Sometimes Never (17 page)

             
I can’t hide forever. But I’m not ready to deal with either one of them yet.

             
So I skip Art, too.

             
By the time I get home, I’m in a hellish mood. Guy bringing the Patel brothers to the house doesn’t help.

             
“We need to talk,” Mason says as I retreat upon his arrival.

             
I keep walking and when he lifts his hand like he’s going to grab my arm, I flinch away from him so quickly I bang my elbow on the wall. There is nothing humorous about hitting your funny bone. “Damn it,” I hiss, clutching my pounding arm.

             
“Jesus, Hope.” His eyes are wide, his cheeks pink. “I’m not going to
hurt
you.”

             
I shudder at his words and I don’t know if it’s because I don’t believe him or because he says it so softly, so sincerely, I want to believe him.

             
So I say the only thing that I am sure of. “You already have.” His eyes flash and something passes over his face that makes my heart skip a beat. But he lets me go without another word.

~***~

              The whole week has been the same. I get to Biology before Mason. He relentlessly sets candy on my table each day. He’s annoyingly persistent. He doesn’t say a word, just places it gently in front of me and takes his seat. I stopped slapping it to the floor yesterday—after I got sick of feeling bad for being so mean. But I’m not ready to be nice yet, either, so I still ignore his apology in the form of sweet snacks. Even when I really don’t want to. Skipping lunch is getting to me. Every day, I sit in the library, my stomach growling, wishing I would have accepted whatever candy he brought me that day.

             
Today is especially difficult because I was running late this morning and skipped breakfast. That Snickers bar is just sitting there, staring at me, and taunting me with its chocolaty goodness.

             
If I pick it up and eat it, then he’ll take that as forgiveness. He’ll smile smugly and start talking to me.

             
I do not miss his smile. I do not miss his voice or the way it sounds when he’s speaking just to me, all soft and low. And I definitely do not have a crazy attraction to him.

I find myself reliving the night of the party. The hours before everything went to shit. The times he kisse
d me. What’s messed up is when I think about the way he grabbed a hold of my leg, I have a mini meltdown, but the second my mind flips back to that first kiss, I am not at all repulsed. I find myself wanting to do it again. Thinking I should just explain why I freaked out and exonerate him.

             
I have
got
to remember to pack a lunch tomorrow. My hunger is obviously getting to me.

Carly Reeves leans into Mason’s arm, pretending she doesn’t understand the assignment. I stifle an eye roll. She’s a straight A student.
I hate when girls dumb themselves down for a guy.

             
If I’m being honest with myself, I guess I kind of hate her because Mason didn’t tear her heart apart. He’s looking at her with those stupid green eyes that I do not miss, trying to explain it in a way he thinks she’ll comprehend. His dimple peeks at me three times before I look away.

             
My foot bounces as I glare at the clock. I swear the second hand just moved backward.

             
Carly giggles at something Mason says and I cringe. I hate when girls giggle like toddlers. I need out of here before I laugh at her and draw attention to the fact that I’ve been taking in their whole interaction.

             
The moment the bell rings, I’m out of my seat and out the door.

             
Art is worse than Biology because I have to sit right beside him. I have to sit here, smelling Mason’s scent that’s all clean boy and laundry detergent. I have to feel the warmth coming off his body that is much closer than it needs to be. I have to hear every single time he asks a question, or clears his throat, or breathes.

             
I feel him steal glances, but I keep my eyes to my side of the table.

             
He doesn’t bring me candy in this class, but today he pulls a sandwich from his backpack and holds it out to me.

             
“Peanut butter and chocolate frosting,” he says quietly. He smiles and I do not melt a little. “I thought you might be hungry since you keep skipping lunch.” When I just look at him, he sighs and sets it in front of me. “I’ll sit somewhere else from now on. You don’t need to skip lunch to avoid me.”

             
I don’t pick up the sandwich, but I do stare at it until it blurs out and I’m not really seeing anything. Damn him for being so sweet and making me feel like shit for being upset with him.

             
I feel myself getting angry. Bitchiness is always my go-to place when I’m confused about the emotions whirling inside. I shouldn’t feel guilty over this. He should. He’s the one that pulled my shorts up. He grabbed me when the last thing I wanted was to be touched. He made me feel twelve years old again. He made me feel things I never want to feel again.

             
I pick up the sandwich and his eyes absorb my movement with bright anticipation. “I didn’t ask you to make me a sandwich and I didn’t ask you to sit somewhere else at lunch.” I drop it on top of the still-life he’s working on. “Just like I didn’t ask you to man handle me in my bedroom.”

             
He clenches his jaw like he’s pissed off, but he’s staring at me like I kicked his puppy. “I don’t know how to make you believe I’m sorry. I fucked up. I made a huge mistake. Again. I know that, but I also know there is way more to what happened than you’re telling. I was freaked out and I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I would never purposely hurt you, Hope. Ever. I didn’t even kiss you until you asked me to. I would never…” He trails off and shakes his head. Hurt etching his features, he leaves his work, with the sandwich still on it, and says something to the teacher before walking out.

