The Chord to my Heart

15: Calling The Shots

            And as Mase stood behind me, his arms parallel with mine, his hands enclosed over my own, I felt safe. I pressed my back against his chest slightly, feeling his presence in every move I made. His hand guided mine, placing one finger over the trigger and we pulled it together, the loud shot echoing off the concrete walls. The adrenaline raced through my veins, pumping my heart faster and making my breaths shorter. The feeling felt similar to flying down the interstate on Mase’s bike. It was exhilarating. And I loved it. 

            After shooting a few more times, he slipped the gun from my hands and put it back on the counter. He turned towards me then, taking off the headphones and setting them around his neck. 

            “Feels pretty good, right?” he asked, a knowing smile playing along his lips. 

            “It’s amazing. I mean, I have no aim but it felt empowering. I felt in control,” I said, taking off my own set of headphones and safety glasses. I’d lost control of things a long time ago. But this gave me some of that control back. My heart felt lighter, even if it was just by an ounce. Like I’d pressed some of my pain into that tiny bullet and shot it out of my reach. 

            “The aim will come with practice. I can bring you again some other time. Maybe then you can shoot on your own,” he said, his hands finding their way into the depths of his pockets. 

            “I’d like that. Thanks, Mase,” I said, loving the feeling of ease that came with being around him. 

            He smiled for a moment, before his eyes fixated on something behind me. His eyes grew a bit wider and I turned to see that he was looking at a clock. It was half past two. Oh, shit, was all I could think before I felt his hand clamp around my hand, pulling me from the room. 

            “We were supposed to be home from school ten minutes ago. Your dad and Ruth won’t be too happy if they know we ditched,” he said, as we rushed towards the man sitting behind the front counter. We returned the safety glasses and headphones before jogging to his bike, our hands intertwined. 

            It took another ten minutes to get home. And as we walked through the front door, we hoped to escape to our rooms until dinner time unnoticed. But just as we were making our way up the stairs, someone cleared their throat behind us. 

            I turned to see my father standing at the foot of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest. Ruth stood beside him, biting her lip, trying to hide a smile.

            “Why are the two of you so late?” he asked, his eyebrow rose in question.

            I opened my mouth to speak, but the words were getting stuck to the sides of my throat. Mase answered instead.

            “I had to talk to a teacher about an exam coming up. It was my fault, not hers,” Mase said easily, shrugging.

            “What subject?” my father asked.

            “Math,” Mase said, casually. Ruth gave up trying to hide her smile now as she watched us, wearing an amused expression.

            “Sure thing. I’ll just give the school a call. You know, make sure you two are keeping up in your classes,” my father said.

            Mase didn’t have anything to say to this. I let out a breath, keeping my eyes locked on the tiled floor. Even if we were going to get in trouble, I knew it was worth the day I just experienced with Mase.