The Chord to my Heart

5: Meet Mase

                                                                          5: Meet Mase

            I didn’t know what to expect before Mase Dean walked through my door. But as he stood there, leaning against the door frame, one hand on the door knob, I never expected him to look like a model out of some magazine. 

            His jeans hung low on his hips, a pair of beat up Converse at his feet and a white tee that clung to his chest. His hair, a deep brown, sat perfectly messy on his head. And his eyes were a grey canvas, splattered with specks of blue paint.

             I watched as he pushed off the door frame, walking towards me.

            “Hey, your dad asked me to introduce myself. I’m Mase,” he said, holding a hand out towards me. 

            I cleared my throat before reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Lyla. Nice to meet you,” I said, my eyes locked on his. There was something about his eyes that made my heart skip a beat. Not because they were beautiful, but because there was a sadness in them that I recognized. One that I constantly saw in my own eyes when I watched my reflection in the mirror. 

            He gave my hand a squeeze before pulling back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Not even close. 

            “It’s nice to meet you, too. And hey, I heard about your mom. I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes flickering to the picture frame I gripped in my hand. And when he looked back up to me, I braced myself to see The Look again. 

            I felt myself release the breath I’d been holding, relieved that, instead of looking at me with pity, his eyes spoke the words that no one else had said so far: I understand. 

            I nodded in response, the familiar lump lodging itself in my throat. I cleared my throat again before I said, “Well, thanks for coming by. I should probably get some unpacking done before dinner though.” 

            “Sure. I’m just down the hall if you need any help,” he said. He gave me another smile before turning to leave, shutting the door behind him. 

            I lay down again, setting the picture of my mother back on my bedside table, face down. I sighed, forcing away the thoughts of her, not letting them intoxicate my mind. My world was chaos lately, and if I kept thinking about her being gone, I’d lose the little control I still had left. I was glad that tears hadn’t found their way back to my eyes since the morning after the hospital. I knew if they did, and I let them fall, I’d lose a lot more than just my sanity. 

            I was scared, more than ever, of falling apart. I was scared that the pieces would scatter too far out, beyond my reach. And I’d never be whole again. I’d never be okay again. So I kept my feelings and thoughts and memories at bay, never letting them close enough to pull me in too deep. I’d suffocate. I’d drown.

                                                                                 *** 

             It was fifteen minutes before dinner when I changed into my favorite sweats and a t-shirt. I pushed my cell in my pocket before heading towards the stairs. 

            While looking for the dining room, I came across a tall, glass door. When I peeked in, I saw something that made my eyes go wide. Excited, I tugged at the door and stepped inside. There were tall mirrors on every wall, lined up one beside the other. I saw a rack with a variety of hand weights in the corner. There were half a dozen weight machines, a bike and an elliptical. My eyes skimmed right over these though, landing on the two treadmills sitting in the far corner of the room.