Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I own some very strange word association, pencil-buns, Vans poetry, and a bunch of yeahs.
Prereader: _ss77_, Dinx Betas: Perrymaxed, Mac214
Playlist: Details in the Fabric by Jason Mraz, You Make it Real by James Morrison
Chapter 17 The Day Masen Needs Me
Just as I suspected, I spend a good portion of my night—and now morning—obsessing about what Masen said to me about teaching. I run a comb through my scraggly wet hair and get dressed for the day, thinking about my future.
My talk with my mom a few days prior was actually really helpful in retrospect. She made mention of ASU's great teacher training programs, and if I went there it would be a really good, solid plan. And my dad's right: teaching is something I've always wanted to do. I'm pretty good at it, and I really enjoyed tutoring when I lived with Mom. I could certainly give teaching older kids a try. And I can do that during my college years, right? Aren't there internships?
After waiting for Masen for a good ten minutes, I leave home and arrive at school alone. He's a no-show, which is somehow terrifying yet expected at the same time. I get to deal with his miscellaneous injuries and chaotic schedule, changing at the last minute based on his parents' moods or states of drunkenness or whatever the hell other reason. It's all a part of being his girlfriend, I suppose. I try to take it in stride, but it's still hard.
While I spend a lot of my morning nervous as hell for him, I realize he wouldn't want me to be so worried, so I take the opportunity to really think through my dilemma. By lunchtime I'm anxious to talk this out, and Angela—with Embry in tow—obliges me.
We sit beneath the bleachers eating our bland cafeteria food, trying to protect our drinks from the dust kicked up by smokers.
"So, where's your hottie today? You even know?"
I shake my head, and Embry glares at Angela.
"What? He's cute."
"Cute?" Embry scoffs.
"He's . . . winsome?" she says.
I chuckle when Embry scoots away from her, frowning in an exaggerated manner.
"Anyway . . ." Angela flicks Embry's thigh and continues on. "What's the latest news? Where do you stand?" I love when she jumps right in. Bless her.
I look to Embry, who seems nonplussed by this discussion. I guess he and Angela are the type of couple that share everything. Taking that in mind and having no time to waste, I open my mouth and spill all my fears and desires. Minutes later, I'm still blathering.
" . . . I mean, I need my dad to tell me when to come home, when I'm making stupid decisions, and that I need to go to school. I need him to tell me what kind of tires to get for my truck and what co-pay I'm supposed to give my doctor. Besides, the amount I know about college education is embarrassing. My dad had to get my paperwork and walk me through it. I don't know what I'm doing. I need help. And my dad won't lead me astray. Then again if I stay here, who knows when or even if I'll see Masen after we graduate."
Angela sits quietly after my rambling and fidgets with her boots. She hasn't said much; she's in listening mode.
Embry, who I thought would mind his own business even though he was eavesdropping, pipes up. "I totally get it. I don't know anything. Like anything. And even though this one here thinks she knows everything, really she's just good at asking questions to the right people. That makes me less scared. Plus, we're together. We figure things out a lot. Two heads are better than one and all that."
"Yeah, but isn't there something to say for experience? My dad knows this stuff."
"He does, and he's only a phone call away . . . no matter where you are," Angela says, patting my leg. She's been such a great friend through all this, never judging and always being truthful yet sensitive.
Embry has a hankering for Little Debbie brownies, so they go in search of a vending machine, leaving me to my thoughts. I pull out my notebook and put pen to paper, listing pros and cons regarding my problem. But my pen doesn't stop there. I start projecting into my future, writing goals and planning. The next thing I know I knock out an outline and rough draft for Ms. Robinson's "Where will you be in ten years?" essay before the bell rings. With my words on paper, I'm feeling much more confident about following through with my dream to become a teacher in hopes that, as Masen said, I can "make a difference." I really hope that's true.
-MD-
With school out and Masen gone, I sit on my bed, deep in thought, staring at my corkboard. Pictures and a few notes from Masen are plastered all over it, including a birthday card from my mom and my calendar tracking all my days until graduation. I have two weeks left before I'm a high school graduate and two weeks before Masen leaves for California—permanently. Without me.
After a lot of soul searching and a whole day away from Masen, I was able to think clearly, use my brain—not my heart or hormones—and have come to the conclusion what's best for me is to stay in Arizona and attend ASU.
With these decisions behind me, I'm so much lighter—the feeling of being in limbo is gone. I'm free and unencumbered. Yet my heart still aches with want for Masen, and I don't know what to do about that.
