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: Better Man by James Morrison, Endlessly by Green River Ordinance, Drown by Carolina Liar
Chapter 18 The Day Masen Leaves Arizona
I'm straddling Masen on my couch. Dad went out for a few minutes to pick up some groceries, so I took the opportunity to squeeze some kissing into my night. Masen's hands trail up my back, his lips slide over my neck moving down, down. I'm doing my best to keep this activity PG-13, but Masen's whispering poetry against my breasts. I might just give in and make it R, but we don't have much time before my dad gets home. We could wait and go somewhere later, but we're both in the mood now. I'm not sure what to do.
When did things get so complicated?
I thought my life in Arizona would be easy, no big deal. I thought I'd make some new friends, get my diploma, and start college. But my entire world turned around when I met a quiet boy on a skateboard.
Now that skater sits beneath me—gorgeous and sweet and still reserved. His words—though few and far between—always draw me in. Like they're doing now. Only they're doing more than just that. They're getting me naked, which is fine—better than fine.
Masen and I hop upstairs to my room where we make the best of our alone time. We're doing that a lot lately since he's leaving at the end of the week. Something I'm finally coming to terms with, I think.
–MD-
Masen meets me in the morning, and we share breakfast together: peanut butter-topped pancakes. He has a huge smile on his face, while my dad cracks jokes at the table about our co-dependency on all things peanut butter. He's lightened up a bit since we had our talk over the weekend. He's not questioned me about where I've been or who I've been with. He knows, and he trusts me, which is so nice. We've come a long way.
I drive Masen to school, and we chat the whole way, enjoying each other's company. We walk to and from class together when we can, share our lunch, and exchange notes between periods until the last bell rings.
It's Monday, and we only have two more days of final exams. Ms. Robinson's class is officially over today, but she requested to see Masen after school. I stand in the doorway, waiting for him to finish his conversation with her. I always knew she favored him but never knew how much until now.
He stands near the table we've shared for the school year, shoulders tight, hands crammed in his pockets. He's listening but looks uncomfortable, like her words are painful to hear. That may be, but they're positive words. He deserves every one of them, and by the serious tone in her voice, she's going to make sure he listens.
"I want to make sure you keep your final essay. I want you to promise you'll follow through, okay? And no matter what happens, no matter what life throws your way . . . keep writing. It'll get you through anything. I know it helps me, and you've got some talent, more than most of the kids that walk through these doors. They don't even know what a noun is. So I hope you use your gift."
"I will. I'll . . . try."
"And do you remember what I said? Life happens. If things don't work out like you've so brilliantly planned, keep trying. The worst that could happen is that you fall hard, maybe even flat on your face. But you're a skater—a good one from what I've seen—so you know what's that's like. You try, you fail or fall, then you get back up and try again or try it a different way. Just . . . do what inspires you, Mr. Masen, and you'll be fine. Better than fine. All right?"
"All right." Masen nods and pulls his hands out of his pockets, extending one to grab his paper. He extends the other to shake her hand, but she pulls him into a hug. He shrugs under her embrace, smiling at me from across the room.
"Take care of yourself, and I'll see you in a few days at graduation."
I'm glad I tagged along. It's nice seeing an adult compliment him on his work, his ambition. He has a lot of it, more than me, that's for sure. Something else I admire about him.
-MD-
It's late Tuesday, and Masen just went home, lips swollen from our escapade at the golf course and our goodnight kisses in my bedroom. Even though I'm spending more time with him than I ever have, it doesn't feel like enough. The days are too short.
Dad and I talk while I eat a quick snack before bed. He's taken to having actual conversation of substance with Masen and addressing him by his name. It's nice, although a bit annoying. Too little, too late, if you ask me, but it still feels good to know he likes my choice of boyfriend.
I've even caught them talking a time or two while I rummaged in my room for my purse or shoes. They always quiet down as soon as I'm in view. I often wonder what they're saying, but I leave them to their secrets.
"It won't be long now. Graduate." He articulates every syllable of his last word.
"I can't believe how fast this year flew by."
"You're telling me. I was . . . scared to death when you moved here."
