Page 27 of Breathe Like Hell

I shoved the thoughts away.

My tiredness eventually overtook my stubborn brain, and I drifted to sleep.

━━━━━

I dragged my backpack up onto a stool at the island in Mason’s kitchen, setting my laptop on the black marble and powering it on. My grades were seriously slipping, and I was going to lose my scholarships if I kept this shit up. But I was finding it difficult to care about that in the face of everything else. I resigned to just working on my Unit Ops stuff. If nothing else, I could keep my failures from infecting that class.

Mason was on the phone in the hallway, talking to someone I presumed to be Micah. My chest ached. I missed him.

“She’s here and safe.” A pause. “She’ll be fucking fine here without you. I don’t need you stepping in on everything.”

I flinched, lowering my head to focus back on my school work. The energy between them had somehow only gotten more tense—probably because my transgressions with Mason were finally out in the open. No more pretending it didn’t happen.

No more pretending it wasn’t still happening.

“I’m dropping her off. Should I walk her all the way to the classroom?” Mason said, but it wasn’t a genuine question. He was pissed. I wished I could hear whatever Micah was responding. “Fuck you.”

Mason entered the kitchen a moment later, making me jump as he slammed his palm on the counter, breathing hard. I watched the rise and fall of his shoulders, his head tilted down. My pulse fluttered nervously.

“I’m taking you to his class today,” Mason informed me through gritted teeth, still not looking away from the black countertop. “I’m going to fuck you again beforehand. And you’re not going to shower. Clear?”

“I don’t want to be part of this,” I said lowly as my stomach twisted, shameful heat spreading through me. Mason’s eyes shot up to meet mine. “Part of this game,” I clarified. “With you and him.”

“Too late for that, baby. You don’t get a choice. You’re the integral piece.” He straightened up and rounded the island, turning my stool so he was standing between my knees and cupping my face. On instinct, I leaned into his touch. I couldn’t stop myself. His words wove me into a dark fantasy, awakening the most disgusting parts of me. The thought of showing up to Micah’s class smelling like Mason’s kapnos was stirring up a flurry of horrible thoughts.

“God, you’re pretty. Why the fuck do you let him have you?”

“What happened between you and him?” I pressed, ignoring Mason’s rhetorical question.

“I fucked up. It’s my fault Aamon wants to kill you, and Micah is mad about that.”

I narrowed my eyes. Neither of them ever gave me the same answer.

Always these half truths, these vague statements tied in complicated knots.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I argued.

“Yes it does.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry or scream. Mason’s brown eyes lingered on mine, searching for something, as my mind contorted itself. He knew I didn’t believe him, so it couldn’t have been acceptance he was hoping to seek out in my irises.

Something else. Weakness? Naivety? Hope?

The small set of secrets I’d managed to keep out of his grasp so far?

My thoughts folded and tangled, forming little chain links in my skull, like the kind you make in elementary school with construction paper for each holiday. All the links were messy, though, connecting in the wrong ways. Not just in a straight line, but in a net of confusion and hatred and want and need.

So instead of laughing or crying or screaming, I launched myself at him, wrapping my legs around his torso, my arms around his neck, turning my head to kiss the side of his throat.

Mason stumbled backward a half step, his hands instantly grabbing me, holding my body to his.

“Fuck me,” I murmured, sighing against his skin.

I’d long since given up trying to understand the way my brain worked, the way my emotions progressed. They’d never make sense.

“Of course.” His hands massaged my ass.

He walked briskly to his bedroom and dropped me on the bed, his dick already visibly hard in his boxers. Nothing was ever easy with Mason, but this was the closest we ever got to it. Just sex. Just fucking. In a bed, with only the two of us. No guns or water or other men listening from upstairs.