I'm intrigued by mentally healthy people.
I mean, seriously intrigued by their ability to control and understand what they feel. How are they so patient and forgiving? Please, teach me your secrets, guys.
I'm over here with my emotions as mixed up as an assorted fruit salad and Owen's got his shit completely figured out.
"I missed you so much!"
Mason squeezes my frame between his stick arms and lures me into a hug I wasn't expecting. Unlike last week, the bruises on my hips don't bother me as they've nearly healed. My 'hickeys' have disappeared, and so I don't have to keep my hair in place around my neck anymore.
It's relieving to be able to live without the non-consensual wounds on my body, though it's too bad that I still have to suffer through the self-inflicted ones.
"Aww." I stiffly pull away and meet Owen's eye for a brief moment. "I missed you more, bug."
We're stuck in the courthouse visitation room once again, with Jean supervising our every move and Owen observing our interactions as he did last week. Although I will say, this time Owen appears more invested in speaking to us.
"Mason has something to tell you, don't you bud?"
I focus my gaze on Mason's giddy little face while he nods his head with urgent excitement. I watch his mouth turn into an 'O' shape as if he's about to tell me the cure for cancer.
"You're not gonna believe this, Ray! My teacher gave me an award yesterday!"
I raise an eyebrow while a proud grin tugs at the corners of my lips. He looks so proud of himself for earning something that's likely tantamount to a participation ribbon, though I try my best to share in his excitement.
"An award? What kind of award?"
He smiles a boisterous smile.
"A math award."
"Wow," I breathe. Where he got the math skills from will forever be a secret. He sure as hell didn't get them from me.
"I don't know where you got your smarts from, but I'm so proud of you!"
A giggle escapes from his cheeky grin.
"Thanks."
My joyful manner is turning into more of a sad and longing gaze the longer I stare at my little blonde angel. Just looking at him is a painful reminder that I'll never be important to him again. He won't run to me when I pick him up after school and tell me about his math awards. I'll hear about them through this sad excuse of visitation.
My arms reach out in a gesture that's familiar yet foreign, and I pull into my arms. I pull him into the safest place he can be—where he can't see my pain and my broken heart.
When he's protected and back in my arms for a few moments, I'm not empty anymore. I get that feeling you get when you're surrounded by the person you love the most. Nothing matters except for their touch and the way they make everything fall into place so perfectly.
I almost forget that Owen is standing across the room and waiting to get another word in. His eyes lock with mine briefly and Mason pulls away when he hears Owen speak up.
"So."
I haven't decided how to treat Owen yet, and so I barely glance at him.
"Instead of staying here, I was thinking we could go out and do something."
I'm aware that he's technically my elder so I should respect him and all that jazz, but I'm indifferent. He's so nice to me that it truly concerns me. No one has ever been so patient and kind towards me when I give them an unnecessary attitude, yet Owen is.
Although he did take my brother from me, so there's always that reason to hate him.
"Sure."
My voice becomes emotionless—a drastic change from the happiness it had moments ago.
"Can we go to the lighthouse? We haven't eaten lunch yet and I wanna see the ocean!"
Mason's eyes light up as they move between Owen and me.
"If it's okay with your sister, it's okay with me."
Owen and Mason both look to me for a sign of approval, and while eating is the last thing on my mind, Mason just looks too cute to let down.
"Of course it's okay!" I stand up and drag enthusiasm into my voice before I place my arm around Mason's shoulder. "It's kinda far, though."
Everything I say, I direct towards Mason in an effort to reduce my conversing with Owen to the bare minimum. It seems to be working, though it's not making Owen as angry as I wish it would.
"I'll drive, no worries."
I glance over at Jean with an uncomfortable look in my eyes.
"Isn't this supposed to be supervised?"
Part of me is hoping she has to come with us. Maybe her presence will make it less awkward.
"Not really. It's okay, Ramona. I won't tell if you don't."
Mason's ogling, baby-blue eyes are too adorable to disappoint.
"Okay. Let's go to the lighthouse."
Mason jumps up and down with victory at my confirmation.
"Yes! I want pancakes!"
Owen gives Mason a smile from his perch against a bookshelf, and he tilts his head as pure intrigue takes over his face.
"It's lunchtime, kiddo. Pancakes are a breakfast food."