"Mmm," I say, shrugging and taking a spoonful of my yogurt.
"I was sure I'd be fighting off boys, and we'd be at each other's throats, but you've been . . . I mean, this was great."
"It is great. It will continue to be great. I'm great."
"You're such a brat."
"You love me."
"I do. I'll be a bit, mmm, sad when you decide to move out."
"I hope it's not for a long time. I want to mooch off you for as long as I can, Daddy." I tuck my hands under my chin, bat my lashes, and give him a wide, childish smile. He thumps me on the nose and laughs.
"I hate to admit it, but I hope you do too. I guess we'll see. Won't we, kiddo?" He doesn't wait for my response—just stands and stretches with a large, obnoxious yawn. He's such a man's man. I half expect him to grunt and scratch himself, but he doesn't.
"Night, Dad," I say as he mumbles something in return and clomps up the stairs.
-MD-
"Bella. Bella . . ."
I stir, turning onto my stomach. I don't want to wake up. I'm having such a good dream. I'm making out with Masen on a beach, and my swimsuit seems to be askew. Mmm . . .
Someone's rubbing my shoulder and giggling. "Bella, hey . . ." It's Masen. What the hell is going on?
Adrenaline courses through me, and I bolt upright in bed. "Are you okay? What is it? What's happening?"
"It's fine, shh. I want to . . . will you go somewhere with me?"
"What time is it?"
Masen looks past my shoulder at my alarm clock. "Almost midnight. Will you come?"
"My dad will go crazy. What's this about?"
"Oh, I talked to him already. He let me in. He's cool."
"He's cool?"
"Yeah." Masen chuckles and throws some shorts on the bed. "Get dressed."
Not fifteen minutes later, we've stopped at a twenty-four hour Starbucks, and we're driving to The Wedge. I have no idea what's going on, but Masen's knee is bouncing with excitement.
We park, and I slump out while Masen bolts from his seat and runs around to my side. "The guys did something for me. Kind of a goodbye. C'mon." He kisses me, and we jog hand-in-hand to the bridge.
As soon as I see our friends, they shout and applaud our arrival. Angela's in pajama bottoms and flip-flops, her hair in a knot on top of her head. The other girls look about the same, but the boys are all dressed, skateboards in hand.
Angela saunters to me and takes a gulp of my drink. "What have I been telling you? Embry's the best." She motions under the bridge, and I follow the direction of her finger with my eyes and smile in agreement.
The Wedge has been equipped with makeshift ramps of plywood, two-by-fours, PVC pipe, and a hell of a lot of duct tape.
"When did you find out about this?" I ask Masen.
"Embry stopped at my house, knocked on my window. I almost took him out."
"Oh my Gawd, that would've been so funny. The other day he—"
"Masen! Get the hell over here!" Tyler. Interrupting as always. I roll my eyes. It's really just habit at this point. I know he doesn't mean any harm by stealing Masen. I get it now, but still . . . why does he always interrupt?
I laugh as Masen gives me a sad puppy dog look and shove his shoulder, telling him to go. He doesn't need my permission, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway. I can't stop my smile as Masen kisses me, whoops, and runs, hopping onto his board to play.
I sit with Angela, closer than usual to the action, so we can holler at our men and clap when they do something exciting. My voice gets hoarse from all my yelling because our friends are so good at these stunts. I knew they were good, but with the addition of the ramps, I can really see much more of their capabilities. I'm no expert, but Masen seems to be the best, and it makes me feel superior in a way. It also helps that he's the hottest. I'm dating the best, most gorgeous skater in Arizona. Lucky me.
I'm thinking about Masen's agile body and the way his thighs sway sinuously from side to side as he rides a curve. Angela thumps my knee, eyeing me. "Look at you all happy because tomorrow's the last day of school."
"Uh huh."
"And all happy 'cause Masen's happy."
"Yep."
"And all happy because you're totally going to doink him afterward."
I smoosh my lips together and try to stifle my giggle.
"You're such a slut," she says.
"I know." I shrug, and we bump into each other, laughing.
