Mask | ✓

40

I waited until the door opened and Raiden came into view. His eyes widened slightly upon seeing me before briefly glancing behind him.

"Hi, Alpha Tatum," he greeted though it sounded slightly forced. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi, Raiden. I came to see Cloud," I told him.

Something flashed through his eyes. He knew what I was here for, but I doubted he wanted me here. For a second, it looked as if he would tell me no, but before he could do so, Cloud came darting from behind.

His eyes met mine, but he didn't say anything. Instead, I watched as they fogged over, letting me know that he and Raiden were talking through their link. A few awkward minutes passed before Raiden reluctantly excused himself, leaving Cloud and me.

"Hi, Tatum," Cloud greeted.

"Hi, Cloud," I said, and the silence returned. Neither of us said anything, and after a few minutes, I released a sigh and ran my hand through my dark hair. "Can we talk? I don't like whatever this is."

He knew immediately what I was talking about, the awkwardness. I didn't like it at all.

Cloud's eyes lit up slightly, and he nodded. "Yeah, let's talk."

He stepped to the side, allowing me into the house, and I entered. My eyes glanced around and saw that Raiden had disappeared, leaving the two of us alone. I walked over and sat on the couch, and Cloud followed.

"I'm sorry," he immediately said, surprising me.

"Cloud—"

"No," he interrupted. "I'm sorry. I tried to help but I just—I...I feel like I fucked up more than anything."

A frown broke out on my face, and I sighed. "Cloud, I don't blame you for anything. I don't blame you for leaving, and I know that, in your own way, you were trying to help me. I just...I needed space."

He glanced over at me with furrowed brows. "Space?"

"Yes and no," I responded because the answer wasn't as straightforward as I previously believed. "On one side of the spectrum, I had people constantly calling me, randomly showing up, and telling me I needed to do certain things to improve. Then on the other, I felt incredibly isolated. Everyone around me was leaving. The calls, random visits—they felt smothering. They were doing more harm than good. Talking through a screen is different than actually seeing someone, and when the only time you see someone in person is when they're constantly reminding you of something painful, well, you tend to pull away." I paused to make sure he was following along.

Cloud's brows furrowed, but he remained quiet, so I continued. "However, pulling away and isolating myself wasn't helpful either. Because just like those people who kept reminding me, so did my thoughts. I couldn't escape the pain and memories from that day. There was nothing to take my mind off it or to make me understand, so I fell deeper. I fell into a never-ending cycle of self-pity and loneliness. My workaround was to try and focus on the pack work, but that didn't help either. If anything, it made everything worse. It filled me with stress, regret, and shame. It made me feel like with every move I made, the pack came closer to falling down, and I wouldn't be able to pick it back up."

I knew my friends meant good when they tried to help me. I knew they wanted to help me get back up on my feet, but the lesson I'd been learning was that you couldn't just ignore something until it went away. Pain didn't work like that—healing didn't work like that. You couldn't just put a mask on and ignore the fact that underneath it, you were falling apart. Soon, those feelings you were holding back would burst, and that mask you were would crack and crack until it shattered into pieces, leaving the real you for all the world to see—the broken one who was drowning in pain and didn't know how to get back up.

Pain didn't discriminate. We all experienced it, and ignoring it wasn't an option. We had to feel it, to go through the motions in order to get better.

"I think I focused so much on trying to help you move on that I forgot that there were steps that came before. A person doesn't just go through a traumatic situation and then get right back up and brush it off, but I was so determined not to see you in pain that I tried to shortcut the healing process. For that, I'm sorry, Tatum."

The apology brought a smile to my face, and I stood up from my seat and approached him. Cloud stood as well, and I pulled him into an embrace. He seemed surprised by the sudden action but quickly returned it. I wasn't sure how long we stood there, but it didn't matter. After the last few months, the hug was more than welcome.

"Tatum, let me ask you something," Cloud said once we finally pulled away. "How are you doing right now? Do you see yourself as 'all better?'"

The question surprised me. "Do I see myself as all better?" I repeated and shook my head. "No, but.." my pack flashed through my mind, and so did my family, friends, and a particular pair of dark brown eyes. "But I want to be. I want to work toward getting there and being able to admit that? That right there is progress."

Cloud smiled warmly at me, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. For once, it didn't feel like I was frozen or trapped in a never-ending cycle of pain. For once, it felt like I was moving forward—moving toward getting better.

And that feeling? It filled me with an overwhelming amount of emotions: happiness, excitement, joy, but the one that stood out the most?

It filled me with an overwhelming sense of pride.