Mason crosses his arms with an unimpressed eyebrow raised.
"Pancakes are an all-day food."
Owen shakes his head, his smile growing wider with each passing second.
Mason leaves my side to go over to Owen without blinking twice. Owen places an arm around a giggly Mason and I watch the small gesture with a clenched jaw and a hardened stare.
I shouldn't let that minuscule motion get to me, but it seems like every time I come to see Mason, he's growing further and further apart from me. It's possible that this 'bond' I thought Mason and I had was a one-sided thing. Maybe I'm the only one who's attached and he doesn't need me as much as I thought he did.
When in the car, I sit uneasily in the backseat with Mason. I have no idea if Owen thinks it's weird that I sit in the back instead of in the passenger seat.
As we were walking out of the courthouse I had been contemplating where I should sit in his car, but I decided on the back seat so that I could talk with Mason. And sitting in the passenger seat would give Owen a gateway to open small talk with me. I don't care much for small talk.
"What else is new with you?"
Mason sits up in his booster seat after pausing for a moment to think.
"Oh! I'm going to my new school on Wednesday!"
My smile begins to turn fake as I glance over at Owen, and he meets my eyes for a split second through the rearview mirror.
"New school?"
"Yeah, he's starting at Deerfield on Wednesday."
"Right."
I'm not even pretending to smile anymore. My face turns stoic and unreadable—just the way I prefer it.
"Are you nervous?"
Mason's anxiety might become a problem, but Owen wouldn't know that, would he? He didn't raise Mason—I did. I'm the only one that knows how his anxiety works.
"Yeah. But Owen says it's okay if I'm scared and I just have to make new friends, right Owen?"
"Yes," he mutters back while appearing deep in thought.
Or maybe he's not deep in thought—maybe his attention is just divided between Mason and the road. It's difficult to discern, but I can tell that I'm not the only person who likes to hide their emotions.
The lighthouse lies on the eastern side of downtown, which is unironically the side closest to the ocean. The downtown area is just one huge peninsula that sticks out into the Atlantic, which explains the tens of bridges in central Portland.
"Alright." Owen pulls up to a parking spot near the entrance of the lighthouse and with a cautious mind, I help Mason out of his booster seat.
The restaurant on the top floor of the lighthouse lets out a marvelous display of the Atlantic; the ocean looks completely vast and open to endless possibilities.
It creates that sense of nature's foolery—where you feel the need to jump in and surround yourself with its great beauty, although if you did so you would likely end up dead. It's the euphoria of standing on the top of a cliff. Feeling weightless, on top of the world, and calmer than ever before. Though, unfortunately, today's circumstances are taking away the calm aspect.
"Can we sit there?" Mason gestures to a table directly against the large lookout window.
Owen flashes him a smile.
"I don't see why not."
My hand releases Mason's from the tight grip I'm holding it in, which lets him run over to the table and jump into a chair. Owen and I follow with slower steps, and I take a seat next to my excited blonde ball of a brother.
The waiter places three menus on the table before leaving us to choose something to eat. Owen and Mason both pick a menu up and begin flipping through it, but I don't pick up the other one—I have no intention of ordering.
"I'm paying, if that's what you're worried about, Ramona."
My eyes meet Owen's for a solid few seconds, and he stares back at me with an eyebrow raised.
"I have money." My voice is desolate with unclear emotions. "I'm just not hungry."
Truth is, I only ate a piece of toast for breakfast. I'm actually somewhat hungry, but I'll feel guilty if Owen pays for me. I don't want to burden him by making him pay for an extra plate of food, and if I just wait until I get home to eat, I'll save Owen ten bucks.
Not that I care if I inconvenience him, because I don't, but I just don't appreciate when people buy me things. I always have an odd sense of guilt and obligation. Like I owe something to them.
My refusal to order gets me a weird glance from Mason.
"How are you not hungry? You haven't eaten today."
I raise an eyebrow, taken aback by his accusation.
"You don't know that."
He nods in a matter-of-factly manner. "Yes I do. You never eat breakfast, remember?"
My smile drops at once. I realize this makes me sound like I starve myself, but that's not at all the case. I just don't ever have an appetite. Lately I've only been eating around one meal a day, and that meal is not breakfast.
I'm hoping Owen is staring at his menu and ignoring Mason's comment, but he's looking right at me and expecting an explanation.