Masen skates up to us, taking a long pull from his gallon of water and hops up next to me on the wall. "What's so funny?" He wipes his brow with the edge of his shirt, exposing his abs.
Angela elbows me, and I kind of want to smack her.
"Nothing," I say, grinning, trying not to give myself away.
"Nothing, my butt. Bella wants you, Masen. Always has, always will." She jumps down and hollers for Embry. She's ready to go now that she's thoroughly called me out.
"That true?" Masen asks, smug smile on his face.
"Maybe," I say, sipping my drink and keeping my gaze on the remaining skaters.
He leans in, lips close to my cheek. "Maybe as in . . . maybe later you'll go to the golf course with me?"
"Mmm hmm." I nod, biting my lip.
"Yep, it's true." He kisses my cheek and jumps from the wall onto his board, riding until his feet are in the air and he's gripping plywood with one hand. How does he do that?
"Masen, you sexy beast!" Embry shouts from afar. He's such an idiot, but I love him. I'm glad I'll get more time with Angela and Embry. They'll keep me company in Arizona while everyone else moves away—including Masen.
I wave goodbye to my friends and catch a few air kisses from Angela.
Soon, we're the last ones at The Wedge, and I lie on the wall, memorizing the way Masen's body moves gracefully from one position to the next while he rides curves and planes and rails. He catches me watching and ducks low, skating my way and waving me to him. I hop down and jog, meeting him half way.
"C'mere . . ." Masen stands a foot away, and I take a step closer. Then another and another while he coaxes me with a smirk and crooked finger. He taps my foot with his, indicating for me to get on his skateboard. I bend over and kiss it first for good luck. When I'm upright, I glance at Masen who was unashamedly checking out my ass. He takes a step behind me, his knee behind my own, and I hold my breath, remembering what it was like the first few times we rode together like this. The sexual tension was unbelievable, and, surprisingly so, it's just as fierce now. "I wanna show you something."
I peek over my shoulder, seeking a kiss, but Masen stops me, wrapping his arm around my waist and propelling us to a graffitied wall. Once close enough, I glide my hand across the surface, feeling like a real skater as I finally move my foot along with his. My insides tumble, and my breathing deepens when he flexes his hand against my stomach and breathes against my neck. I kind of want to take him here, but we're at a park. It's closed, though, has been for several hours.
Masen's mind seems to be in the place mine is because when he stops, he traps me against the wall, his hands on either side of my head, hips pressing against me. His lips are so close I can feel his breath on my mouth.
"Turn around," he says against my lips.
I twist within the tight space he's allotted me and am met with graffiti that stands apart from the rest. This isn't spray paint; it's marker. Thick black marker, the lines and curves reminiscent of those drawn on the underside of Masen's skateboard. It's only one word, but it's done so artistically, it's stunning.
"It's you." His cheek brushes against mine as he comes in closer, chest pressing against my back. I'm distracted by his proximity, so my brain's not working. I don't understand what he's saying. "The word—beautiful—it's you, Bella."
"It's me?"
He nods against my shoulder and explains. "The day I met you, I went home and thought about you for hours. Finally called Alice. Came here at night 'cause I couldn't sleep and ended up doing this. Didn't know what would happen with us or if we'd even get beyond our first conversation. But I wanted to. I was hopeful you'd talk to me again. Anyway, I guess I put this here as a reminder of what I wanted, of what gave me hope . . . you."
"I love it." I run my hand over the decorative beautiful, and smile. I can't believe he immortalized me here.
Masen rotates my hips with his hands, getting me to face him again. I love when he moves me where he wants me like that. "The golf course is kind of—and I'm all sweaty and gross, but—um, how do you feel about . . ."
"Yeah, definitely." I nod and slide my hands into his hair, gripping it in fistfuls, pulling his mouth to mine for a firm, hot and heavy kiss. His hands grip my hips, and he lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around him.
"I really want this," Masen says, his words muffled against the skin of my neck where he kisses me next, making me breathe even more heavily than I already am. He lowers me down and tugs at my shorts. Wow, we're really doing this here.
In a dark corner under a bridge where we first met, I say my own goodbye to Masen—my body speaking the words I can't bear to say anymore. I love you. You have forever changed me. And I will always, always be yours.
