Page 80 of Bruised

I don’t know if I should be happy or annoyed, flattered or angry. My dick knows what’s up, though; as always when it comes to Mason, it doesn’t have my best interests in mind.

This back and forth is driving me crazy. When his hands are on me, I don’t care about anything other than the rumble of his voice and the heat of his skin, but when he shifts away—when he turns from me and pretends I mean nothing—I feel so empty, like he’s carved me out and left me hollow, and the only time I feel better is when I’m in his bed, in his arms, but even that feels odd nowadays. Wrong, and I can’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

Until I know, I’ll keep coming back, but I don’t know how long I can stand it. Most of all, I don’t know how long my heart can stand it.

When night comes and I step into his room, I expect him to be sitting naked on the side of the bed, like he almost always does, but he’s under the covers for a change, and he’s wearing a shirt.

Weird.

He calls me over with a wave of his hand. When I slip under the covers, he meets my eyes, a hand cupping my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. He pecks my lips softly, pulls back, and looks into my eyes.

“Have you been crying, puppy?” he asks.

I didn’t think he’d notice. I cried in the bathroom earlier this evening, but I made sure to wipe my tears and splash water onto my face to hide the signs. I was crying about Oliver. I was crying about Mason, too, but I can’t say that.

“He’s…” I choke out. “He’s leaving.”

Mason’s gaze grows distant. He keeps stroking my cheek, soothing me. “I know.”

I hate this. He didn’t sign up to console me, and it would be weird to just burst out crying, wouldn’t it? Mason would surely think so; he’d think I’m weird and annoying, but my voice cracks with sorrow over how my life will change.

“He’s leaving, and I’ll… I’ll be alone.”

“Don’t you have any other friends?”

I shake my head vehemently, tears burning behind my eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mason says. “I don’t have many friends either. I have Tess, but that’s about it. Lost the rest when I got locked up.”

I want to ask him again what happened, what he did, but how he reacted last time I tried makes me hesitate. It’s not that I want to know so badly, but more that I want him to share that part of himself with me. I want to know him, but he won’t let me.

He sighs and strokes a soothing hand along my side. “Hey, I know it sucks, but you’ll find other friends eventually. This is just shit that happens. It’s life. Friends come and go. Shit changes.”

Here it is. My chance. I have to blurt it out while I can, or else I’ll never find the courage to ask.

“Are we going to change?” I grimace, regretting what I said as soon as the words pass my lips.

Mason looks at me strangely. “What do you mean?”

I fiddle with the hem of the covers, and my heart is racing as I gather the courage to continue. “When Oliver leaves… what’s going to happen… with us?”

Mason stiffens, and a shadow passes over his face. “Us?”

Shit. Why did I say anything? I’m close to taking it back, to telling him I was just kidding, to please touch me and forget I even said anything, but it’s too late.

“You mean…” Mason flashes a grin, but there’s something forced and lifeless about it. “Come on, puppy. That’s not what we’re about—you know that.” He sounds like he’s mocking me, as if I’m weird for even asking such a question. “You said it yourself from the beginning: this is just about sex. Nothing else.”

I bite my lower lip, finding it hard to even look at him. His eyes are fixed on me, as if challenging me to dispute his claims, but he’s right—I did say it was just about sex. That it didn’t mean anything. I was quite adamant about it, but that was then. Things have changed, at least for me.

Apparently, they haven’t changed for him, though. For him, I’m still just a fun source of entertainment he can use to keep from getting bored. A toy. A puppy.

“So… it’s not real?” You don’t feel anything for me? Nothing deeper? You don’t have to be my boyfriend, but can you at least tell me you see me as a human and not just a plaything?

“This is real,” Mason says, hooking a finger into my choker. “This is real.” He grabs my hand and brings it to his crotch.

“Stop,” I choke out.

Mason sighs and lets go of my hand. “Fine. Then what do you want?”