"Well, I ate breakfast today," I state while trying my best to plaster a believable smirk on my face.
This makes Mason challenge me further, and his eyes reduce to mere slits as his stubborn side takes over.
"So what'd you eat?"
I don't even think Mason realizes what he's doing. He's just trying to be nosy, but instead, he's making me sound anorexic.
"I..." I start confident in the fact that I'll be able to produce a breakfast food I can lie about eating, but my composure rapidly falls apart. "...Had a... bagel."
Mason rolls his eyes before shifting back to his menu, but Owen lingers his gaze on me for a moment longer. His eyes become narrowed as if he's trying to figure me out and unlock the key to my thoughts.
I won't allow that to happen and I replace any showing emotions with an impassive glare. According to Luis, it's my signature what-the-fuck-do-you-want scowl.
It works—he swiftly directs his gaze back to the open menu in his hands and pretends he wasn't even looking in the first place.
While they're ordering, I let my mind wander past Mason and towards the ocean behind him. It looks so peaceful and calming, and I have the urge to jump right in and let my worries fade away.
The waiter comes, goes, and takes the menus with her. Owen and Mason start up a conversation about Mason meeting someone. I'm not paying attention and I'm not interested in zoning in, either. I'm perfectly happy in my bubble of sadness, miles away from the pain of reality.
"Right, Ramona?"
I snap out of my little haze and see that Owen's expecting me to answer his question. I can almost see a look of intrigue threatening to take over his face as if he's caught me doing something strange.
"Y—yeah." I blink a few times. My eyes try their best to snap my body out of the trance it was in, but I still have no clue as to what I just agreed with.
Owen furrows his brow and redirects his gaze to Mason, who I realize is talking about meeting his 'grandma'.
I try to smile and take in my brother's presence, but things just get more awkward when the food arrives and I'm the only person at the table with nothing to do but watch them both eat.
Mason isn't talking; he's only stuffing his face with pancakes. Owen poured the syrup for Mason when the food first arrived, but minutes later it's no longer on the plate—it's dripping from the corners of Mason's mouth.
I can't help but laugh as I grab a napkin to wipe his face.
"You got syrup everywhere, bug."
His lips pull together to create a duck-lip formation as I dip the tip of the napkin into my glass of water. I wipe his mouth as he begins to giggle.
"Oh, you think this is funny?" I deadpan with mock seriousness.
The corners of my mouth threaten to curve into a smile at the sound of his adorable laugh, but I hold them back. He smiles under my fake-condemnation and gives me a nod before turning back to his pancakes.
I watch Mason eat the rest of his food, my eyes never wanting to stray from him. I wish I could pull him into my arms and never let go. I wish I could take him back home and tell him everything will be okay. It hurts to realize that I can't do just that, and that he's not my little boy anymore.
"Are you done?" Owen asks once Mason has finished devouring his pancakes.
Mason nods and drops his fork to his syrup-covered plate.
"I'm done."
The waiter comes to collect Owen's money after a moment and we stand up to leave the table. It's a great relief to me, as that little lunch was perhaps one of the most awkward scenarios I've ever gotten myself into for my brother's sake.
"Wait, Owen!" Mason shrieks while staring through the window at the ground below. "Can we go to the park?!"
There's a park at the base of the lighthouse, right next to the rocky beach. Owen puts his arm around Mason and leads him away from the window.
"It's kinda cold, but I suppose we can go for a little while."
"Yes, yes, yes!" Mason chants with victory.
I watch Mason with a close eye while we head back to the first floor of the lighthouse and exit through the glass doors.
Owen's arm is slung around his shoulder, and I can't help but notice that I'm once again intruding on their lives. My presence is unnecessary and burdensome, and these Saturday visitations only take away from their precious father-son time.
"Come with me, Ray!"
Mason sprints towards the playground and yanks on my hand to pull me with him. There are no other kids present, and so it's the perfect opportunity to get quality alone time with him.
Owen stands on the edge of the playground and stays out of earshot of us. I'm thankful for his distance as it gives me time to have an unsupervised conversation with my brother for the first time in weeks.
"How do you like living with Owen?" I ask while he climbs up a ladder to the top of a slide.
"It's fantastic. He's super nice and he makes, like, really good food."
"He's a good cook?"