Masen sits with his back against the wall, legs spread wide, a tired yet happy grin on his face. "You're so good to me," he whispers, playing with the pocket of his cargoes.
"It's because you're so cute." I crawl between his legs and entwine both my hands with his, sitting back on my heels.
"Is that why?" He shakes his head, like I'm being so ridiculous.
"Well, and because you're so good to me too."
He laughs and stares at our joined hands on top of his legs.
"Don't laugh at me. You really are."
"Says the girl I'm deserting." His tone is suddenly sullen, quiet.
"What?" My head snaps up, eyes catching his. "No way. You deserve this, Masen. You've been good to everyone in your life: your friends, me, your mother. Don't think for one second you're doing something wrong 'cause you're not. This is the right thing. And as much as I'd love for you to stay, I see now it would never work. You couldn't be happy here."
"I'm happy with you."
I frown, and his head drops to my chest.
"I don't want to leave." His words are like daggers, piercing my resolve.
"You have to." I wrap my hands around his head, lifting it so he'll look at me. "It's the best thing for you."
"You're the best thing for me."
My stomach lurches. Why is he saying these things? We've been over this. I wanted him to stay before, but now I get it. I see what being here does to him. Hell, just last week I was cradling him in my arms like an infant because his dad was terrorizing his family. He cannot stay here. His mother—though sober, last I'd heard—will certainly drag him back into this mess. It's what she does; it's why he's stayed here all these years even when loving family members have offered him their home.
"Masen . . ." Tears come unbidden to my eyes, and he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around my waist, head buried in my lap, body shaking.
He turns his head to the side, rubbing his cheek against my thigh. "Maybe I could just . . . stay for a year or . . . just . . . to be . . . we could get an apartment like you said, like you wanted."
I fold over the top of him, my emotions overtaking my body as I cry into his back. "You can't," I squeak. "You can't be here. It'll ruin everything you want."
"You're everything I want," he replies, motionless, voice vacant of life.
I have to do something. He can't do this. He can't stay here for me. I'm nothing compared to his plans, his whole life's happiness. Why can't he see that? I hoist myself up and tug at his biceps so we're face-to-face. "Okay, look, here's the . . . new plan, okay?"
He nods, sad eyes searching for solace in mine.
"I'll go one semester at a time. We'll, you know, stay together. Do the long distance thing. We'll call, text, visit. We'll do everything in our power to stay connected. After each break we'll revaluate to see where we are."
"You mean where you are. I won't change. What I want is constant: you."
I exhale, thinking about what I can say. "You can't give up on your future for me."
"You are my future. I just want to be with you." He scrubs his hands over his face and continues on. "You want commitment? I'll give it to you. I'm in this one hundred percent, Bella. I love you. I want to be with you always. I'll do whatever I have to do to prove that to you. I'll—I'll go wherever you wanna go. I just shouldn't stay here. I want to, so—so bad, you have no idea, but I shouldn't. I just shouldn't, and I'm—it's killing me.
"Just . . . figure out a new place, and I'll go. I don't care where it is so long as I'm with you." His last words are so sad, and I want nothing more than to make him feel better.
I shake my head, closing my eyes. He's making this so hard. I shiver, getting rid of my nerves. "We—no. We can't go anywhere else. That's a bad idea."
He drops his head again, but I continue talking.
"You already have your plan. You're going to Tustin in a few days, and you're going to go to that great art school, and you're going to do amazing. You're going to create the future you always wanted."
"Yep, and I'll be miserable." He picks at his shoe and slaps his hand on the concrete beside him, then mutters, "Worse than when I'm here."
I push his shoulders up and climb into his lap, my hands on his cheeks. This calls for some heavy-duty girlfriend uplifting, I think. "You are the most resilient person I know. You are kind and sweet and good and so, so, so capable of being happy anywhere. If you can be happy living with your dad and all that that entails, you can be happy anywhere, right?"
"I can try," he says, conceding.