I wish I was confident enough to go with him to California, but I'm not. I've had to deal with some pretty heavy problems in our relationship. I've acted responsibly given our situation, but that's irrelevant. None of the issues I've overcome with him—regardless of my adult-like behavior—change the fact that I need parental support because I'm a kid. And kids don't live on their own. At least, not until they're ready . . . and I'm just not.
I need time and space to grow, evolve, become an adult. And in time, perhaps I can join Masen in California. In fact, I'd love to. I don't know if he'll wait for me, but I hope so.
Feeling safe in my bed and good about my decisions, I stand, running my fingers over my calendar. My sloppy handwriting notes what Masen and I have done on each day we've been together. But it makes me laugh because every day since the day I've met Masen has been a Masen day. They've all revolved around him whether I was watching him from afar or he was kissing me on the golf course. While I'll be sad to see him go I'm proud of what we've created together and have no regrets.
As I contemplate when I can tell him all of this, my phone rings. It's Angela.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey, girl. I just saw Masen skating down the road. Fast. Embry tried to catch him to talk, but he was in his own world. He's either really pissed, probably running off somewhere, or coming to get some. Just thought I'd warn you if he shows up." She giggles, but her shaky laugh gives her away. She's nervous for him.
"Good to know," I say, meeting her fake laugh with one of my own.
Dad's in the kitchen paying bills, but I slip outside anyway to see if Masen shows up. I lie down on my front lawn, eyes to the sky. In regular Arizona fashion, the sky is clear, so I can't even look at cloud shapes. But I don't need any entertainment because Masen's just turned the corner, wheels click-clacking over the cracks of the pavement.
I stand and walk to the curb, facing him. He always commands my attention when he skates, but today is different, like I'm hypnotized or something. I cannot look away. He's all man in an undone button-up that flies away, showing off his tank underneath He pushes off the ground, covering so much asphalt. He takes a curb, getting low, powerful thighs keeping him steady and safe. He's feet from me when he skids to a stop, stomps his board into his hand, and walks the rest of the way.
I pick at my fingers as I search his eyes, then drop my arms to my sides. He doesn't halt his stride, just walks straight into me, dropping his board and lifting me off the ground in a tight hug. His breathing is ragged, and his hold on me is one of desperation. Whatever's going on, he needs me, that's for certain.
Without speaking I wiggle my way out of his grasp and tug his hand. He grabs his board and follows me up the steps and into my home.
"Dad, can he stay awhile?" I ask, keeping a firm hold on Masen's hand.
Dad doesn't even look up from his check register. He speaks into his paperwork in a bored tone. He's used to having Masen around now, it seems. At least, he's resigned to the fact that he's not going anywhere . . . yet. "Yeah, I have to stop at the supply store sometime tonight, but for now it's fine."
I lead Masen upstairs and into my room. I look him over, making sure he's okay. His elbow is bleeding but not much. It will scab over quickly, but he should probably clean it beforehand. Before I can get supplies he drops his board and takes off his shirt and tank top. My door is wide open, and I'm getting nervous. What is he doing?
He sits on my bed and pulls off his shoes. He scoots over and motions for me to join him. I lie beside him, wondering what he'll do next. He pulls me close and lifts the bottom of my shirt, exposing my stomach.
He nuzzles my belly button with his nose and kisses me softly just above my hipbone. He tucks his arms around my back and settles in, head resting beneath my breasts, upper torso skin-to-skin with my stomach.
In a shaky voice he pleads, "Touch me, please."
Without hesitation I run my hands through his sweaty hair and trail my fingertips down his back. He relaxes into me, his breath calming.
"This is just—it's . . ." he says, voice muffled by my shirt, "exactly what I . . ." He lifts his head, locking eyes with me. "You . . . you're exactly what I need."
My heart slams in my chest, my throat tightening, tears threatening to fall, but I keep it together. He needs me strong right now, and I can do that for him.
He leans forward, loosening his grip a bit so he can kiss me. It's slow, meaningful, and somehow chaste. This is not about lust; it's about connection, intimacy.
He tilts his head and gazes into my eyes as he speaks. "He knows I'm leaving. I—he broke my mom's hand."
I draw him in, kissing his forehead and coaxing him back into my arms. He resumes his earlier position, clinging to me, and I keep my fingers moving around his back while we lie in silence.
Masen's even breathing and the stillness of his body tell me he's asleep, but I'm not moving from my spot—not even when my father's loud work boots approach my bedroom.
He peers inside, scowl on his face. I raise my hands off Masen's back, opening them wide as if to say, "What do you want me to do?"
