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: You Wanted More by Tonic, Hello by Incubus (cover)
Chapter 8: The Day Masen Ruins Me
I'm sitting on a metal folding chair alongside Embry and Masen. We're in an old folks' home in Sun City. The smell of canned green beans and floor wax tickle my nose, and I can't shake the odor—it's driving me insane. Angela's singing for the jazz band tonight. I didn't even know she was a singer until she invited me . . . and Masen.
Masen's been keeping his distance since the night on the golf course two weeks ago. Not physical distance—he's around me—but emotional distance, I guess. He's speaking to me like we just met, which really isn't all that different. But it is. I know it is. I don't like it. He's pushing me away, though I see a smile in his green eyes when he says yeah to me. And I feel a flicker of hope.
I'm hoping for a flicker tonight . . .
When I picked up both boys at Embry's, Embry insisted that Masen sit next to me. The tension was insane, and Masen played with the wheels of his skateboard the whole way. By the time we got to the rest home my eye was twitching, and I wanted to break his skateboard. Alas, I did not.
Embry was a chatty Cathy when we got there and sucked a little old lady into a conversation. By the time he sat down, Masen and I were already seated next to each other. Never in my life have I felt so awkward.
Masen picks at his fingernails, and I count ceiling tiles while we wait for the performance to begin. I don't think it could be any worse than this.
The curtain opens, and the director introduces himself and the band. They start playing music from the Big Band era, and the crowd goes wild. I do too; I've loved this style of music since I was a little kid. Grandpa Swan was always disappointed I never played the clarinet. I think he wanted me to be the next Glen Miller.
White hair is flying everywhere, and little frail ladies whoop and holler. I guess they're not so frail after all. I hope I'm the same way when I'm older.
A wild song dies down, and a ballad begins. Angela steps on stage, looking like a 1940's goddess in a teal dress with a giant flower adorning her head. Her voice is like satin, pouring over the crowd. She eyes Embry, points at him, and winks. Masen turns to me suddenly and laughs, like he can't stand it. I bust up too and slump onto his shoulder in a fit of giggles. We would never be that way. But then I remember that we will never even have the chance to be any way because he won't allow it, so I sober up, resuming our awkward silence. It's awful.
My depressed state continues even when the music picks up in mood and speed. Geriatric couples start folding up chairs, so they can dance around the squeaky floor in their white walking shoes. Embry jumps to his feet and grabs my forearm pulling me up. "Come on, you're all I've got."
"I'm not—I don't—"
"I'll lead. Just tell me how good it was afterward." Embry flashes a lascivious smile and drags me onto the makeshift dance floor.
Oh, goodness.
Eyes are wide all around us, and old couples grin like they have dementia when they see us dancing together. And I must say, Embry can dance. I'm thoroughly baffled by this, but I guess I shouldn't be. The way he moves his body on a skateboard has proven to me that he's agile. All the guys are. I wonder idly if Masen can dance, feeling a bit sad that I'll probably never find out. Embry whips me around like I weigh nothing and even gets me to do a flip. I'm not even sure how it happens, but it's so fun and improves my mood.
The soft strains of "I'll Be Seeing You" begin, and Angela's voice is low and sultry. Embry stays latched onto me for a bit but then excuses himself to dance with a "lonely Betty." I stand alone on the dance floor feeling quite dumb. I spot Masen sitting against the wall, picking at the sole of his Van. It's starting to fall apart from the looks of it. I frown at the state of his shoe, and my eyes flow up naturally to his face. His eyes are on mine, looking curious. He's staring at me one second; the next he's on his feet, shuffling toward me.
No words are spoken. No words are needed. That's the way it is with us. It's beautifully quiet yet still meaningful. I fit into his arms and he in mine. I'm so close to him but not close enough. It hurts. We sway just the right amount to call our movement dancing. There's no twirling, no fancy footwork, but what we're doing is so much better than any of that. We're doing what we always do—we're connecting.
We're silent as we dance, listening to the sad lyrics of longing and love lost.
Angela's voice carries through the final note. Applause fills the air, and our soft swaying comes to a stop. Dancing is so intimate. I'd say it's almost as intimate as hand holding, so I'm sort of shocked by his bold move, his sudden change of behavior. I'm not complaining at all, though. I welcome it. I run my hands over his neck and down his chest, resting them on his pecs. I lock eyes with him, saying, "Thanks for the dance."
He nods and gently pulls my hands from his chest, letting them go. They fall limply at my sides. I want to cry, but I can't. Not here. I'm about to turn and leave when he speaks up in a timid voice. "You looked like you were having fun out here, so . . ."
"It was okay. Embry's too tall for me, though."
"I'm pretty tall," he says, bouncing slightly, staring at his feet.
"No, Masen, you're perfect for me."
He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't look at me. I desperately want him to.