Mason nods as he pushes himself down the bright red slide.
"U-huh."
"What else?"
Mason hops off of the bottom of the slide and the woodchips crunch under his shoes as he runs and lets out his energy.
"Oh! And I got a bike!"
Part of me wishes that Owen won't win over my brother—that Mason will beg to come home to me by the end of the month. Although by what I'm hearing that doesn't seem very probable.
"I can go fast down the street like a rocket!" He makes a zooming noise and runs in zig-zags towards the monkey bars.
"Ray! Lift me up!"
He's already waiting at the monkey bars, jumping up and down with buckets of energy by the time I reach him.
"Alright, bug." I put my hands on his hips and hoist his small body into the air.
"One, two." He counts when his hands strike each bar. I'm grateful that he doesn't weigh very much, as it's easy to hold him steadily.
"Good job!"
I bring him back to my eye level when he touches the last bar. We high five each other, both sporting the same happy smile. I pull him closer to me and he throws his arms around my neck.
I never want to let him go. I want to hold him here in my arms forever. The thought of letting him go makes my heart shatter—more so than it already has.
Our hug doesn't last long, though. He's soon pulling away to go run around once again. I'm left at the foot of the monkey bars while my brother climbs up the jungle gym, oblivious to my pain and my hurting heart that breaks more and more with each passing second.
I break my gaze on Mason after a moment and look around to locate Owen. Owen's deep stare is switching between Mason and I, and I make sure my sadness is no longer visible.
I don't allow people I don't trust to see that I truly have a heart, deep down inside of me. The second people find out you're not an asshole is the second they take advantage of you. After years of being used and lied to, I understand the importance of hiding vulnerability. Weakness can never be a good thing.
I'm still watching Mason and periodically glancing over at Owen. I gaze over at Owen for what must be the hundredth time when I see him step forward and make his way towards me.
A deep-set scowl ignites in me and my arms come up across my chest while my eyes stare at Mason.
"Can we talk?"
The absolute last thing I want to do is talk to him, but he won't care what I want. He didn't care when he took Mason from me.
"Go ahead."
I've created an uncomfortable tension in the air, almost like my words have sucked the oxygen out of the atmosphere surrounding us.
"Well." He pauses at my bitter tone as if trying to search for the right words. "I guess I just wanted to give you an update on how things are going with Mason."
My gaze travels down to my pair of all-black converse that Rosaline got me for my birthday last year. It only reminds me of the hole in my heart that's grown ever since that week in the hospital. It's unfair that she had to get sick. She was one of the good ones. She was a mother.
"Okay." My attitude lessens to reduce the tension. "How's he doing?"
"Um—well, he's okay. His anxiety is manageable and I feel like we're making progress on his anger issues."
I feel myself cringe at the sound of that.
Anger issues.
I've never considered the fact that my brother might have serious anger issues. He's usually a sweet little kid and while he's quick to fall into rage, he's also quick to fall out of it.
But I don't like the fact that Owen talks about my brother as if he's something that can just be fixed—as if the only things shaping my brother's personality are his emotional disorders.
"There's more to him than just his anger and anxiety."
Owen is quick to correct himself.
"No! I know that. I just—I mean... I just meant he's doing good. Better than before, at least."
"Better than he was with me, is what you're trying to say. Nice to know. We done now?"
I have to resist the urge to spew my vocabulary of colorful language at him. I don't think he realizes what he's just implied, but he's brought out my anger issues, now.
"Ramona, that is not what I meant and you know it."
I turn my heels and grind them against the brittle woodchips of the playground until I'm facing Owen, eye to eye.
"Do I? Because that gave me the impression that you think I don't know how to care for my brother."
I want to say more, because believe me I've got a few evocative names for Owen, but he begins to speak again. Though this time, he speaks so tenderly that I'm forced to shut up so I can hear what he's going to say.
"I meant that he's doing better from when he first came to live with me. I know you can take care of your brother just fine, and I don't doubt that you know how to handle his anxiety. I'm sorry I said it like that."
I blink a few times and ignore his apology that I won't be accepting. My shoes turn back around and I scout for Mason as I try to get Owen away from me.
"Yeah, whatever. Anything else?"
My eyes lock with Mason's just as he's pushing his body down a bright green slide.
"There is more, actually."