"Please try. You have to. You deserve to be happy. You were so happy tonight. I want to see that again. I want to see that in . . . say . . . three weeks when I take a road trip to visit you. How's that sound? We can find a golf course or some dirty bridge we can share delicious apples under, okay?"
"Three weeks?"
"Yeah." I nod and move my hands to his shoulders, squeezing.
"You promise?" He hugs me and tucks his head between my chin and my breasts, kissing the flesh just beneath my collar.
"Yeah."
"Yeah." He exhales, his shoulders lowering with the movement.
I peek around him, glancing at his artwork, and an idea pops into my head. "Why didn't you put a big heart around it?"
"Because that would be girly and stupid." Oh. His mood's certainly improved. Or he's just run out of the ability to think before speaking. "That was mean. I'm sorry." He kisses up my neck and gives me a quick peck before sitting up straight. "Will you add to my shoes?"
I grin and move from his lap, pulling the ever-present pen from my bun and putting it to work against his Vans. With a shoulder-shaking laugh, I draw an apple in one of his checkers.
When I finish, Masen chuckles and says, "I like it. In fact . . ." He steals my pen, hops up, and draws a much better version of an apple. It surrounds his previous artwork on the wall.
"What I wouldn't give for a tattoo of that. So hot."
Masen raises his brow and drops to his knees, lifting my shirt and drawing on the bare skin above my right hipbone. A repeat of his apple sketch surrounds a very fancy, very bold M. It appears I have been branded, and I'm not complaining one bit.
-MD-
On the last day of school, Masen and I sit in the quad eating my homemade sandwiches. Masen and his mother made some peanut butter cookies he brought with him. The image of Masen baking with his mother swirls in my mind, but it's fuzzy because I've never seen her. I'd like to meet her someday.
I take small bites of my turkey sandwich, keeping one hand linked with his. I don't want this day to end. "How's your mom?"
"Good. Her hand will take a while to heal. She, uh, she lied about what happened when she got the cast, but at least she's taking care of it. That—I mean, that's something. I guess—I dunno."
"I think . . ." I put my sandwich down and stroke the hair above his ear, running my finger over the contours of it. "I think your mom has seen what an amazing man you've become and how brave you are. She's learning from you. I don't think she'll stay. Not forever, anyway."
"Maybe . . ." Masen leans into my touch, so I expand my circuit over his ear and into the hair on the nape of his neck. He always seems to love that.
"She's still sober, right?"
"Yeah . . . yeah, maybe you're right. I've seen it before, but—she's never—I mean this seems different, like she's trying hard. It's good to see her fighting."
"She made you, Masen. She's got some strength and bravery. She'll find it like you did."
He tilts his head up, eyes seeking mine, and mouths, "Thank you, Bella." It brings me back to the first time I saw him with a black eye, and pride rocks through me. He's done it; he's broken free. He kisses me, lips lingering on my cheek when he's done.
"Speaking of parents . . . your dad's amazing. I just, I—thought you should know. You should—I dunno . . ." Masen shrugs and gazes at our clasped hands, figuring out the rest of his words, I guess. "Just—maybe be happier he's your dad. And tell him. He likes it."
I smile at the thought of Masen and my father talking about me, and I do think on his words. I need to be more grateful. I have been privileged in so many ways, and I need to be happy for what I have. Period. I will be.
Before the day is through we've exchanged five notes, hid out in two janitors' closets to make out, and made plans for the evening. Tonight is all about us and a golf course where a boy and girl had their first kiss. When we get there, we don't speak many words, but our eyes and bodies communicate plenty.
-MD-
The end of the school year is upon us. It's the day Masen and I graduate along with our friends. The speeches are lame, but the sentiment is bittersweet. It's the end of an era. I'm embarrassed to be crying at such a silly ceremony, but I can't help it.
I find Masen once the festivities are over. He hugs me, and I can't let him go. Angela calls my name, catching my eyes from afar. She holds her hand up to her ear in the shape of a phone, asking me to call her later. Tomorrow, I guess, since she'll be out at a grad night party.
My dad, full of congratulatory plans for Masen and me, runs into a snag when a client calls, needing assistance straightaway.
