𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 is your average do-good lawyer on the rise to fame as a representative of young victims. Except her motivations aren't all that innocent. Rayne's only goal is to run from her past, to leave confrontation for the courtroom, no...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝗧he warm, evening, Los Angeles breeze tickled Mason's face as his baby hairs danced lonesome across his forehead within it. He parked his car a couple streets down – tired of driving around this pointless city. He needed an escape. He needed to walk. Some space and peace of mind to think about everything. With his phone shut off and his disappearance from his friends, he accomplished just that.
Even if this place gave him nothing but misery, he couldn't help but admit how beautiful the night was. The darkened sky, paired with city lights – L.A.'s make – shift stars – it always seemed to comfort him. Maybe because before he was adopted, those lights were home to him.
The streets blurred into one as he continued his aimless walk. He ignored the people around him – avoiding doing any human interaction. No talking, no eye contact – nothing. He needed complete freedom. As if the world had reached oblivion, and he was the last one alive.
With his feet dragging and his thoughts being his only company, he finally allowed himself to think about his life, and how these last few weeks of pretending had been harder than ever. He found it selfish – to be thinking and feeling this way when others he loves are going through so much more. He found it disgusting, to be wallowing in his self – pity while Rueben is ignoring mourning the loss of his sister to focus on the stupid fucking trial.
I have no right to be so pathetic.
It was true that the expression: the funny friend is always the saddest out of the friend group. Regardless of status – regardless of what his friends were going through, it was temporary. They would survive, they would push through because that's who they are. But himself? Mason? No. He didn't do that. Without their undying support throughout the years, he would have aimed a revolver to the back of his throat by now. Anyone who's drowning in demons like his would do the same.
All his life, he had been the one people turn to for comfort. He was the person designated to have a shoulder open to cry on. He was always there when they needed someone to lean on. The person to run to when seeking comfort or painfully bad jokes to deter them from the reality of their life.
But what about me?
Where did everyone go when he needed that same comfort? Where did they hide when he was on the edge of a panic attack? When he was on the brink of a depersonalization attack. Where were they when he cried in a ball on the bathroom floor with a rag in his mouth, gagging himself to make sure no one heard? It didn't matter that he was trying to be respectful by silencing himself. He deserved someone to lean on too. Just because he uses humor and 'comedy' to cope – doesn't mean his reason – his need to cope wasn't valid.
No one knew what he went through on a daily basis.
Maybe that's his fault for never telling any of them.
And maybe it wasn't. Maybe they should know him well enough to know something was wrong.
But that didn't matter anymore. That was semantics. Pathetic wishful thinking.