By the sound of Owen's voice, I can tell I'm not going to agree with what he's going to say. But I try to watch Mason run around the park, and I try to block Owen's presence by looking anywhere but him.
"I wanted to tell you that I'm taking Mason off of his meds."
I turn my head to meet Owen's eyes once again. The apprehension on his face tells me that he's just waiting for my anger to flare up, and while it's getting there, I'm more in a state of disbelief.
"You're doing what?"
Mason's meds are what keep his anxiety at bay and help with his anxiety attacks. Owen's supposed to be a doctor—he's supposed to know how much medication can help people with mental illnesses.
"Before you jump to conclusions, just listen—"
"You better have a damn good explanation for this."
My eyes narrow into slits and I can't help but shake my head at his idiocy.
"The medication that Mason is on is extremely harmful to children. It's an intense prescription and I don't even know why the hell his doctor would've prescribed it. Children that use this medication can grow up to have serious cognitive issues, Ramona."
My eyebrows gradually furrow in surprise. I realize that Owen knows better on this particular issue, but I nevertheless have no clue how to respond. If this medication is harmful to Mason, I don't know how I'm going to live with the fact that I've been allowing him to take it for so long.
But at the same time, poor Mason is going to have a much harder time managing his anxiety and not to mention, he'll have to deal with possible withdrawal symptoms.
"But you can't just take him off his medication—"
"I know." He cuts me off. "I'll wean him off of them. And he's going to see a therapist this week, so that'll help him too. If needed, we can find another medication for him. One that's safer for younger children."
I hate that he has a solution for everything. He can't ever seem to make a mistake.
My cheeks heat up a bit. I'm embarrassed that I let Mason take those pills. I had no idea they were unhealthy for him—I honestly believed they were helping him.
Owen seems to read my mind.
"I don't blame you. You didn't know they were bad for him."
I fold my arms across my chest, presenting my usual fuck-you glower. No way will I let Owen assume I'm okay with any of this. The adoption, the visitation schedule, the school, the meds, and anything else he can think of to screw with Mason's life. I'm not okay with any of it, but it's not like it matters. My voice has never mattered.
"Is that all?"
I allow myself to glare at him one more time just to show him the cold, steady, fire in my eyes remains.
He pauses and his mouth becomes agape for a moment. He has more to say.
"I want to invite you over for dinner with Mason and I."
I raise an eyebrow and shoot him a questioning glance. The last time dinner invitations were a thing, it was the 1950s.
"What?"
"I want you to feel welcome in my home whenever, so I want to know if you'll come over for dinner sometime this week."
I have no desire to go to Owen's house but I do want to see my brother, and I might just have to go to this ridiculous dinner to get more time with Mason.
I bring my eyes back to Mason to see that he's playing with another little boy who has just arrived at the playground. The temperature is starting to get to me. Chilly air is creeping up through my sleeves and making me shiver ever so slightly.
"You don't have to do that."
I keep my eyes set on Mason and shove my stiff hands into my coat pockets.
"I want to." His voice becomes hard and determined; determined to make my pissy attitude go away by sounding like he cares about me. I'm not stupid enough to believe he actually does, as it's all an act for Mason.
"If you insist."
I've got my drug prevention sermon on Wednesday night, jazz practice on Monday and Thursday, and dance practice every day of the week. But Nadia should be okay with me missing practice for one day. She's usually understanding when it comes to stuff with Mason.
"Tuesday work for you?"
I turn my head towards him and prepare to close this unbearable conversation.
"Tuesday is fine. You still have the paper I gave you with my address?"
He looks completely unaffected by my ill-mannered behavior, and he continues to speak to me with hospitality and kindness. It would be much easier to despise him if he could just be crass and offensive. I would be justified in my actions if he were an asshole.
But as for what I did with that stupid paper, it takes me a moment to remember that I shoved it in my desk drawer as soon as he left that day with Mason.
"Yeah."
He nods. "Six o'clock okay?"
I don't care enough to even look at him anymore.
"Uh-huh."
Mason runs over to us as more kids arrive at the playground.
"I'm tired, can we go home?" he pants while breathless from running around the playground.
I have a hunch that Mason wants to stay but he's nervous about all the people arriving—he's never liked being around an abundance of new people at once. Owen seems to be aware of it too, though he just takes Mason's hand in his.
