Sometimes Never (10 page)

             
I shake my head, yet again, like it’s the only thing I’m capable of. “No, you didn’t.” I suck in a shaky breath. “That’s what scares me.” I can’t stand the expression on his face. Can’t take seeing him so confused, so torn. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to spend the day with me, but I need a few minutes. I’ll be right back. Please don’t leave.”

             
He nods and I flee up to my room. I close the door quietly and practically run into the bathroom. Once the lock is latched, I take a razor blade from the medicine cabinet and slide my shorts off. My hand is shaking when I bring it to my flesh and I bite down on my lip as the sharp edge sinks through the old scar tissue. I slide it over my skin and inhale sharply as I’m rewarded with the bright red beaded trail it leaves behind. I sigh as I feel the release. Closing my eyes, I imagine my fear rising from the open cut like smoke and fading away as it mixes into the air. It’s enough for now. Wiping it away, I stick a bandage to the fresh wound and wash the razor before replacing it.

             
This is the part I hate the most. That moment it sinks in that I’ve sliced myself open. When the rush and release are over and I’m left with the knowledge of just how fucked up I am.

             
I put myself back together, making sure all evidence of what I did is cleaned up, and then I go back downstairs to find Mason.

             
There’s a quick moment of panic when he’s not where I left him, but I find him on the couch and breathe a sigh of relief.

             
Grinning at me, he holds a DVD up. “Wanna watch a movie?” I start laughing as I pluck A Nightmare on Elm Street (the remake) from his hand.

             
“Mason Patel, your pants are on fire. You don’t watch it when it comes on HBO. I can’t believe you
own
this!” I put it in and settle back on the couch beside him, incredibly grateful he didn’t take off on me and even more so that he didn’t let things get weird.

             
I have no idea what I’m going to do about this boy.

Chapter 11

Mason

I screwed up big time. Hope told me she was scared and I pushed her anyways. But I’ll be damned if I don’t learn from my mistakes.

I’m cautious all day. I make sure to keep just enough space between me and Hope. Even though my whole body aches to reach for her, I make no attempt to touch her again. I keep my glances short, careful not to get caught up in her eyes or hunger for the taste of her mouth.
I make sure our conversation is fun and lighthearted. And I try to make her laugh every chance I get.

             
I think she expected me to leave, but after she told me she wanted me to stay, there was no way in hell I was leaving her. I wanted to prove to her that I won’t abandon her. That she can trust me.

             
Now we’re making sandwiches and I’m learning even more about her as I watch her scoop out a heaping spoonful of peanut butter. She smears it across the bread, making sure to get every last section covered evenly. Then she smothers another slice with chocolate frosting in the same manner before sticking the two pieces together.

             
“Don’t judge me, Mason. It’s delicious,” she says as she spoons out more peanut butter and licks it off. I think she’s trying to kill me. I tear my eyes away from the slow torture and make a simple PB and J sandwich like a normal person.

             
“Do you ever eat anything healthy? Fruits? Vegetables?”

             
She laughs as if it’s the most ridiculous question ever asked. “Other than pineapple on my pizza? Uh, no. Well, that’s not true I guess. I eat cornbread and mashed potatoes. Oh, and I like juice. Do fruit snacks count?”

             
“I don’t think most of those count,” I inform her.

             
She snaps her fingers. “What about French fries and onion rings?”

             
I roll my eyes and bite into my sandwich. “I’m utterly confused how you are walking around. You do understand that your entire diet consists of that tiny portion on the tip of the food pyramid? You know, the part you are only supposed to eat in moderation?”

             
“I don’t like being told what to do. Remember? Besides, has that thing even been updated in the last forty years?”

             
I shrug. How the hell am I supposed to know? “I think this will be my new mission. I will find a way to integrate fruit and veggies into your diet.”

             
She snorts. “Yeah. Good luck with that. Oh, what about chips?”

             
I cock my brow and frown at her in what I hope is my best “you are not serious” look.

             
“What do you want to do now?” she says, still laughing. I have to look away from her because that is the worst question she can ask me. I can’t tell her what I really want to do, which involves me, her, that container of chocolate frosting, and figuring out exactly which body parts it tastes best on. I shrug, staring at her bright pinks toes.

             
“Whatever. I’m easy,” I say with a devious grin because if I can’t touch her, at least I can flirt with her a little. Her eyebrows lift and she licks the corner of her lip. Dear God, she is a vicious sadist. Guy is very possibly correct. The girl just may be a succubus. I stifle a moan and turn away. She is literally driving me crazy.

             
Before Hope, I never really understood the whole falling in love thing. With all that head over heels, being tongue tied, stomach butterflies, and always on my mind shit. Now, I’m well practiced in all of it. It’s funny how some things are just words until one day, it happens to you, and it’s like an epiphany. Everything now has meaning. It all makes perfect sense. And I feel bad for the poor bastards that first put a name to it.

The moments she isn’t making me miserable because I can’t be with her in the way I want, she’s making
me insanely happy. If I’m not with her, all I can think about is wanting to be.

             
And now I’ve been facing the wall way too long while I contemplated all this. She’s going to freak out again. I glimpse over my shoulder.

             
“You want to swing?” Hope asks.

             
“Swing?”