Dad taps his watch and then disappears. The sun's not down yet, but that doesn't mean anything. It's probably past seven. I massage Masen's shoulders with my thumbs, and he rolls his head to the other side. I rub his neck next, and he groans softly. It's a really sexy sound, one I've become accustomed to hearing, in this room even. "Masen," I call softly. "It's time to go. You have to get up."
"Yeah, okay," he grumbles into my sternum. He slides his arms out from beneath me and pushes up so he's hovering over me. His hair is a mess, and he has creases on his face from my shirt. I run my fingers over them and pull his head down so I can kiss his crazy hair.
"You're cute all groggy," I say.
He chuckles quietly and gathers his clothes. He stands as he slips on his shoes and nearly falls over. His eyes go fuzzy; he looks dizzy. I stand beside him and wrap my arm around his waist to steady him while he puts on his Vans.
"When did you eat last?"
"I'm just waking up," he says. I narrow my eyes so he'll answer me. "Had dinner last night."
"You haven't eaten at all today?"
He shrugs. I don't think he's going to say anything, but he surprises me by explaining himself. "Mom's been buying groceries, cooking. I can't keep up with the cleaning—especially in the mornings. She forgets, even sober, so Dad knew something was going on."
My heart breaks for Masen. This is just awful.
"She's been giving me cash for lunch and spending money, which is a first, and he flipped out. It was . . . it's never been . . . it was . . . bad. Got out as soon as I knew my mom was okay."
I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight. No wonder he needed me—to get away from this madness.
"At least . . ." My words sound lame already, but I attempt to sympathize. It's all I can do. "It's only two more weeks."
"Yeah." He squeezes me back and kisses my forehead when I look up into his pretty green eyes.
"C'mon, let's feed you."
After our stomachs are full from submarine sandwiches, we lie in the back of my truck in the parking lot of Subs and Such. "Do you want to talk about it some more?" I ask.
He shakes his head and reaches out for my hand, drawing it to his chest to play with my fingers. "Thank you. For today."
"You're welcome." I sit in silence, holding his hand, thinking about how I can tell him that I can't go with him to California. It seems impossible. I don't even think I can speak the words.
"It's getting late; you should get home. Charlie will be worried."
"I know. I . . . thanks for trusting me. It means a lot to me. I know it must be hard."
"When it comes to you . . . not at all." He props his head up on his hand and brings my hand to his lips, kissing it.
As I drive him home, I succumb to the truth of the situation. This is really happening—Masen is leaving, and I am staying. We have two weeks, less than that now that this day is over, so we have to make the most of it.
I reach out and find his hand on the bench, grabbing hold of it. He scoots closer to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. We drive in silence around the neighborhood, taking the long route, lengthening our time together. We pass a woman wearing a large purple hat and matching velvet tracksuit. She's singing to herself while shuffling along using a walker that's covered in purple crepe paper.
I point to her, using our joined hands, and we both laugh. "You're really gonna miss Arizona, huh?"
"Arizona? Not so much." He shrugs. "I'll miss some things. Well, maybe one thing," he says, eyes crinkling at the corners, smile shy.
I squeeze his hand and take a deep breath. It will be so hard to tell him that I can't go.
-MD-
The rest of the week is simple. I'm calm now that I've made my decisions, and it helps me to be more open with Masen even though I haven't told him I'm not going with him to California.
Even though we hang out with our friends still, we spend most of our time by ourselves, wandering away from The Wedge, seeking out hidden places at the park. When we're not there, we're most likely having sex in my room or at the golf course. We also take strolls there, too—hand-in-hand like today. Even though it's getting hotter, and it's becoming more uncomfortable to be outside, it feels good to be here with him. It's sort of where it all started.
"Talked with Alice; she's excited." His thumb rubs circles over my knuckles.
"Are you?"
"Yeah."
We come around a bend and sit in the grass, watching the ducks meander around the pond.
"We, um—so there's a community college near the Art Institute, Santa Ana. Not far at all. It has, um, it's a good school. Affordable. Alice knows lots of people that did their general studies stuff there and then went on to university . . . wherever."
"Did she go there?"
"Alice went to Cal State Fullerton. Scholarship."
"That must be nice. No loans." I lay my head in Masen's lap, keeping my eyes on him. He pulls the pen from my hair, lazy smile on his face as he runs his fingers through my strands.
"Yep, I'll be paying back my debt for years."
"It'll be worth it, though. All of it."