"Yeah, let's go home."
I have no way to get home. I hadn't even thought about getting a ride home.
As much as I don't want to cut my time with Mason short, there's no way I'm going to spend more awkward time around Owen than I have to by letting him give me a ride home.
"I'm gonna go now."
My words stop Mason and Owen in their tracks and they both turn to face me. The second Mason meets my eyes, he drops Owen's hand and runs into my arms.
"You're leaving?"
I nod and reach to plant a kiss on his forehead.
"But I'll see you on Tuesday! That's only three days from now!"
His face lights up and his frown disappears in an instant.
"Yes! Owen said he didn't know if you'd want to come, but you do!"
I brush a strand of dirty blond hair off of his face and force excitement back into my voice.
"Of course I want to come! I wanna see you, bug."
"Do you have a way of getting home?" Owen asks as Mason runs back over to him.
"Yeah."
I'm not sure that my lie convinces Owen, though he doesn't press the matter while we walk towards his truck. Through distant eyes, I watch Mason climb inside Owen's truck and buckle his seatbelt. It's just like the day Owen picked him up from Marta's.
No hug, no wave, and no goodbye.
"One more thing, Ramona," Owen says to me as he closes the back door of his truck.
I raise a tired eyebrow and let him know I'm listening without having to say a word.
"Mason asks for you—a lot. He misses you, even if it doesn't seem like it."
My throat tightens, but I clench my jaw to keep from showing that his words mean something to me. Knowing that Mason still thinks of me and that he still needs me is one of the few comforting thoughts that I've had lately.
I trace my gaze up to Owen, who's eyes never stray away from mine. He holds a steady emotion of hope and understanding in his green eyes, and it makes me somewhat ashamed of my attitude and for being so shitty towards him. I talk to him as if he were the dirt beneath my feet when he only tries to make things right.
But he can't, and I won't stop acting this way until my brother is back in my arms.
"Nice to know," I deadpan in a bitter and unmoved way.
I think my relentless resentment finally gets to him, because I see him blink a few times as if he can't understand how I can be so unemotional over quite literally everything.
If he truly believes there's a soft, sweet girl underneath the facade I put up, he's sadly mistaken. My heart is dead and my brain is clouded with so much pain that happiness and kindness are hard for me to come by.
I quickly tire of seeing the confusion on Owen's face. I pick up my feet and shove past him before rushing far, far away from him and his truck. There's no ride coming for me, and as I watch his truck drive away, I'm left in the middle of the parking lot with nowhere to go to escape the bitter chill of the February air.
I pull up the bus schedule on my phone to see that the next bus comes in half an hour. There's a coffee shop down the street that I sit in to warm myself up before I have to wait at the bus stop.
It's a warm cafe emitting the scents of vanilla and coffee into the air and carrying the sounds of chatty customers directly to my ears. I don't order anything when I've found a cozy seat in the back, instead I put my headphones in and wait for the next twenty minutes to pass.
It's a perfect moment to relax and let myself process everything that just happened between Owen, Mason and I.
I'm conflicted about dinner. There's a part of me that's nervous about it because I have to go to Owen's house. Though what strikes me as odd is what Owen said when he first invited me:
I want you to feel welcome in my home whenever.
It's obvious to me that he's only trying to be cordial, but he still makes me into this huge burden. If I wasn't here, they wouldn't have to worry about these stupid visitations and 'making me feel welcome'.
If Mason didn't need me to soothe his anxiety, I probably would've ditched him by now. It would've made this transition easier for him—he wouldn't have me around to remind him of his miserable childhood. I hate that I'm this burden to him; that I'm the obstacle standing in the way of his new, brighter life.
There are times like this when I know for a fact I don't want to be alive anymore. When I start to overthink everything and find every little reason to hate myself. I realize I can't keep going on like this.
I can't keep slitting my wrists and hoping everything will fix itself. I need to do something else. Something bigger. It might not be as drastic as suicide, but it will most definitely destroy me.
Because what else is there to do when you've got a whole lot of self-hatred and nothing left to live for?
If I'm going down a dark road, I might as well have fun doing it.
~
A/N
Shits getting real yo
Teaser: The next chapter is HUGE. Get ready for the turning point in Ramona's story. Y'all aren't ready for this.
Be sure to vote if you want ;)
- N.M.