Amara's POV:
When I finally get home the key is under the matt, just where I asked Mason to put it. I feel guilty for being so off with him before, but I just didn't know how to act around him after everything.
There isn't much else to do besides sleep, I haven't had a proper dinner, and I barely ate any lunch—but I'm too exhausted to even attempt to cook, and equally too exhausted to wait up long enough for a pizza delivery.
I have a sinking feeling in my stomach when I go to bed, one that I hope shifts by the next morning—my last day of work that isn't night shift for a while.
——————
When I wake up, just as I expected—I feel worse. I sit up and notice that I'm shaking, I hadn't had a nightmare—not that I remember, but I feel so anxious that I thought for a minute I might throw up. I don't have a reason to feel this way, it just happens sometimes. Some days are worse than others.
I take my medication and hope that the knotting in my chest will ease by the time I have to leave for work.
I wait and wait for it to ease, but the thought of going to work still makes me feel physically sick. It frustrates me, my anxiety. It's something that's hard to understand; when some days, despite everything being okay—it feels like your chest is being flattened by this weight that you can't shake.
My phone buzzes, it's a text message. Mason.
*You up? This is a reminder to water that cactus.*
I chuckle a little. I pick up the phone and call him—he answers within the first few rings. I don't really know what to say when he picks up.
"I just wanted to..," Hear your voice. "Thank you for reminding me to water the cactus."
"You're welcome. Trying to revoke the plant killer title?" he jokes.
"Yeah, something like that." I chuckle.
I don't want to end the call. I don't particularly have anything else to say, but I just don't want to end the call.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah, I just don't feel well today." I reply. It's easier than the alternative explanation—that nothings wrong, it's just anxiety. Anxiety that didn't exist much at all before losing Carol, Mason, my mom's relapse and the Italy fiasco.
"Take the day off work."
"I can't do that." I sigh.
"Amara, I bet you haven't taken one day off since you started at that place."
I start to object and then pause; he's right, I haven't. Even on my bad days.
"I'll take your silence as a yes."
"I don't take days off, Mason." I say.
"You should. It's how you get better," he tells me. "We'll grab coffee, or those smoothies you like... if you still like them."
I smile that he remembered. "I do."
I'm the biggest advocate for taking time to yourself when your mind needs it—maybe I should take my own advice for once. Plus, the thought of spending time with Mason almost soothes my stresses.
"Okay."
"Okay? Really?" he asks in surprise.
"Yes," I chuckle.
"I feel like we're kids and I'm asking you to skip school." he jokes.
"I want to shower and eat first, come over around noon and pick me up?"
"See you then."
Just as I try to hang up... "Oh, and Amara?"
"Yeah?"
"Water the fucking cactus."
I laugh and roll my eyes as I end the call. Funnily enough, I do need to water the cactus—I completely forgot.
I take my time to get ready, enjoying the day to myself. I feel guilty for calling in sick, because physically—I'm not. But it's about time it's normalised that that isn't the only way you can be unwell. I shower, get dressed, fix my hair and of course—water the cactus. When I called to say I wouldn't be at work today there was no questions asked; probably because I've never done it before.
The text to tell me that Mason is outside finally arrives, and I hold out my hand—only to see that it's still shaking. I sigh, knowing I can't make it stop. I climb into the car and as Mason looks at me, I know that immediately, he can tell somethings wrong. But thankfully, he doesn't mention it.
"Smoothies?" he says.
I nod, sending him a grateful smile.
As we arrive there and make our way inside, the smells are amazing. "I'm surprised it still looks like this, nothings changed." Mason says.
"I know, me too."
He furrows his brow. "You haven't been here either?"
"No," I say. "It just wasn't the same."
He smiles and motions towards the menu, the only thing that seems to be different; it's been expanded. I pick it up and immediately it's noticeable that my hands haven't stopped shaking. I take a deep breath, but Mason places his hand over mine to stop it shaking—allowing us to read.
I decide on a strawberry and banana smoothie, and Mason gets a tropical swirl—whatever that is. I feel so much calmer in Mason's company, but the shaking just won't budge. Mason makes his way back over to the tall table where I stand, handing me my drink which smells amazing. I cock my head as I realise he doesn't have his own.
"They were out of Tropical, they're making me something different."
