Saving Laurel

6. Mason

Laurel Gilroy

My mind drifts all day at school. Haunted with memories.

Mason mostly.

He was beautiful, two years older than me and so much more mature than all the kids in high school.

I remember going to his graduation party, mostly because Molly had invited me. But also because I was hoping that at some point Mason would notice me, not as Molly's friend but as Laurel.

"It's going to be all of Mason's annoying friends." She had cried.

So I went, in a sweet little summer dress the color of the sky, my hair spilling down my back in soft curls. As soon as I got to Molly's and Mason's house, his dark eyes met mine and I remember flushing under his gaze. Mason was in his signature jeans cuffed above the ankle and a pair of Sperry's, a soft pink shirt that was tight around his biceps, showing off the first of many tattoos that would come to liter his body. His dark hair slicked to the side, the sun kissing his tan skin.

At that point Mason and I were nothing, but that would change in just a few short hours.

As the party started to wind down, his parents cracking beers and bottles of wine as they kicked back in lawn chairs and laughed too loud with neighboring friends, exhausted from the day. I found myself watching Mason from a distance as his dad handed him a beer. That's how Mason's parents always were, the cool parents, the parents that would rather let their kids drink than have them sneaking around.

It was probably part of the reason that Mason was well liked. He had the party house and the chill parents and once Molly and I became sophomores his friends started to notice us. The short skirts of our cheerleading outfits may have helped though.

Mason had a thirst for the daring, something of an adrenaline junky and pushing limits. He could have this over the top persona about him, the life of the party and it made people want to follow at his heels.

I was one of them though I tried not to act like it.

Molly had disappeared into the house to change from the dress she had been in all day, the straps of her wedges had dug into her ankles and I had spent several hours listening to her complain. Rather than change them though she suffered through so that her outfit wouldn't be ruined.

So as I sat there, under the shade of a maple at the far end of their deck, alone, my cheeks burnt from the afternoon sun, Mason stalked up to me. I swallowed hard, watching the way his jeans shifted on his hips, just a little too big for him, and the way he kept his spine straight and confident. His fingers curled around the neck of the beer bottle as he smirked at me like he knew all of my secrets.

But back then the only secret I had was wanting him.

As he neared, I had forgotten how to breath but  I didn't want to be one of those girls. The kind that got flustered when they finally garnered the attention of the boy they liked. So I sat a little taller, squaring my shoulders and I forced myself to return his smirk even though I wanted to grin like a fool.

He sat next to me, close, so close that his arm grazed mine and I could smell the cologne that lingered on his skin still and the smell of the beer on his breath as he chuckled quietly.

"Thank for coming." His voice was like an old melody, filling me up and leaving me basking in its familiar warmth.

I tried to hide the shake that rattled my core, a nervous giggle threatening to give me away. "Molly begged."

He laughed and I couldn't hold off my own smile anymore as he passed his cold beer to his other hand before his cold fingers meet my bare thigh.

"Well for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here." His dark eyes met mine and I swear, right then, I had absolutely fallen in love with him.

It didn't matter that goosebumps had sprung out from his cold fingers, splintering up my legs, causing a shiver to rack my shoulders, or the fact that he was my best friend's older brother and somewhere in the unwritten rule book of friends I was definitely breaking something. Or the fact I already knew, even though my parents cared about Mason, they weren't going to like it if we became a thing.

All that matter was the way he was looking at me and his hand on my leg and his close proximity and the thundering of my heart.

My heart was beating so hard, pumping blood through my body as fast as it could as everything in me became more heightened, more aware. But then his eyes dropped to my lips causing the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me to stop, my breath catching in my throat, eyes widening slightly because I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me so bad it hurt.

And then, like a miracle, he sent my heart back into motion as his lips meet mine and my mouth filled with the remnants of the beer that lingered in his mouth and everything in me was set aflame.

I became hooked to that fire he created inside me. Instantaneously and craved it relentlessly. Mason was everything. He was all I needed. And I lived in that warmth that he created.

Until I got burned.

Noise erupts around me, snapping me from my thoughts and it's then I realize my heart is pounding as I gather myself. Watching as my peers gather their books, talking over one another as they stand from their desks. I'm slow to follow, stumbling in the leftover haze that fogs my mind.

The haze that Mason leaves behind wherever he goes.

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I spot Sawyer a mile away his letterman jacket draped over his broad shoulders proudly. He's class president, track star, baseball legend, most popular, drool worthy, all around good guy, king of the school.

Complete sarcasm. I only think 1/3 of that is true.

I'm late leaving, having stayed after to work on a partner project for my sociology class when I hear his voice taunting someone in the hallway.

"FUCK OFF!" The voice echoes in the empty halls. "Cocksucker!"

Sucking in a breath, I wait for a brawl to start. What I'll do if that actually happens I have no idea.

But it doesn't, instead Sawyer barks out some laughter just as some more curse words fly through the air. I stay rooted where I am, partially hidden by the pole that separates the open door ways.

"See ya around." Sawyer laughs, heading off in the opposite direction.

I'm relieved I can avoid having another interaction with Sawyer but the peace that falls over me is disrupted as I see who Sawyer was taunting. Once again, I'm taken by surprise as I see Wes, dark denim jeans cuffed at the ankles of his Vans, a red and black checked flannel, his hands fisted in his hazelnet hair as his body twitches and jerks like he's trying to remain under control.

"Fuck!" He shouts so loud into the deserted school I jump.

My eyes widen as he slams his fist into the side of his head so hard I hear the distinct crack of his skull from where I'm standing and I let out an involuntary gasp at the graphic nature of the act.

His head snaps to me so fast, grimacing at me. My mouth is suddenly dry, fear tickling the base of my neck sending a shiver twisting across my skin. Before Wes can do anything, I turn and walk briskly toward the closest set of doors.

I am definitely staying far away from Wes Thompson.

Mason is all the messed up that I'll ever need.

———————

2020 has been so fucked up.

Keep crossing your fingers, saying prayers, sending good vibes if you don't mind, it's not just raining, it's pouring and we're desperate for a break.