"I think so. I mean, I hope . . . I hope a lot of things." He looks away, staring at the ducks once again, but keeps his hands busy in my hair. He's not very specific, but the meaning between his words is profound. He's telling me to go with him, that he wants me there, so much so that he's researching, trying to make the decision easy for me.
"Do you wanna go on a date this weekend?" he asks. The contrast of the boldness of this question and the weak attempt at convincing me to go to California is interesting. I wish he would always be this bold, always tell me what he wants.
I lift my head for a kiss, and he obliges.
"What's that for?"
"It means yes."
His grin is contagious. Now we're both smiling like fools.
-MD-
Masen plans our entire date and insists on paying for it, much to my chagrin. I can't be too put out by it, though, because he is beside himself with joy, absolutely beaming when we arrive at The Sugar Bowl in downtown Snobstale.
We order our meals and chow down right away. I love seeing Masen eat. It's amazing to see the transformation of his body, even only after a month or so of me sharing meals with him. He's had a lot of weight gain, and while he wasn't too thin before, he's just right now. It also helps that all the weight gain he's acquired has gone straight to muscle mass, making him look more delectable than the dinner I'm eating.
I keep my eyes on Masen as he chews, delighted and excited for his future. Everything will be better for him once he gets out of here. I can see that now—focus on it instead of my pathetic insecurities.
Masen breaks through my thoughts when he finishes his mushroom bacon burger.
"I talked with my Aunt Erin last night."
"I thought her name was Esme."
"Mmm, yeah, no. Esme and Carlisle are Jasper and Rosalie's parents. Erin is the youngest. It goes Esme, Elizabeth, Erin."
"That's a lot of E's."
"And Edward," he says, pointing to his chest, smiling. It's the first time I've seen him smile at the use of his name. It may seem foolish, but I think that means he's growing up, moving on. I like it. Makes me proud.
"Erin has the cutest kid. She's three, wait, maybe four now. Don't remember—birthday." His words are garbled as he starts shoveling fries with two hands into his mouth.
"They live in California too?"
"Yeah, she—Maddie—picked out my shoes last summer."
"I like this kid already."
"You'll love her, I mean, if . . ."
"Masen—"
He cuts me off. "Aunt Erin wants to pay for my flight out. Carlisle usually does it, but Erin's a hopeless romantic, and she wants to, um, fly us both out." His eyes remain steady on his drink, but his fingers fiddle with his utensils.
"Masen?"
"Hmm?" He won't look at me.
"I decided that . . . well, I've been thinking a lot, and . . ."
"It's fine." He picks up his cup and finishes off his Coke.
"I don't think that Tustin is the place for me. I mean, not right now, at least." I grip his fingers.
"I already knew," he says and squeezes back. "I just hoped, you know?" He finally peeks up, just for a moment, then stares at the salt shaker.
"I think for now it's the smartest thing for us to do what's best for both of us individually, and maybe someday . . . I mean, maybe . . ."
"Yeah." He says the word like he's expelling it.
We order dessert, and the mood is sullen as we eat our ice cream sundaes.
Even though I drove, Masen's been carrying around his skateboard. Habit, I guess. But still a little strange for a nice date night. Oh, well.
We walk around the quirky downtown area in silence. I wish he'd talk to me. I don't want our last week to be like this.
"We still have another week together." I'm hoping to change the mood. Plus, I'm optimistic this isn't the end of us. Who knows where we'll end up? If we're meant to be . . . we'll be, right?
"We do. I'm being all melancholy, huh?"
"Little bit." I shrug.
"It's so damn cute when you shrug."
"It's so damn cute when you shrug."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Do it."
Masen shrugs, and I fake-faint so he'll catch me. He's not on guard, but his quick reflexes snatch me before I hit the pavement. Masen's bent over me, and we're both belly laughing. His board is on top of his foot since he dropped it in order to get to me in time.
"Wow," I say, catching my breath. "I'm more important than your skateboard."
He rights me, shaking his head. "You're the most important thing to me."
"Okay, now I'm really swooning."
There's a click-clack coming down the road, and we both divert our attention toward the sound.
"Do you trust me?"
"You know I do."
"Run!" Masen takes off, and I scramble after him. A horse-drawn carriage passes us, and we chase after it. He reaches behind him, searching blindly for my hand. His skateboard hits the asphalt, so I grab his hand and hop onto his board. He's right behind me, pushing us closer until he's holding onto the back of the carriage. We hang on, enjoying our free ride—enjoying our moment of unadulterated teenage fun. The wind in my hair and Masen's laughter in my ear is exhilarating and just what we need to lighten the mood.
After our romantic horse-drawn carriage ride—sort of—we head home where we say goodbye on my porch.