I pick up my drink and take a sip. My hand feels weak, so I steady it with the other. Mason's drink is called, and as he turns to walk away I feel a wave of anxiety. I scold myself, it's so stupid. He's only walking a few metres away. I frantically try to steady my hand, but instead grasp the top of the paper cup too tightly—making it burst and fall all over the floor.
My brain flashes back to when this exact thing happened with Elijah, and a wave of dread comes over me. Its total déjà vu.
Mason turns back to see me with his drink in hand, and no doubt, can see the panic all over my face. I want to cry. I try to avoid noticing that everyone's eyes are set on me. "Are you okay, honey?" a woman asks.
Mason looks to me, then to the spilled smoothie and in a split second launches his cup against the wall—the smoothie spilling all over the floor. A collective and disgusted gasp escapes everyone inside as he does it and my eyes widen. He fakes a gasp, "Oops," before grabbing my hand and walking to the exit.
"I'll leave a tip, sorry!" I yell to the worker as he rushes me to the door in a fit of laughter.
All attention that was on me immediately transferred to Mason. All of the judgemental looks, the stares. And instead of crying, like I almost did—I start to laugh. He runs out of the door with my hand in is, both of us in a fit of laughter as I look back to see the confused and concerned faces of everyone inside. And just like that, my anxiety lifted.
He opens the car door and we both climb in, before he looks at me and shrugs. "My hand slipped." he says. I start to laugh, and when I look down—my hands aren't shaking anymore.
He moves a piece of hair from my face, tilting my chin up to look him in the eye. "They won't even remember your face. I promise." he says softly.
The moment.
It doesn't make sense, that this was our moment. The moment that everyone said would come—who knew this would be it? I look at him as he smiles at me reassuringly, and in this moment—I love him.
This is when the difference between him and Elijah becomes so clear. Not that it wasn't painfully clear before, how different the two were. But right now, this is the moment where I know that I love him. I love him for the way he is. I love him because he knows me, and how to help me more than I do. I love him because he is impulsive and irrational. I love him because he loves me in a way that I will never understand.
And I love him because he would embarrass himself in a crowded room for me without a second thought.
Mason is impulsive and hot headed, he does things without a second thought for consequence and I'm not entirely sure he even thinks before he acts. Somehow, we are so alike in ways that I can't explain. We are so painfully different: polar opposites like fire and ice, coming from different worlds with different morals and different views on life. He challenges me in ways I didn't know were possible and makes me burn brighter than I ever thought I could, and I see him—I see him for who he truly is, behind who he had to be.
I don't love him despite his flaws, I love him because of them. We are so painfully different, yet in some strange, unknown way, we are exactly alike. Like fire and ice.
And I love Mason. I love him more than I've ever loved anyone or anything in this world. I love him in a way that both rips me apart inside and puts me back together all at once.
And in this moment, I know it for sure.
It was as though a gateway had been opened, and it can't be shut. A gateway allowing every suppressed and unsure emotion to come to light in the form of everything I now know. Everything flooding back, everything that I've been so scared to let myself feel. But now, I'm not scared.
"We'll go through the drive through and then I'll take you home, okay?" he smiles.
I can't respond, my revelation has me speechless. I just look at him and nod.
"Hey," he says, motioning towards the radio. He turns on a station and through it plays an old 70's song that I know he must hate, but I smile—and then he does too.
"I missed hating your music," he jokes.
He brings out a box from behind his seat. "I got you something."
I raise my brow, wondering what he could possibly have gotten me. He opens the box and pulls out a polaroid camera. "It's obvious I don't know you as much anymore, as who you are now..," he begins. "But I know that you are the type of person who wants to capture every moment you love. That's what I gathered from your paintings. So, I got you this—you can carry it with you and save the moments you want to remember."
I look at him with so much love, and wonder how I ever doubted that we would find our way back to each other. "Mason, I love it so much." I tell him, blinking back the tears that form in the corners of my eyes.
"I was planning on keeping it for your birthday, but you seemed like you could use it now."
I smile and place my hand on his. "You are a good man, Mason. You need to know that."
Every part of me wants to kiss him, every inch of me is screaming to pull him into my arms—but just as I go to, he starts to drive and I miss the chance. My mind is reeling.
I love him.