“Yes, I do.” I take his hand and sit him up, pulling us both out of the spray.
He sways as he rights himself.
Looking up at me, his cold stare slices through me. “You’d be better off without me.”
I lick my lips, trying to find the right words. I get why he is lashing out, but it doesn’t make it easier to listen to.
Dropping my eyes, ignoring his comment as I grab a towel. “Get up, the water is going cold.”
“You should go, Nina. You shouldn’t be here,” he slurs.
“I want to be here. Now, get up.”
He grasps my face, bringing me close. “You wouldn’t want to be, not if you knew,” he snarls.
I go to grab his hand that holds me, and he yanks it back with a hiss. I grab his wrist, noting the stream of red running down his arm. “You’ve cut yourself.”
“I’m fine.” He shrugs me away, getting up in a rush and staggering from the shower as he makes his way into the bedroom.
“Here,” I hand him a towel to cover himself, but he doesn’t take it from me. “Let me see your hand.”
I watch as blood drips to the plush carpet.
“You’re perfect; you know that? So. Fucking. Perfect,” he sniggers. “You made it so easy for me. Then you left.” He swipes the blood from his forearm, and it splatters the bed.
His perfect body ripples as he jerks around the room on unsteady feet, and it only makes my heart hurt more.
“Mason, now isn’t the time, please.” I plead, holding out the towel to him.
He’s talking rubbish, and despite how much his words hurt, I know they’re coming from a place of pain.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you.”
“Why did you come here then? Huh? For this?” He starts to pull at his hardening length, and I turn, disgusted, leaving the room and leaving him. “Off you run.” He laughs at my retreating back.
Once I am out of sight, I take a moment, leaning on the bannister and taking in a deep breath.
Don’t let him push you away.
I go to the kitchen, find the first aid kit, and then grab the dustpan and brush and some kitchen roll. I clean up the mess at the bottom of the stairs, then make my way back to the bedroom, hoping he will have calmed down a little.
Mason is sitting on the ottoman when I enter the room, his eyes cast down at the ground. He has a pair of boxers on, and a towel is wrapped around his fist, the blood already tainting it a deep red.
I kneel at his feet and take his bloodied hand, not wanting to look into his eyes in case I find the anger that was there before.
The cut isn’t overly deep, but the alcohol he has consumed is making it bleed heavier. I try to wrap it the best I can, but I know he will need to get it checked.
Once I’m finished, I sit for a moment and stare at the ground between us.
Silently, he takes hold of my chin in his bandaged hand, lifting my head. Tears line his face, his eyes filled with so much pain it threatens to destroy the both of us.
But it’smy Mase.
“Promise me when I’m sober.”
“Baby.” I pull him to me, wanting nothing more than to take it all away.
I want to tell him that everything will be better in the morning, but I can’t promise that right now.
