Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
𝗜saac knocked lightly on Mason's door; it had been a few hours since he returned home from Kai's house, but he couldn't walk up to him immediately. Mostly because he felt ashamed for how they last left things, and for how he treated him throughout these last two months.
He had been right to call him out; their friendship deteriorated because he allowed a few minuscule, rude comments to slip under his skin. He let their relationship spin down the drain because he was less of a man and more of a wimp—he couldn't handle being called out vigorously or being talked down upon, and so he walked away and never looked back.
It made him wonder if things would still be the same if he hadn't done that.
When no response came, he twisted the knob and entered anyway, praying that he wasn't about to be flashed by an indecent posture. He knew that he was home, however, and so he would use that as fuel for breaking into his personal space. Even if it was much too late to play the savior, he wanted to make it known that he'd be there for him.
"Mason?" he questioned, popping further in.
"Yea, I'm here," he mumbled.
Isaac stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him, making curious eyes as he glanced at his friend's back. Mason didn't feel the need to turn around or step from the spot in front of the closet he was in currently as he walked over to his bed and plopped down.
Without wanting it to, the first thought that crossed his mind was how awkward things were between them. The air was stale and thick, and the conversation that he wanted to initiate seemed lost in the wind. He hated that this was what they came to, and he hated even more that he was the direct cause of it. Whether or not his attitude switch was necessary, it wasn't fair for him to abandon him. Clearly, it was his way of reaching out, and all he did was ignore it.
"How are you?" he asked.
"Fine."
"Are you feeling better after talking to him?"
"What does it matter to you?" he shot back.
Isaac sighed; he knew this was bound to pop back out. In all honesty, what he was asking wasn't a stretch, and he knew from this point on, he'd have to prove his care. All the words in the world can't make up for the actions he'd been performing.
"It matters, Mason," he started, "I know I haven't been there for you recently, and I know that's totally my fault, but I'm here now, and I want to listen. You can keep this conversation going by yelling at me, talking down on me, hell—you could even spit on me and I won't leave. You're my best friend, and I'm sorry I've been a shitty one to you."
The room went quiet for a while after that.
Mason still kept his back to him, facing the closet; all he could see from his spot was the muscles in veins in one of his forearms moving about as those body parts shifted in the same repetitive structure. It was like there was something in his hands that he was turning around, he just didn't know what.