I cry in the bathroom for fifteen minutes and hide out in the game room until the concert is over. Embry gets a ride with Angela, so it's just Masen in my truck on the way back to Scottsdale. It's the first time I've driven him home, and I'm actually surprised he's allowed it. I wonder why that is. When we arrive in front of his house, I'm reminded of my first impressions of it. I was sort of shocked by how normal it looked. I guess I expected something dilapidated, but that's not the case. It looks no different from anyone else's home, but it certainly is.
I suppose the same goes for Masen. On the outside he's just a normal teenage guy. But the truth is: he's not normal. His life is so very different from the average high schooler's. It breaks my heart thinking about the reasons behind his uniqueness. But the fact that he's different doesn't matter to me. I'm here to stay, hanging on for all it's worth. Because I believe he's worth it.
He gathers his things while the engine idles, and I say a soft goodbye. Masen exits; he holds the door open and looks up at the bright moon. I follow his gaze and know exactly what he's thinking. The lyrics from the song we danced to earlier haunt me as well. He peers back over his shoulder, saying, "See you, Bella."
I cry all the way home.
-MD-
I'm in a total funk for several weeks. Even my mom notices and sends me a get well package full of stationary and stickers, so I can write her letters. She's so silly.
I write to her while at The Wedge. I'm watching Masen but trying not to, hence the distraction of the letter. Stalking him is such a hard habit to break. Glancing his way occasionally, my letter takes a turn, and my sloppy cursive becomes a note to him instead. Dammit.
I give up and focus on the boys. Masen's teaching Tyler a trick. Tyler goofs up, catching Masen's foot when they're airborne. They both crash to the ground and skid. It's painful to watch. I can't do it anymore, so I say goodbye to Angela and leave. My heart hurts; I don't bother saying goodbye to anyone else.
I walk slowly, taking the long way. When I'm a few blocks from home, the clacking of wheels on the pavement echoes behind me. I don't need to turn around to see who it is. Why does he have to be so sweet? Why won't he give us a chance? Doesn't he know we're better together? Doesn't he know I'll help him? Doesn't he know I'm strong enough to deal with whatever garbage he's dealing with? Based on his actions, I guess not. I wish I could tell him—maybe send him my letter—but I won't. I don't think he'd listen anyway. He's already made the decision. Without me. Which totally bites.
The following morning Masen and I arrive at school at the same time. We share a soft smile, and he opens the door for me. We sit on the floor and chat with our friends before the bell rings for first period.
He's squirming around across from me, wincing and fiddling with his belt. As he adjusts it, I get a glimpse of his abdomen. It's covered in dark, ugly, fresh bruises and is scraped to high heaven. I know I saw him fall yesterday at The Wedge, but something tells me there's more to it. But maybe there's not. I'll always be suspicious now, I guess. I wish he would tell me more about his home life. I wish he would sit next to me and hold my hand so I could squeeze it and tell him it's okay. I wish a lot of things.
I push my bag across to Masen, and he catches it. "In the front," I say, and he opens it, pulling out a Clif bar. Thank goodness he still accepts something from me. "Apple too," I add. He nods, opens up the wrapper, and devours the protein bar.
I throw caution to the wind and move to sit next to him. He leans to the side and rests his weight on his hand. I move in closer too; our pinkies are touching. It's all I've got. It's all I can hold on to right now, so I take advantage.
He pulls out the apple, and I interrupt him before he starts eating. "Bite?"
"Yeah," he says, smirking and holding the apple out for me. I wrap my hand around his on the apple and take a large bite, watching him. He shakes his head while I chew and keeps his eyes on me until I swallow. That one yeah, that one smirk, make flickers of hope fly rampant in my brain. I want more, but I don't know if I'll ever get it. Flickers are all I have, so I cling to them. But the more I cling to them, the more my depression subsides, and the more my irritation grows. Something's got to give eventually.
-MD-
I'm at The Wedge, waiting to go to Alec's annual spring break party. It's Saturday night and hot, even though it's March. Arizona is dumb. Know what else is dumb? All of the stupid bitches that surround Masen as he approaches me. These girls are from all over the place since everyone's out of school. They seem to flock to our skater haven to score some weed. I just hope they're not here to score with Masen, but it sure looks like it.
Luckily, he doesn't talk to anyone but me. Or, at least, he used to. He sends me a sad smile when a stranger with red lips wraps her arm around his waist. He drops his board, sweeping low to pick it back up. He never drops his board. He did it on purpose so he could ditch this girl's claws. I feel a flicker.
