Between The Lines (BoyxBoy) [On Hold]

Between the Lines

Chapter 1

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MASON's P.O.V.

Rain poured against the window as I opened my eyes. It didn’t rain that often around here, so I wasn’t accustomed to the sound of it crashing outside the walls. I had never liked the rain; it was depressing. It cast a shadow across the entire day. That’s not exactly the best thing in the mornings.

I blinked away some of my sleepiness and looked over at the clock resting on my bedside table. It was only Five o’clock in the morning. I groaned, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now that I was aware and awake enough to recognize the numbers. I untangled myself from the sheets; I never seemed to seem in the same position for an entire night. A yawn escaped me as I rolled out of bed. The rain continued to slap against my windows. I wanted to glare at it.

A shower helped me wake, but I was still half asleep as I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Thanks to my lethargic movements, it was nearly six. L cooked myself breakfast seeing as my father had never hired anybody to do it for us. We had a housekeeper who came twice a week, and a chauffeur for whenever we needed to take the limo. Other than that, we didn’t have anybody working for us.

“Just because you have money, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t spend it wisely,” he had always said. “You need to remember that it might not always be there,” I never had any complaints, honestly. I admired my father’s choices. He was a good man.

Richard St. Lions had never let the fame and fortune get to his head. Neither had my mother, although she was born into it, being the daughter of a billionaire. We didn’t live in a mansion of ridiculous size. Yes, it was large, and extremely nice, but we didn’t have forty million unnecessary rooms. We had several cars, that being the only thing my parents ever really put money into. My father and mother each had a car. I had my own, plus there was a family car and a limo.

But my parents preferred to save their money, and use it for good causes.

I brought my breakfast into the family room and sat on the black leather couch. I flipped on the television, randomly scrolling between channels. Other than the rain, the sound of the TV was the only noise to echo throughout the empty house.

I was alone this morning just like I had been for the past few weeks. My parents were off celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Mom had always wanted to travel around the world, and Dad was happy to oblige. They were coming home today though; I would probably see them this afternoon.

A picture of what looked like a plane in flames appeared on the screen in front of me, capturing my attention. I realized that it was the news and I turned on the volume so I could hear what was being said.

“…right outside of New York City. It appears to have been caused by a nearly imperceptible engine malfunction. In total, fifty lives were lost, all of the passengers, the pilot, and crew aboard flight three sixty-four.” Something churned in my stomach. Flight three sixty four? That number was familiar; far too familiar for comfort. 

A feeling of dread washed over me and my fears were confirmed. A picture of my parents appeared next to the image of the flaming wreckage.

“Many of you all know Richard St. Lions. The award-winning actor and his wife, Angela, daughter of billionaire Marcus Whindale, were among the victims of this devastating accident…” The rest of what the newscaster was saying was lost on me. I was frozen; I couldn’t breathe.

This… this wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be! I had just talked to my mother last night! She couldn’t be…dead. This was all a lie; it had to be. It was a sick, twisted lie that the media had created for whatever reason. I mean, other celebrities had been “dead” before, right?

This couldn’t be happening… It just couldn’t.

A shrill ring pierced the air, shattering it like glass. As I moved to answer the phone, I felt like a puppet. Somebody else was controlling the strings. I could act. I could move, but I wasn’t really there. My feet were weighed down as I walked, like cinder blocks had been strapped to them, holding them in place.