One broken heart. Two old flames. An unexpected reunion.
Diana Hamilton has spent the last six years trying to leave the girl she was in high school behind. Along with any residual feelings she had for Mason Hayworth, the golden boy who shattered he...
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After the events on Tuesday night, Mason doesn't talk to me for three days.
I wish I could say I was surprised about it, but I'm not. I had expected silence from him. He's always been a good one for sulking when things don't go his way. I remember times from our previous relationship when he refused to speak to me over something I had done wrong.
Usually, I would be the first one to give in, pleading for his forgiveness. Although, this time, I haven't chased after him with texts and phone calls. For once, I don't feel like I owe him an apology at all. I won't be the one to back down in this.
It's a small thing, but it feels like a huge leap for me. I'm finally done with blaming myself for every little mistake that we make.
I have spent my time going to work and coming home, doing everything I can to keep busy, so I don't think too much about him. Reminiscing about his actions in the car on Tuesday just makes me angry, and I don't want to dwell on it. The fact that he's not talking to me annoys me even more, it's immature. He's acting like a petulant child who didn't get the toy they wanted.
Shouldn't we be passed this? I understand, as teenagers how a minor disagreement could feel like the end of the world. But, we're adults now; we should be able to discuss our problems in a calm and civil manner. Communication is so important in any relationship.
Mason eventually phones me on Saturday morning. I almost consider leaving it to ring, not answering or speaking to him ever again. But then I realize that would make me the childish one, stooping down to his level. So, with a heavy sigh, I pick up the call, bracing myself for the fallout.
"Mason."
"Di," he answers shortly. His tone is curt and I know immediately that he is still angry about what happened in his car on Tuesday night.
It feels like we are engaged in a game of tug of war. Neither side willing to give in, the rope pulled so taut that it's going to break. He wants me to be someone who obeys his every command, I want him to love me for who I am. Neither of us is going to win.
At what point do we throw in the towel?
"Yes?" I am not going to make this easy for him.
"It's been a while."
Whose fault is that?
"I guess so." It's harder than I thought to keep my voice measured and calm.
Silence settles over the phone line like a blanket and I glance down at my nails. They need to be filed; the edges are jagged from where I have picked them. It's a nervous habit that I wish I would stop.
"Why haven't you called me?" he asks, the accusation seeps through his every word.
"Why haven't you?" I counter.
"I'm not the one who needed to apologise."
"Well," no matter how hard I try, frost creeps into my voice. "Neither am I."