Masen finally reaches me where I sit on the concrete steps. The red-lipped bitch no longer has her arm around his waist—thanks to him—but that doesn't keep her from tagging along. Some people just don't know how to take a hint. She stands to the side awkwardly as Masen sits next to me. He nudges my leg with his. I nudge back, and he rubs his knee, faking an injury. The stranger laughs, and Masen chortles with her to be polite. It's annoying. Rage bubbles up inside me, and I realize flickers are stupid. I can't keep hurting myself for a flicker. Plus, my patience is waning. It has been for a long while now, and I'm not sure if I can handle all this anymore. Maybe the product of drunkards for parents that beat him is not it for me. Maybe there's something else for me out there. Someone else, even.
"Where's your bun?" he asks, and I'm confused because, what? Now he's talking to me? It's been weeks since he's addressed me casually like this.
"Huh?"
"Bun." He wraps his hand around my ponytail and shakes it. I swat his hand away, and he chuckles. I hate his good mood. "What if I need a pencil?"
"Bring your own damn pencil."
"I don't want my pencil. I want yours. Smells good," he says with a tiny nod.
"You can't have mine."
"Why not?"
"'Cause I need it for my hair."
"Just wear it in a tail thing."
"Tail thing," I mutter, narrowing my eyes. He shrugs. He's so irritating. And what's with all the talking? He can't just turn this on and off. I'm not a damn light bulb, just waiting to be lit or whatever.
"Angela!" I holler, and she skips over to me with Embry in tow, skipping as well. I really hate them sometimes.
"Ready?"
"Yeah," I say.
Masen nudges my knee again, and I pull away. No yeah jokes today, buddy.
"You coming, Masen?" Embry asks.
"Apparently not," he says, dryly.
Embry shoots a look from me to Masen, and I glare back.
Angela, Embry, and I walk to Embry's suburban, and Masen follows us, skating around in circles and irritating the piss out of me. I'm about to scream, "Just stop it!" when a loud shriek startles us all, including Masen who careens off his board onto his ass. I can't help myself and fall into a fit of laughter at his expense. He deserves it.
I'm still laughing when he gets up, and a cute waif of a girl throws herself around him, legs and all. "Edward! Oh my stoner, I missed you." She peppers his face with kisses.
In reply, he offers, "I missed you too, Alice."
This is why he's in a good mood? You've got to be kidding me.
Wait a minute . . . Alice? Mrs. Masen's Alice? California Alice? Oh my gosh . . . the Alice! Holy hell!
I head straight to the suburban, get in, slam the door shut, and get buckled. The ride to Alec's is tense. Angela tries to ask me if I'm okay, and I say something about a ballectomy and Vans poetry. Embry snickers from behind the wheel. I'm so glad we're the only ones in the vehicle. Masen has ruined me. I'm a moron now.
Alec's party turns out to be pretty fun. His parents have an outdoor Jacuzzi and a garage that's been converted into a game room. It's equipped with foosball, darts, table tennis, and a few full-sized arcade games. I'm actually enjoying myself when I hear Masen laughing. What the hell? A, why is he here? B, when did he get here? And C, he doesn't laugh with anyone but me.
I want to leave, but before I can, he's in the game room with me . . . and her. Alice.
She's even prettier up close. She has dark eyes and dark hair. Her funky sense of style and wide smile make her look welcoming and authentic. Well, shit.
"This is Bella," Masen says without even saying hi. That's rude.
I look at Alice and size her up. She's tiny. I could totally take her. Better put my hair up just in case we throw down. I don't want her to pull on it. I tug the tie out, fastening it to my wrist, then wrap my hair up in a bun and look around for a pencil. I find a carpenter's pencil near some tools and cram it into my hair.
"Yay, a bun," he says.
Yay? What an idiot. I can't let it go. "I thought you liked it down," I say, looking pointedly at Alice, like, "Hey, bitch, he likes me, okay? Back off."
"I did. I do . . . I like it both ways." Masen looks repentant. Oh, no, you don't.
"I'm Alice," she says, her smile friendly. I hate her.
"Don't care," I say and start to walk away. I'm such a jerk, but I can't just stand here and watch him with this girl.
"Edward's told me a lot about you." I swing back around to face her.
"Yeah, well, Edward should spend more time telling you about himself because he hates that name."
"He doesn't care if I use it. We go way back. Right, Edward?" She reaches out for him and holds his hand in both of hers. Masen shrugs awkwardly. I scan his face to look for disgust at her use of the name and can't find it anywhere. He's really not bothered. In fact, he's not bothered by her at all.
"Whatever," I mumble and leave the room, hoping to find a distraction, any distraction. My I-hate-Alice haze has ruined everything, though, because the people I normally hang out with don't even appeal to me now. Not even Angela and her fuchsia fishnet stockings can bring me out of this funk, so I seek solitude instead.
I sit out back and watch the usual stoners get baked. I wish I were into pot. It would make my misery so much easier to handle right now. I draw my legs in, making an uncomfortable heap of them on the tiny chair. I'm inspecting my red, chipped toenails when I hear Masen laughing again. Dammit! He and Alice walk around the side of the house, holding hands and smoking. He takes a drag of a joint and holds it to her lips afterwards.
