Waves - Book #2 [completed]

43 ~ Cicatrize

Cicatrize
(v.)
to find healing by the process of forming scars

I parked my truck in front of my mom's house fifteen minutes ago. She's home and expecting me to stop by, looking forward to seeing me for the first time this year.

It's pathetic and shows my incapability to tackle conflict that I've avoided my own mother, the person who raised me and the only parent I know, for more than two months. My conscience is already playing me dirty and gnawing on my mind, telling me I'm a bad daughter, sister, friend and human being in general.

It all spirals from there.

But I'm dreading to see her because I need to tell her about Mason. People around town are going to see us and inevitably make assumptions. My friends know and I do not trust some of them to keep it to themselves. I mean, Mason and I's thing is no secret. There's no need to hide it behind closed doors. I don't want that.

As much as I still am fighting myself and my past, I do want to make this right. I want to give Mason what he deserves. He's been nothing but supportive, patient, and kind with me and deserves that I woman up and tell my mom about him.

Closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the headrest, I remember Mason's smug grin, his "Atta girl!" outcry and the air-fistbump I saw him doing when he thought I wasn't looking after I told him I was going to go and tell my mom.

Why again didn't I like this man in the beginning?

I don't know what I did to deserve him. Despite his cockiness, he's really redeemed himself and proved that he's one of the most honest and good-hearted people I know.

After we got back to my place yesterday, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him with me to the bathroom without saying another word. He obliged willingly, though, and I turned away from him to turn on the shower since it always takes a couple minutes before the water gets to a bearable temperature.

When I turned back to face him, his expression was so tender and loving, his eyes reminding me of molten silver. We kept silent while slowly stripping each other naked and kissing the warm expanses of skin coming into view with each torn off piece of clothing, tasting salt and sand on our lips and chuckling at the heaps of sand that fell out of our hair. Mason took his sweet time dragging my bikini bottoms down my legs, kissing a shiver-inducing path from my sternum down my stomach to the crease of my thighs. His last torturing hint of a touch of his lips was just above the split of my labia that left me trembling.

When there was no fabric left on our bodies, we looked at each other for a long, long time while he rose to his full height again. My pulse was going through the roof, not only because it was the first time we saw each other stripped fully bare since the first night we spent together, but because it felt more than physical nudity. It was a moment of intense understanding. Of emotional nudity and intimacy.