"Well, I gotta go. This pregnant woman who's overdue says she'll leave her husband and move out if her air conditioning isn't fixed."
Masen nods, but I just stand there. I'm only half listening as he's holding my hand, and my whole body instinctively knows its job is to home in on that—on Masen and his presence.
"Okay, well, good job, kiddo. And . . . Masen—in case I don't see you again . . . uh, good luck and remember what we talked about."
"Okay," Masen agrees. He extends his hand, and Dad shakes it, pulling Masen into a guy hug, patting his back. It's quite fatherly and sweet and pulls me a bit from my hand-holding induced haze.
As much as I'd like to celebrate with my father, I'm happy about the change in plans because now I can say goodbye to Masen properly. Once my dad is out of sight, I bring Masen home to my bed.
We don't leave it for a few hours.
Late in the evening—and after my dad's checked in on us—we sit on my bedroom floor, talking quietly. Masen drags his ratty backpack onto his lap and pulls out his notebook. We pore over it together, reading poems and chatting about his drawings. He's added a lot since the last time I saw it. He hands it over and tells me he wants me to keep it to remember him by.
With no time left and tears welling in my eyes, I speak up, my voice shaky. "When's your flight?"
"Eight, but I've thought about changing it . . ."
"I'm really going to miss you."
"I'll miss you too."
I can't stand the idea of him going and hug him like a maniac. He returns the force of my grip with enthusiasm. When he pulls away, he wipes tears from my eyes.
He reaches around me and pulls the pen from my hair, keeping eye contact with me the whole time. His silence, sea green stares, and gentle touches are always ridiculously sexy. I will miss him so much and am already looking forward to my visit to Tustin.
He pulls my feet into his lap and doodles on my Vans again. He kisses me one last time on my doorstep before skating home. He leaves tomorrow, apparently at eight. . . . without me.
-MD-
The morning is cloaked in the bright, hot sun. I hate it. It's too early to get up and too sunny and cheery for such a crappy day. But I can't sleep, so I slide out of bed. I grumble to myself as I go about my morning routine, showering and getting ready, trying anything to distract myself from the sorrow I know will overtake me. I can't allow myself one second to think about what's happened—or what's currently happening—or I will lose it.
I stand in front of the mirror, slipping my pen into my hair to secure my bun. As I lift and maneuver myself, my shirt rises, exposing my stomach and the marks Masen drew. The apple has faded, but the M remains, vivid and strong, like the man who drew it.
Refusing to cry, I move on to another task, cleaning out my school bag and organizing my clothes to deal with my grief. As I go through my shoes, I come across the Vans I chucked in there the night before. I sit for a minute, nearly inside my closet, and I read the words meant for me.
Days and days without grace
Meaningless and drab
She appears, her name too perfect to be real
But it is, so is she
Her essence, deep and vibrant, awakens me
Her eyes see faith, hope where I see none
Her hands seek the truth, roaming my skin
Setting me ablaze with her fervor
Love's cruel, playing with the young
Taunting, tempting, torturing me
But I will still love, and I will wait
I clutch the shoes to my chest and cry, sobs wracking my body, snot running from my nose and not caring about any of it. I'm only able to think about one thing and one thing only—he's gone. He left. Without me. And I let him. Why? Why did I let him leave? Why didn't I go with him?
I collapse to the floor, curling inward around my precious shoes that contain a small piece of his love for me. He is so amazing. Everything about him astounds me, and I admire him in so, so many ways, and I let him go. Why did I let him go?
My mind wanders, covering time and space, images in a mass of color and shapes, memories, and so many words. Words of longing and advice and love.
Come with me.
Go because you want to, and no other reason.
We could have this everyday, you know.
Sometimes you have to feel the fear, and do it anyway.
You inspire me. You give me all these ideas, and you let me just be me . . .
Just make sure you think things through before making any big decisions.
Two heads are better than one . . .
Do you trust me?
If things don't work out like you've so brilliantly planned, keep trying.
You are my future.
What am I doing? Have I been deaf to everyone around me this whole time? Have I only been hearing what I wanted to hear? What I thought was safest for me to hear? Have I been walking around with blinders on? Or am I just ridiculously stubborn and stupid?