"How did you know? About me not going, I mean."
"I just . . . I never get what I want."
Tears prick at my eyes, and they fall. I can't stop them; I don't want to. I want to cry for the both of us. Our love story is tragic . . . at least, for now it is, so I let the emotion wash over me.
"Hey, don't cry." Masen pulls me into a hug and tugs at the ends of my hair. "I don't want you to be sad. You said . . . we could still—later, right?"
"Yeah. I just think I need some time to grow up, you know. I feel like I still need my parents."
"Okay." He leans in, soft lips caressing mine, telling me secrets and making promises to me.
We pull away, and I wipe my eyes, leaving him with a smile. I don't want him feeling bad for me. I want him to be happy he's moving on to bigger and brighter things.
"Goodnight, Masen."
"Goodnight." He kisses me again, his hands fastened to my back. I cup his head against my shoulder, and he lets out a shaky breath against my neck. "I love you, Bella." His words are so quiet, but they speak volumes.
"I love you too."
We squeeze each other and kiss with an intense longing and passion. I really wish my dad wasn't home so I could take him upstairs. That's not possible, so we do the best we can to show each other the depth of our feelings before parting ways.
-MD-
After I get ready for bed, Dad knocks softly on my door.
"Come in."
The door creaks as he enters. He walks around my room, looking over my things—my walls, in particular—glancing at pictures and such. "You have fun?"
"I did."
"You seem awfully depressed for someone who had a fun date."
I shrug.
"I know it's not really my business, and heaven knows I won't actually be able to do anything about it if—but—I have to talk to you about something."
"We are talking."
"Bella, is Masen running away?" Wow, this is serious business; he used Masen instead of "Porch Guy."
"No."
"He's not?"
"No, his mom knows he's moving."
"And his dad?"
"Yeah." I turn away, not wanting Dad to see I can't even talk about Masen's dad without getting upset.
"He's abused, right?" His words come out in a rush, like he had to get them out before he lost his nerve.
I whirl around, plopping onto my bed. I don't know what to say. These aren't my secrets to tell, and even if I did, it's not like anything will come of telling my dad—not now, anyway. It's too late. It's probably always been too late.
"Look, I know you love him, kiddo, but kids that are . . . Masen seems like a nice guy—aside from the weed—but . . . I worry for you. Does he treat you—"
"Dad, just . . . trust me, okay? He's great to me in spite of what's going on in his . . . family. He's the strongest person and so sweet."
"Okay, I trust you. You've always been a good judge of character. I just worry."
"You always worry about me, huh?"
"I think so. Dad's obligation."
"Not every dad."
"Well, every good dad worries."
"Well, thanks."
"You're welcome. So . . ." Dad sits beside me on the bed, his thigh brushing mine. He pats my pajama-clad leg, making me feel five years old. "You said you were staying here for school, but I imagine you've thought of going to California."
I sigh and drop my head onto Dad's shoulder. "I have. He invited me."
"You are an adult now, and—"
"I don't feel like it."
"Well, you're a hell of a lot smarter than I was at your age. You've got a good head on your shoulders. Your mom did good."
"You both did good, and I appreciate you thinking I'm so grown up. Honestly, I feel very young and immature most of time. That's why I just told Masen I'm not going. I need time to grow up."
"I think that's for the best."
"I think so too." My tears come again, slowly trailing down my cheeks.
"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, though."
I cover my face with my hands and bury my head in his shoulder. Dad holds me while I cry, patting my hair. He is such a good dad; I really need to give him more credit.
"I love you, Dad."
"Love you too, kiddo."
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!
_ss77_ is encouraging me to write about my crazy husband next. EvriomentalWard? Anyone? I'm not so sure about this. Perry kept a walker from wearing a large purple hat this chapter. She's awesome like that. And that purple hat lady is real, yo. AZ's full of crazies! Speaking of crazy, did you read Unrequited's update? OMG, seriously? Seriously! Mac is winsome! She made this chapter infinitely better by getting me to revise some scenes. It was such a learning experience. Thank you. Dinx has read the entire story, and, dare I say, liked the whole thing. I know! She also spent about an hour convincing me to write more. We'll see . . .
Last week I wrote, "This journey is nearing its end, and it is bittersweet to say the least." Lots of readers made lots of assumptions about my words. Just to clarify I was speaking of my experience in writing this piece.
Thank you for the endless tweets, pic/music gifts, pms, reviews, emails, alerts, favorites, and follows. I will always remember how amazing this experience was because of you. Thank you!