             
Sometimes watching someone walk away from you sucks pretty badly.

~***~

              “What? No Mason today?” I ask Guy sarcastically when he tromps through the front door.

             
He pauses, tossing his books on the counter. “No. He just dropped me off. He didn’t feel comfortable coming in.” He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and kicks the door shut with his foot. “Besides, we need to have a talk. Don’t you think?”

             
“No,” I say immediately. We stare at one another, neither of us willing to give in. I hear the bus pull up out front and when the door opens, I try to use the distraction to sneak up to my room.

             
Guy’s on my heels, stopping my door from closing in his face. “You aren’t the only one who gets to be mad.”

             
I feel my eyebrows scrunch in annoyance. “What do you have to be mad about? You didn’t have your best friend stand there and do nothing while you were mulled.”

             
He rolls his eyes. “You were not mulled, first of all. And second of all, you’ve been
marring
yourself for who knows how long and hiding it from me. How is there even a question as to why I’d be mad?”

             
I don’t respond, mostly because I’m shocked and don’t know what to say. In retrospect, it makes sense. Of course he’d be pissed that I’ve been keeping secrets from him and even more pissed that I’m cutting. But I’m still pissed too, and I’m selfish, so my anger trumps his.

             
“I waited all weekend for you to talk to me. Then I waited all week. You had no intentions of explaining anything to me. Did you?”

             
I say nothing.

             
“I looked some stuff up about self-injury. You’re not doing it for fun.” He lowers himself to my bed and rests his elbows on his knees. His blonde hair falls across his face as he stares at the floor.

             
“I know why you do it. What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t trust me with it.”

             
“You would have tried to stop me,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion.

             
He lifts his head and regards me sadly. “Of course I would have tried to stop you, but I would’ve helped you, too.”

             
“Maybe I don’t want to be stopped. Maybe I don’t want help.”

             
He winces. “Maybe not yet, but you can’t do this forever.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek because just the thought of never doing it again scares the shit out of me. Guy knows me too well. “It might be scary now, but there will come a day that you’ll be ready to quit. You’ll need help. From what I read, it’s pretty hard to do on your own.”

             
“Don’t act like you understand just because you spent twenty minutes on Wikipedia,” I say coolly.

             
“I’ve spent
hours
,
daily
, on multiple sites. There’s this one where you can talk to other people that cut. People that went through something similar to you.”

             
I don’t want him bringing
that
up. “I’m not going to do some group therapy online chat.”

             
“You don’t have to. I didn’t…I didn’t say you had to do it. I just want you to know it’s an option. There’s help, too. Counseling. Specialists. And I’ll be there for you.”

             
“I’m not ready.”

             
“That’s okay,” he says carefully. “When you are ready.
But you can’t do it anymore
.”

             
“You can’t stop me,” I say defiantly because the way his voice quivered makes me want to cry.

             
“I’m not trying to fight with you, Hope. I’m trying to help. What would you do if it were me?”

             
I don’t know. I can’t even imagine. “I’d sit beside you and do it with you.”

             
Guy narrows his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.” He stands up and I take a step back.

             
“What?”

             
“Show me how it’s done. I’ll cut with you and you can watch me.” He motions at me to hurry up.

             
“Don’t patronize me.”

             
“If it’s the only way to get through to you, I’ll do it. Maybe if you see me slicing into my flesh something will click up here.” He points to his temple. “Maybe if you see the scars that are left on my legs it will make you as sick as it makes me.”

             
“I’m sorry you’re so disgusted by me. Maybe you shouldn’t have looked when Mason took it upon himself to hold me down and show off my repulsive disfigurement.”

             
He shakes his head. “Get over yourself. I meant I’ve been sick with worry over you. What would happen if you went too deep or it got infected? I don’t want to lose you.”

             
I close my eyes. “You aren’t going to lose me.”

             
“You don’t know that,” he says quietly, voice cracking.

             
“You can’t promise me I’ll never lose you, either. Anything could happen.”

             
“Yeah, but I’m not walking around looking for ways to end my life.”

             
“Neither am I,” I shout. “I know it’s fucked up to cut myself. I realize there are risks, too. I’m always careful. It’s not like I do it every day and I am not trying to kill myself.” I take a deep breath and lower my voice. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t done it since Mason stole my razors.”

             
“It does, actually.” He sweeps his hands over his face. “Can you at least try to come to me first from now on? Talk to me before you hurt yourself?”

             
“No. I won’t promise that.” I move toward him. “Look, I do come to you sometimes, but there are times when you can’t help.”

             
His face pales. I know what he heard was me telling him he’s not enough.

             
“Then promise me you’ll at least look at the website I found.” He hurries on before I can respond. “You don’t have to do anything. Just look at it.” Tears make his eyes shine and I can’t breathe. “Just give me something, Hope, because I feel like I’m drowning. Pretend roles are reversed and you know I’m hurting myself. What would you want me to do?”

             
“I’ll look at the site,” I promise.