             
“Yeah. Come on.” She takes my hand.
She takes my hand
. I feel lame as hell that I’m as excited about this as I am. Opening the side door off the kitchen, she pulls me outside and leads me back to a huge swing set.

             
Hope releases my hand and I watch her slide onto a swing. I take the one beside her, but I just sit on it. I haven’t swung since I was in third grade. Instead, I observe her as she pumps her legs, swaying higher and higher. She has this look on her face... All I can do is stare at her. Her fingers are gripping the chains, her bare feet kicking in and out, and the wind is pulling at her hair. I bite down on the inside of my lip hard. Everything she does captivates me. How she can make a swing sexy is just so damn wrong.

             
It’s probably a good thing Hope doesn’t let me kiss her because I don’t think I’d be capable of stopping there. I shouldn’t have left school. I should have kept my ass at my desk where I was a safe distance away from her.

             
What’s worse is she doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me. She doesn’t realize how amazing she is. How attractive.

             
My hands squeeze the chains tight enough to pinch the skin, but I don’t loosen my grip. I need to get a hold of myself.

             
Hope’s toes skim the thinning grass as she slows herself. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes bright. Holy shit, that smile is making my heart race. She twists round and round until the chains are intertwined and then she picks her feet up, spinning until she’s twisted back up the opposite way.

             
“When I was little my mom and I lived across the street from this park for a few months.” She tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear and her voice pitches low. “I woke up one morning and she was gone. Just…gone. She was there when I went to bed, and then I woke up and—gone. She didn’t come back for four days. I spent the time at the park, swinging all day long.” She peers down at her feet and wiggles her toes. Something quivers inside my chest, that tingling rush of adrenaline when something is scary. I feel it now and everything else seems to fade. I’m sure birds are still chirping, lawnmowers still buzzing, car doors still slamming, but I don’t register any of it. It’s just her. Just Hope’s quiet voice.

“That’s where I was when she pulled up in front of the apartm
ent with her flavor of the week,” she continues. “I watched her go inside, but I stayed on my swing. I was so
mad
at her. I watched as she ran back outside looking up and down the street. I watched her
panic
and I knew I should get off the swing and go to her, but my feet wouldn’t do it. She looked over at the park and right at me and then she went inside. I like to think that she was sure it was me. That she saw me there and knew I was okay. Knew it was all right to turn around and go into the apartment.

“
When it got dark, I went home. She didn’t say a word about where she was or why she went. She didn’t bother to apologize.” Hope finally looks up and shakes her head. “She handed me one of those Dum Dum suckers and sent me to my room.” She laughs bitterly and shrugs. “As if that stupid sucker made everything better.”

             
I close my mouth that fell open at some point during Hope’s story. I can nearly hear it as another piece of the Hope puzzle clicks into place. My teeth clench. I’m angry. No. I’m way beyond angry. How could her mom do that to her? I clear my throat and inhale deeply.

             
“How old were you?” I ask gruffly.

             
“That time? I was six,” Hope whispers.

             
That time?
“She did it a lot?”

             
She meets my eyes, one shoulder raises slightly. “All the time.”

             
“That’s fucked up.” I don’t mean for it to come out so disgusted, but my outrage toward her mom seeps into my voice. I picture a six year old Hope, scared, alone. So tiny, innocent, fragile. And I think about the total mind fuck her mother’s afflicted her with all these years. “God, Hope. I’m sorry that happened to you.” I’ve never been so sorry for anything, ever.

             
She stands up and moves in front of me, using her knee to push my knee to the side. As she steps in between my legs and bends forward, I go still and I notice I’m holding my breath. I let it out and inhale her scent as she leans into me and presses her lips against my cheek. Then she steps back and nods her head at the house. “Come on. You need to pick up Kellin.”

12

Hope

I keep stealing glances of Mason. Something’s flipped inside of me. Like some little Hope switch has been moved to the ON position. Nobody has ever told me they were sorry for the things my mom did. Not even Guy. Definitely not my mom. As completely messed up as it may be, I want to tell Mason more. I want to tell him all the shitty parts of my childhood just to hear him apologize for it. To express regret for something he had nothing to do with. I know it’s stupid, but it felt good when he uttered those simple words. It made me feel like I wasn’t alone anymore.

             
It’s like I can breathe better. Stand taller. Smile easier. It’s ridiculous. I have this sinking feeling I’m going to regret this. That this boy is going to end up inflicting the worst pain I’ve ever felt.

             
But right now, I’m nearly floating with ease. I place my hand inside his. He smiles at our intertwined fingers before turning his grin on me. I wonder if he senses a difference. Does he know how his words affected me? That they were the exact right words I needed to hear?

             
The sun is touching his face and turning his eyes an amazing shade of emerald. They almost glow as they regard me intently. I want to know what he’s thinking.
What’s inside that head?

             
Kellin opens the car door and slides in the back seat. He gives me a weird look and I feel my eyes go big.
Shit
. I shoot a look to Mason, but it’s taking him longer to realize our mistake. I turn around with my knees on the seat and stare at Kellin. “You’re still cool, right, Little Man?”

             
He nods, but it’s obvious he’s speculating.

             
“Then you can keep a secret, right?”

             
“Yeah…?”

             
“Shit,” Mason says, finally getting it. “Kel, I left school early. Don’t say anything to Mom and I’ll give you a free day next time she works a day shift.”