Song: Delicate — Taylor Swift
A/N: ISN'T IT?
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*
"Oh, shit," Mason muttered.
Almost instantly, he was at my side. I leaned further into his firm hold as he helped me up, sitting me on a chair.
The taste of bile at the back of my throat was repulsive, and I gagged again.
In a flash, Mason pulled out a bucket in front of me and brought a water bottle to my lips. I took greedy mouthfuls of it, before spitting it out into the bucket, along with that horrid taste.
Quiet as death, he kneeled in front of me, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at my face softly.
I blinked into his dark brown eyes.
Fear.
I saw it, and he didn't bother hiding it this time. My blood chilled.
"You okay?" he asked with lethal calm.
I nodded.
He exploded.
"Fucking hell, Ever!" he yelled. "Why didn't you tell me that you couldn't do it?"
"I-I...don't know," I faltered, "I thought I could."
"You haven't run much, recently, have you?"
I shook my head no. I was too busy, and more so, too lazy to voluntarily go running. Or do any form of exercise, for that matter. I knew it would catch up with me sooner or later.
"I'm fine," I said, my breathing slowly returning to normal.
"That's enough for today," he said, his features hard. "I'm taking you home."
"But—"
He gave me a look that made me shut my mouth. Then, he found a rag lying over one of the toolboxes at the side, crouched down on his haunches, and began cleaning up my mess.
I cringed.
Standing slowly, I said, "Mason—don't. I'll clean it."
He turned and raised a brow. "Sit," he growled, "and don't move around too much."
I blinked, sitting back down. It hurt and mortified me to watch him have to clean up my mess. Again, I thought as I remembered the car accident. It wasn't fair to him.
"Did you even eat anything?" he asked. "You only vomited out acid and water."
I flinched slightly at the casual way he inspected my literal vomit. He was so...clinical about it.
"Of course I ate," I lied. I was starving.
Mason narrowed his eyes with disbelief. "Ate what?"
I didn't meet his eye. "An apple."
He whistled through his teeth. "An apple? That's it?"
"I didn't wanna be late, okay?" I mumbled.
He clenched his jaw, opening up his phone. He typed something in it, tucked it back into his back pocket, and returned his gaze to me.
Within minutes, Logan burst into the garage, his hands filled to the brim with bottles of some energy drink.
One look at me and he delved into a fit.
"Oh Lord Jesus," he barked, "what the fuck did you do to the girl, Mason? I told you not to do anything stupid, pinche culero!"
Something about the way he'd said it reminded me of the way my mother would chastise my brother when he messed up — albeit the colorful language, of course. It set a small smile on my lips.
"Shut up," Mason hissed, taking a bottle from Logan's crowded hands. "Did you raid the entire fucking store?"
"You didn't tell me how many to get, you fucking asshole," Logan breathed, "appreciate me for once."
Despite myself, I chuckled. Both of them shifted their gaze to me.
"You," Mason said, his eyes narrowing on me, "quit giggling and take small sips of this."
He handed me the bottle, and I took it, doing just as he'd said. It hydrated me and made me feel instantly better.
I stared at Mason, who stared back, a little down, then at Logan. Then, as if realising something, he turned.
Ah, yes. My shirt.
"Put this on," Mason said, chucking the shirt my way.
I caught it, and shoved my arms through.
Logan turned an accusing glare towards his friend.
"¿Qué pedo, wey?" he muttered. "Ya la has cagado de nuevo."
He pulled Mason off to the other corner of the garage while I sipped on the fruity drink, and I watched as they both engaged in a largely animated discussion. Mason huffed at the end, returning with angry eyes.
"Get well soon, princess!" Logan yelled, leaving the garage once again.
Mason stared daggers at the doorframe where Logan had just left.
"What did he tell you?" I asked.
"Nothing important," Mason said. "We're going. Now. Give me your keys."