Every single, positive advisory phrase I've heard in the last few weeks floats through my head, penetrating my thick skull. Each tells me to go, to get the hell out of here, to follow Masen. I sit up, my head in my hands, thinking so hard—beyond my ability—to find a way out of the hole I've dug for myself.
And then the words come to me unbidden, as though uncovered, having been lost somewhere in the recesses of my mind. Ironically they are my own. A scene unfolds behind my closed eyes. I'm wearing a soft, white dress, and Masen lifts me from my truck. I follow him through his own door, his way, thinking to myself, Wherever Masen wants to go, I'll go.
My eyes pop open, my head turning to check the clock on the night stand. It's 7:12. If I speed, I can get to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport and flag him down, stop him from going without me. If worse comes to worse, I'll buy a ticket using my emergency credit card and meet him in Tustin a few hours later.
I'm on my feet in a second, shoving clothing and shoes and essentials into my backpack. I can't do it. I can't stay here. I can't be left here. He can't leave me. Why would we wait? It makes no sense. What would be the point? Angela's right: my dad is only a phone call away whenever I need him. And I can become a teacher anywhere. But love? Love is rare. I can't get it just anywhere from anyone. And I've found it. Why would I give it up?
I want to go with him, to be with him. Sure, I'm scared, but isn't every young adult? He accepts me for who I am, flaws and all. So what if we've only been together for a short while; I trust him implicitly. Besides, we'll figure it out together. Isn't that what adult couples do? I've thought about it—all of it—my whole mess of insecurities and excuses, and what I know is I want to be with Masen.
That's all that matters. The rest will work itself out.
I race downstairs, dialing Angela along the way.
"Did someone die?" her gravelly voice answers.
"Tell me I'm doing the right thing."
"You're doing the right thing," she parrots.
"I'll miss you, and I'll call you when I'm in California, okay?"
"Oh my Gawd, Bella—" Her voice perks up considerably, but it doesn't matter. I don't have any time to waste.
I hang up, not needing anything else but my own acceptance to do this, but it was still fun to call my girlfriend. I know she'd want to know.
I leave a scribbly letter on the kitchen counter for my dad and race out onto the porch, determined to get to Masen. I don't have to go far because he's sitting on his skateboard in my driveway. He's slumped over, shoulders sagging, head in his hand. He looks like how I feel—or, at least, how I felt minutes ago. But what is he doing here?
"Hey," he says, lifting his gaze, eyeing me.
"Hi." I'm breathing heavy, and I'm sure I'm a sweaty mess. I'm also a bit in shock due to my last minute decision to go with him.
"What's with the bulging bag?"
"Why are you here?"
"I changed my flight for later. Came to say goodbye, but it's been—anyway, I wanted to kiss you, really." He shrugs, and I don't mind it one bit. I never really did. It's quite endearing.
"Don't."
"Why?" His face falls.
"I'm going with you."
"Wait . . . w-what?" His eyes go wide with surprise. "You said you weren't—and that you—and your dad—so, um . . . you're . . . huh?" He is so adorable when he babbles.
"I'm going with you." I turn around and lock my door, then meet him at the bottom of the steps. He stands before me, skateboard forgotten. He looks down, his hand playing with his penny-colored hair. He lifts his head, shaking it as it rises. His expression is guarded but positively giddy.
"I'm not leaving 'til twelve today. But now, I dunno. I guess I should cancel, if you wanna drive there. I mean—are you sure you're—do you wanna—" He fidgets, checkered Vans shuffling awkwardly against each other, hands crammed into his pockets.
"Okay, stop. Don't do that. Just calm down. I'm going with you. I mean it." I place my hands on his chest, and he pulls me into a massive hug, his shoulders relaxing as he exhales.
"I just . . . this is . . . I don't ever get what I want, ever. No matter how much I wish—how much I want, and I . . ."
"You what?" I push him away gently, giving us some distance so we can talk.
"I'm not sure I believe it."
"Have I ever lied to you?"
"No."
"Have I said something to you I didn't mean?"
"No." He looks at his feet, but his lips curve up at the corners.
