Embry asks.
"I have no idea. Can we go now? It's cold just standing here." Angela doesn't wait for a response and wanders toward the giraffe exhibit. It's late night at the Phoenix Zoo. Most of the animals are sleeping, but we're here for the lights and music. Or so Angela said. Her mother got free tickets for Zoo Lights and gave them to her. She invited all of us. We weren't sure if Masen would show, but, at the last minute, he's here. And I couldn't be happier.
Angela is ecstatic and pointing out the light displays she loves most: a deer, a set of hopping frogs, elephants squirting water on each other. They're cute, but I don't really care.
Masen and I hang back a bit, letting Embry absorb Angela's glee. We walk side by side eating popcorn and pointing out lights to each other with fake enthusiasm.
"It's soooo beautiful," Masen coos in my ear, reminding me of A Bug's Life. Whether that's his intention or not, I'll never know because I cannot stop the over-the-top laughter that erupts from my body when I realize he's pointing at the sign for the Porta-johns.
He laughs with me, and we tumble into each other, spilling my popcorn, which refocuses me. "Hey, now. Watch the popcorn. It's precious." I give him a set of stern eyebrows, and his expression turns serious.
"Very," he says, but his tone makes me wonder if he's talking about me or my popcorn. I quite like it.
We catch the tram that tours the zoo, but the terrible off-key singing of the tour guide grates on my nerves as does the couple next to us making out. Trying to distract myself, I talk with Masen.
"How old are you?"
"Just seventeen."
"Just seventeen? What does that mean?"
"Well, you're eighteen, so . . ." I still have no idea what that means, but I press on.
"When's your birthday?"
"Summer."
"Mmm." We grow quiet, and the sound of sloppy kissing permeates the air around us. Embry and Angela are being so obnoxious with the PDA tonight. It's really making me uncomfortable since we're all squished together on the seat.
"Wanna get off on the next stop?" I ask, and Masen nods.
When the tram comes to a standstill I pat Angela's knee, and she comes up for air long enough for me to tell her we're going and not to worry about us.
Masen and I meander around the zoo and park ourselves on a bench on the Arizona Trail. We people watch, pointing out cute little girls with fluffy coats and fathers carrying toddlers on their shoulders.
Masen lounges backward and stretches his arms out wide on the bench, looking toward the sky. "Too bad we can't see the stars. That'd be better than this."
"Yeah, too bad." A breeze sweeps through the area, and I shiver. It was six when I arrived and still warm out. I didn't think to bring my sweater into the zoo with me.
"You cold?" Masen asks, and I nod.
He pulls his sweatshirt over his head in one motion and hands it to me. He drags his beanie from an arm hole and fiddles with the edges. I tug on his hoodie, pulling it over my hands. It's warm and smells like Masen and winter in Arizona, which, incidentally, is nice.
"Thanks," I say. He nods and leans forward a bit, toward me. I'm stuck, completely still, not wanting to ruin the moment. He's so close I can feel his warm, sweet kettle corn breath on my cheeks. He reaches out and slides his hat onto my head and smoothes it down, smiling.
"You look cute in my beanie."
"You look cute in your beanie too. Maybe it's the hat."
"Mmm, maybe." He purses his lips, then looks away. I'm dying to draw him into a kiss or sit on his lap or hold his hand—anything—but I can't. I have no idea how he'd respond. So far things have been going well when I let him lead the way, so I continue with that plan.
We sit in silence for all of thirty seconds when the tinkering sounds of "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" fill the crisp air. The lights wrapped around the palm and various mesquite trees blink on, taking turns on their notes, literally dancing to the music. The display is engaging and magical. It's almost as magical as watching Masen's eyes reflect the tiny lights. He's so beautiful inside and out. I wish I could make him see that. I wish I could tell him that, but I won't. At least, not today.
The music ends, and I raise my hands up to blow on them. I drop them to my knees, but Masen intercepts them, placing them in between his hands. He pulls them to his lips, breathes on them, then rubs them delicately. I'm certainly warm now. I'm warm all over.
He keeps my hands in his, head down. He plays with them, running a circuit over my palms and fingers with his thumbs. My insides squirm like mad with excitement. I smile inwardly at my good fortune and remind myself to thank Angela profusely for inviting Masen and me to the zoo.
We sit and listen to the music one more time before making our way home. He insists I drive us to my house. We stand outside my truck door, and I pull his beanie from my head. I place it on his, tugging it tight around his ears and fussing with it as long as I can, not wanting to stop touching him. He takes both my hands in his again, rubbing them and breathing his warm breath on them. "You'll be warm enough?" I ask, after he declines his sweatshirt.
"I'll be fine," he says, looking down at my hands. He cups them in his own and lightly presses his lips to them, I think. I can't be sure because I can't see. His head lifts, and his eyes lock with mine. "Goodnight, Bella," he says and takes his warmth with him when he skates away.
I sleep in his sweatshirt for the next four nights in a row, wondering what it would be like to sleep in his arms. I hope to find out someday, but, for now, this is enough.
-MD-
My TV channel is on the CW, but I'm staring at the blinking lights on my dying Christmas tree. Winter Break is boring. I haven't done anything fun since my zoo trip with Masen. I turn my attention back to the teen drama when banging on the door sends me skittering off my couch. I'm there in a second, wrenching it open. "Masen. Oh . . . are you okay?" He's bleeding. That much is clear.