I dug into my backpack, finding my keys and chucking them to him. He helped me up then, a strong arm on my lower back.
"You tell me the next time when you reach your burning out point," he said, hot breath fanning my skin, "or this will never work. You hear me?"
I nodded slowly.
"Ever," he said.
I turned to face him. His eyes stared back at me, unmoving.
"I would never force you to do anything without your consent," he said quietly. "Anything."
We drove back in silence, neither of us uttering a single word.
*
"Do you want Thai noodles or a burrito?" Mason asked me.
I had immediately taken a shower when we returned, sick of the smell of vomit and sweat I reeked of.
I was currently sitting on his incredibly white couch. Cartoon Network was on, and the pain had begun to sink into my skin. A deep feeling of deja vu swept over my mind.
"I'm fine, really," I replied.
Mason quirked a brow. "Stop trying to be polite, blondie, and choose one. It'll only take me ten minutes max to make."
I blinked, my stomach still feeling empty. "Burrito," I said, "I'm —"
"Vegetarian," he finished for me, "I know."
He remembered.
Some part of me stirred at the fact, and my view of the Teen Titans blurred.
The aroma of spice soon filled the air, and my stomach growled in reaction. I was 100% sure Mason had heard, but he said nothing.
Before I knew it, he was in front of me with a plate in his left hand. He crouched down to meet my line of sight, handing me the plate.
"Thank you," I said, taking the plate.
"You do say that a lot," he mumbled, more to himself than anything. He ruffled my hair, sitting next to me. "Eat up."
I smiled softly, picking up the burrito with both hands and taking a big bite. Guacamole, cilantro, lettuce, and some sort of spicy bean. It was delicious. I ravaged it all within a few minutes.
"That was nice," I mumbled quietly.
Then, I burped.
It seemed like I was hell bent on embarrassing the living daylights out of myself.
But I had no time to show it, because...
Mason smiled.
A fully-fledged smile, none of that half-assed stuff, showcasing his striking white canines.
...And dimples.
He had a pair of endearing indentations, left and right, and he looked downright adorable with them.
How had I not noticed earlier?
I gasped out loud, and his smile was quickly replaced by panic.
"What?" he said, eyes wide. "What is it?"
"You smiled!" I yelled, a wide smile of my own spreading on my face. "Even if it was just for a second. Not a frown, or a grimace, or stupid damn smirk. You smiled."
"Oh," he said, uncertainty clouding his features, "yeah... I guess I did?"
He confused me. One minute he was this, the next he had that hardened exterior back on, fighting away anyone that got too close.
I poked his cheek, where a dimple had appeared just moments ago.
Mason flinched ever so slightly at the touch, then shifted his eyes my way.
My first instinct was to pull away.
I didn't.
My hand stayed where it was, not wavering for a second.
I traced a daring thumb across the bronzed arch of his cheekbone. He was beautifully sculpted, but somehow his eyes held a sadness I couldn't comprehend.
I remembered the look in his eyes just after my little...incident.
We were breathing each other's air and it was completely silent save for the rise and fall of our chests and it was a bad idea to ask, but I asked anyway.
"What are you so afraid of, Mason Valdez?" I whispered.
For a moment, he let me see it. The fear, the pain, the guilt. All trapped in those stunning gold-flecked eyes.
"If anything happened to you..." he paused, "it would kill me, do you understand?"
I didn't know whether it was because he cared, or whether it was the guilt speaking. I chose the latter. He had avoided the question, either way.
"Take care of yourself, blondie," he said. "Be selfish."
I wondered how he knew. How he knew that I cared about others more than I cared about myself. "People pleaser," that's what they'd call someone like me. So willing to put the needs of someone else before my own. So willing to prove something to the world.
I didn't even know why I cared so much about what people thought of me. I just did. And it would take time for me to shed that skin.
So I just said, "Okay."
"You're a terrible liar," he murmured, getting up.
Then he flashed his eyes my way, "Did you find that thing you were looking for?"