"Then believe it because you're finally getting what you want. And, um, you're stuck with me and my bright white halo. It's going to be all shiny and annoying."
"I don't think it will be." He smirks and bites his lip, looking adorable while bouncing on his toes.
"No?"
"No. So . . ." He points to my backpack and continues. "Do you want to bring something more than two outfits and a toothbrush? You realize we're moving there, not just having a sleepover, right?"
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
I drop my bag and lift up on my tiptoes, kissing him soundly. When I'm done, I whisper into his lips, "You were supposed to say yeah."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah." We kiss again, and he pulls me back up the stairs.
"Let's get you packed."
"Masen? Remember when you worried about my dad when you first met?"
"Yeah?"
"Um, you should probably be a little worried."
He shrugs, snags my keys, and opens the door for me. Once inside I look him over, taking in the boy I adore and appreciate, the boy that changed the whole course of my life. And I know one thing is certain: this is right.
"I can handle him. We get along a lot better now. He gets me. Kinda like you do, actually. Plus, it's worth it. You're worth it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Masen grabs my hand, pulling me inside and leading me into our shared future.
A/N: I'd like to thank so many people that were a part of my team, so be ready for an over-long author's note. LuvinJ, you are the sole wolf-girl attached to this project and have been with me since I started posting ff. You've encouraged me to write even when it involved a boy named Edward. That's pretty awesome of you. _ss77_, anytime I needed you you were there willing to stay up late or use your only free time to preread. You're an excellent cheerleader. Perry, I can't even begin . . . all the tweets, g-chats, emails, back and forth edits . . . you never once complained or said you didn't have time or you couldn't do it. I don't know how that's possible, but I'm so grateful for your availability, insight, and the quality of your work. Masen Days would not be what it is without you. Mac214, you know I admire you like a silly girl with a crush. I knew you were talented but had no clue just how smart you are or just how many grammar rules there are until I worked with you. Thanks for all the advice, links, explanations, and challenges. I will forever be fearful of that, filter words, and clichés. You will always be winsome in my book! Dinx, you are my one beta who asked to be a part of this team . . . was it worth it? Don't answer that. I will answer it. I am so grateful for your help. I knew I could count on your not-chicken eyes to catch all those tiny errors that slipped past the rest of us. To my whole team: thank you, thank you, thank you.
I never thought that anyone would really care about Masen Days. I remember being excited when it hit 10 reviews on the Boys on Boards contest. So you can imagine my response when this story hit 100 reviews, and it's now over 2000. It's insane. I never thought it would garner much attention. But it did. The readership and excitement over this story has surpassed my wildest dreams. I feel so honored to have shared my story with you and have so many people to thank for getting the word out and making this journey a successful (and ridiculously fun) one . . .
Thank you to Jamie Arkin for drawing attention to my story through a read-a-long, to Onebravelamb for reviewing it on The Lemonade Stand, for MsJaxTeller for providing awesome music for each chapter, and for Anniej13 and Chicklette for hosting Boys on Boards. This story would not exist without that contest.
Thank you to every reader, reviewer, and pimper. Every time I got a tweet, pm, review, comment, follow, alert, or favorite it put a smile on my face. Each picture, song, gif, banner, story that you shared with me made my day. I'm amazed at the response this story received, but I think it has little to do with me and much to do with a quiet boy named Masen. So thank you, Masen, for making us all happy and giving us hope.
And now for the question everyone wants to ask . . . will there be a sequel? The truth is I don't know. I have ideas for outtakes, one shots, and a multi-chap, but as to whether or not they come to fruition is yet to be seen. However, for those who did not participate in the Fandom for Texas, Her Name is Bella: Masen Days Prequel will be posted on my profile in January. To be notified when it or any other Masen related stories become available be sure to put me on author alert. I'm sure I will be going through Masen withdrawal, so check in or subscribe to my blog where I will shower you with pictures and what ifs and whatnots. I'm sure I will never get tired of talking Masen, so I apologize in advance for this.
And now I want to cry, but I won't. I will be strong like Masen and simply say, "It's fine."
*shrugs*