I grumble loudly and attempt to stand, tripping over my own feet and crashing to the floor. Masen curses while running my way. "You okay, Bella?"
"No. I'm not okay, Edward."
He cringes at my use of his name, and it's as if he's slapped me. He may as well have.
"My elbow hurts," I say nonsensically and hurry for the back door so I can get out of here.
"Elbow?" he says, giggling. It's almost cute. Almost.
"Elmo?" Alice asks.
Masen retorts with, "Snuffalufagus," and they both double over with laughter. I hope they lose actual brain cells from this experience.
I make it home by flirting with a boy in my government class. I can't stand him. He's always staring at my breasts. But he has a car and agrees to drive me home, so I let him. My dad opens the front door when we pull up and, for once, I'm grateful that he's so overprotective and nosy. I really would've hurt this guy if he tried to kiss me or cop a feel.
I say goodnight and head to bed after I clean myself up and get in my PJ's. I'm on the verge of sleep when my dad knocks on my door lightly and opens it up. "Bella, there's some guy at the door. He says he's going to sleep on my porch if I don't wake you up."
Oh no.
"He has a skateboard."
"So?" I grumble, getting out of bed and slipping my Vans on.
"Is this that guy?"
"Yeah."
"He smells like weed," my dad says in irritation before shutting the door to his bedroom.
This day completely blows.
I head downstairs ready for battle.
I open the door to find Masen rocking back and forth on his feet, gazing at them as though they hold the answers to all the questions in the world. He looks up; his pupils are dilated. He looks creepy. I miss his pretty green eyes. I miss him.
"What?" Bitchy.
"Where'd you go?"
"Home."
"You're mad at me."
"No shit."
Masen bites on his fingernail and looks me over. I'm wearing a tank top and sleep shorts. It's the least he's ever seen me in. His eyes have a trace of mischievousness to them, but I couldn't care less. This is not a time for flirting.
"Take a walk?"
"No."
"I wanna talk."
"I don't."
"Bella."
"Edward," I say, mocking his tone.
He closes his eyes and whispers, "Please don't say that." He looks ashamed or like I just killed his puppy.
"Oh, but Alice can."
"That's different."
I fold my arms over my chest and wait for him to spill, to tell me all about Alice and whatever else he's been keeping from me, but he doesn't say anything. He never says anything. How can someone go through life being that quiet all the time? It makes no sense. I just want to strangle the words out of him. It makes me livid that he won't explain himself. What is wrong with him?
"Are we done here? I'm tired."
"Yeah." I see the faint hint of a smile and want to smack it off his face. I'm just so…so pissed.
He takes a few steps back, and just as I think he's about to hop onto his skateboard, he asks me for my Vans. Whatever. He's so stupid. I pull them from my feet and drop them to the floor. I go inside and leave him for once. It feels good. It does. Sort of. Except that it doesn't, and it sucks.
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!
Masen Days was featured on The Lemonade Stand last week. OneBraveLamb did an amazing review that is now linked on my profile page. You must read it if you haven't already. She was thoughtful in her descriptions of what it's like to be a reader of this story. Thanks, sweets!
A quick thanks to Sabriel017 and Abstract Way for renaming this chapter and helping me choose a notebook entry title.
My prereaders and betas keep me laughing on twitter, they know how to spell dementia, they encourage my fixation on Masen, and they continue to help me even when I use the same phrase about ten times in one chapter. I love you like I love Xanadu, girls!
I've recently published a post regarding a Masen Days playlist. I blame MyJaxTeller and OneBraveLamb for bringing my attention to Bella and Masen's anthems. If there is any song that reminds you of this story or these characters please let me know in your review, pm, or in the blog post's comment section. I'd love to hear it. Hopefully, I will have a live playlist up and running on the blog shortly.
A special Happy Birthday! to Singlegrlmusing from Masen: Helpful and sweet, sharing all she knows. Her taste is sharp and cuts to my heart. Better than a peanut butter cookie.
I have surpassed any and all personal records regarding alerts and reviews, and I continue to be astounded by the amount of readers Masen Days has. I'm so happy about that! I do worry that eventually I won't be able to keep up with replies. It would be blessing and a curse if that should happen, but just know that I will always do my best to respond to you. If I get a little lazy in my spelling or start to write in text acronymns, please just know it's because I want to chat with each of you, not because I'm too stupid to know that it's tacky!
I can't express enough thanks to my readers. This story expands each time I post a new chapter. You have no idea how your thoughts and reflections on this story can change or develop it. I thought it was all written, betad, done. I was wrong. Thank you for bringing that to my attention. And thank you for sharing your very personal reactions to this story, in particular, Masen's story. I hope that if you or someone you love is being abused in any way that things will take a turn for the better. There's enough hope out there for everyone.