It took time for me to register what he was talking about. Right. That thing—whatever it was, that I was looking for. It was here. But I couldn't remember.
It frustrated me. Knowing something existed, knowing you wanted it, but not knowing what it was. I wasn't even making sense to myself anymore.
So I just said, "No."
He shrugged. "I haven't given up that offer, you know. I'll still help you find it."
I nodded with a small smile. He made to move away from me.
"Mason," I circled my hand around his wrist. He stopped, turning. "You didn't answer my question."
He stared down at me, angling his head. His look was predatory, but I did not recoil; did not yield. I lifted my chin to meet his stare as he crouched down.
"And what if I don't?" A flash of that feral grin.
The air between us was thin.
"I'll just have to come to my own conclusions," I replied.
There was a greater pause, and the tension between us was palpable. Almost tangible. His dark eyes scoured my face, and I inconspicuously sucked in a breath.
"Fine. You want to know?" he began, his voice harsh. "Here it is: I don't get close to people and don't allow people to get close to me. It's better that way."
Is that what he was afraid of? Letting people close? I chewed at the inside of my cheek, looking away. There it was, that almost impermeable wall he had built around himself.
"But then you came along and destroyed everything," he said. "What are you doing to me, blondie?"
I didn't reply.
"Why am I so fascinated by you?" he breathed, his voice reducing to a faint whisper.
His hand skimmed the side of my face, tucking away the strands of hair that had fallen away from my ponytail. His touch was searing hot, and wreaked pure havoc inside my stomach to look at him up close.
A fallen angel.
That was the picture that immediately came to mind.
A devilish form of perfection, the honey-gold bits of his brown eyes more resplendent than ever. Eyes that bore right through my soul, and assessed my strengths and my weaknesses in seconds.
I placed my hand on his chest, feeling that sculpted muscle beneath radiate warmth. He tensed under my touch, placing a hand over my own. The skin felt rough, but nothing compared to the feel of his scarred one.
Slowly, gently, as though I would break if he'd do it any harder, he stroked the back of my palm with the calloused pad of his thumb. Small, concentric circles that soothed me.
His dark, ruffled curls slid over his forehead like silk, framing his thick brows.
I stared at him, with no care of the consequence. I was past it. He blinked, mouth parting ever so slightly.
Heaven and hell brought together in one face, staring back at me with a ravenous hunger.
Run run run
My instinct screamed at me. Begged me. Pleaded.
I didn't move. Didn't heed it. Not one bit. I held his gaze for what felt like an eternity.
He was dangerous. Wicked and marvellous and intriguing all at once. And he was bottling up secrets. It was wrong, everything about this, it was incredibly wrong.
But I still wanted more.
Mason leaned toward me. I could only see his lips, soft and sensual. And God damn me for it, I leaned back to grant him absolute access.
He grazed his nose against my throat, and I melted against him, my body dissolving into a deep delirium.
It was only when he replaced his nose with his silken lips, a soft moan escaped my own lips, that I snapped back to reality.
I turned away from him, my breaths shallow. That sound...that sound had come from me.
Everything came crashing down on me like a pile of stones. I had never felt those feelings before. Never. It had creeped into my veins without me realising and suddenly, I found myself wanting more.
It wasn't right.
But it felt right didn't it?
That small voice inside my mind whispered. I silenced it abruptly.
"I need to leave," I said quickly. "College starts tomorrow."
Mason turned away, dazed. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sure."
I stood, the space between us painful.
The more time I spent with Mason, the more of him I saw. Really saw. The real, raw parts of him, not just the parts that hissed and snarled.
My mind was struggling with its risk analysis, but it was very, very close to coming to the conclusion that Mason Valdez was not bad. He was far from it.
"Bye, Mason," I said.
He said nothing.
But when I closed the door behind me, I could have sworn I heard a shallow whisper—
"Bye, blondie."