"Phone?" he asks, pointing to the kitchen. I nod, and he moves around me as if his hair isn't matted in blood, there's not a gash on his forehead, and his lip isn't split.
I try to give him space by staying where I am. I also try not to freak out, but internally I'm a mess. What happened? Should I call the cops? No, he'd never speak to me again, but these injuries cannot be blamed on skateboarding. These are worthy of getting authority figures involved. I've seen the guys bruised up after a day of learning new tricks at The Wedge. This isn't average road burn. This is much, much more. I'm terrified for him but do my best to keep my tears at bay while listening from the living room.
"I want out. The sooner, the better. No, I'm done trying. She's stuck, I guess. It's her decision. I can't do this shit anymore. No. I won't. I won't! Yes, after graduation. No, that's fine. Okay. Thanks. Love you, bye."
Love you? Who does he love? Who deserves so many words? Who takes care of him, loves him, better than me? No one I know.
Masen comes into the living room but doesn't look at me. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes. He swallows thickly; the leather choker around his throat constricts.
I eye him curiously, trying desperately not to shout, "Talk to me!"
He opens his eyes like it's the most painful thing he's ever done, then exhales. "Do you have any clippers?"
-MD-
He sits on my toilet, his eyes level with my breasts. He cleaned up his face, but his hair is still clotted with blood. I'm completely nervous, but he's asked me to do this, so I will. I think I'd do anything he requested. He has this quiet power over me that I can't explain, but I love it. I'm desperate for it—for him, really.
"I'm not sure how . . ."
He takes the clippers from me and attaches a purple comb to it. "You can't mess it up. Trust me."
"I trust you."
"I trust you too."
He lowers his head and raises his hands, placing them on my hips. The intimacy of that motion alone is startling. He does trust me, at least in some way, or he wouldn't have done that. That thought sends me into a frenzy. If he does trust me and comes to me in his time of need—which, clearly, he does—then we can move forward somehow.
I flip the switch. He keeps his head down while I sheer off his locks. I want to be sad, but I can't because he needs this. It seems important.
I make quick work of it, running my hand over his head to make sure I don't miss anything. It's hard to tell since his shorn hair is all over the place. "Um, I think we should wash it, so I can make sure it's all even."
Without a word he pulls his shirt over his head and kneels beside the tub. He starts the water and shoves his head under the faucet, scrubbing it with one hand.
I stand at his side, crouching over him, running my hands over his head as well. He wraps his free hand around my calf. The calluses on his palm prick roughly at my bare skin, but I like it. He's making so much contact tonight.
I finish up, and he lifts his head, water sluicing down his face onto his bare chest and back. He is the picture of depression, sorrow, and childhood lost. I want to drown him in my tears to put him out of his misery or hug him, but I can't. It's not my place, but I wish it were. I could offer him so much solace in my arms.
"Sit back down." He does as I say, and I pull the hand towel from the bar, running it over his head, then back and face, ending with his chest. "Looks good."
He looks up into my eyes, and I'm startled by the bright green and the depth of his gaze.
"You have beautiful eyes," I say, and he makes no move to show me that he cares about my compliment.
I'm cleaning the clippers when his hands grip my hips again. He twists slightly, forcing me to angle myself toward him. When I do, I'm met with a fierce expression and a gruff whisper, "You can see right through them, can't you?"
"I don't know. I just know there's so much there . . . in your eyes, I mean."
"Why do you care?"
"Masen, I—"
"I have to go," he says, standing abruptly, though his hands are still on my hips. He wraps his arms around my waist and draws me into an uncharacteristic hug.
"I know. It's okay," I want to say, but I can't. He's too fragile. It'd scare him away, so I wrap my arms around his neck to thank him for coming to me, for trusting me.
He clings to me, breathing deeply. He exhales his warm breath on my shoulder, making my loose hair tickle my neck. The energy between us shifts, and I want more than anything for his calloused fingers to return to my skin. My wish is granted when his hands move up my back and into my hair. He grips it in fistfuls, holding it taut. He moves his head subtly, dragging his nose over the side of my neck all the way up to my ear. He kisses me just beneath it and whispers almost imperceptibly, "Thank you, Bella." He releases me and without another look, swipes his shirt off the floor and leaves.
A/N: Masen Days Extras are available on my blog: purelyamuse dot blogspot dot com. Teasers, visuals, and peeks into Masen's notebook will be posted weekly (Wednesdays) as a follow-up or sneak peek of a chapter. You can sign up for email updates or follow the blog. Enjoy!
SaintKristen left a great review this week. I thought her words were the epitome of Masen's character. So here's what you'd find in a Purelyamuse dictionary if you looked up Masen. Masen: n. thoughtful with a little bit of awkward.
Special thanks to MyCleverAlias for pimping me on The Fictionators this week. The link is on the profile page and the blog. Also thanks to Cherryhilz who preread a portion of this in a pinch for me.
My prereader and betas put up with my endless additions and rewrites without complaint and sometimes even encourage it. They are gluttons for punishment.
This week's readalong by JaimeArkin was insanely successful, in my opinion, and even more important: fun! Masen Days gathered lots of attention in the form of story alerts, favorites, reviews, and a new prereader, DINX! Say, "Hi, Dinx!" Thank you all for participating and for spreading the word about this story. I never thought it would get this type of response, but I'm loving my interaction with all of you.