Lexi
The friends we have as children shape us. Some of them we keep forever, some of them we lose along the way... but all of them leave something behind... or in his case, take something as they leave.
Mason Jennings held my heart in his hands at...
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I've always been good at reading people.
I can tell if they're troubled. I spot the moments when their eyes light up. I notice the way a person flinches when someone goes in for a high five and equally when they fist a person's shirt as they're held in their arms, silently begging for just 10 more seconds of safety.
Maybe it's a natural quality I was granted - but I think a lot of it has to do with experience.
Because I've been the troubled kid sat in the back of class, pulling up my turtleneck to hide the kind of thing that attracts too many questions.
I've felt my posture relax when my human version of a safety net walked into the room.
I had to teach myself not to react when someone tries to fist bump me.
And I would cling to the person hugging me because being in their arms made everything ok for those few moments.
The irony is, all of those things used to relate to one person.
I hid from him so he wouldn't worry or try to unbreak what was broken.
I relaxed in his company because it meant for those spaces of time, no one would target me.
I learned to look forward to his celebratory high fives and fist bumps when I did well on a test or scored a goal.
I held onto him, twisting his band shirts around my finger tips and sometimes even asking outright for longer.
I wish we'd gotten it. I wish he'd stayed for longer.
Instead I'm now faced with a version of him that I can't reconcile with my memories.
It's a version that's foreign to me and yet totally familiar.
As Mason leave my room with a wink and a proud smirk, I see my best friend. I see my safety net and I want to pull at his shirt to tell him to stay and hold me so my demons can't get to me.
But when he pinned me to my bed, with no intention of physically hurting me if his reaction proved anything, I wanted the opposite.
I forgot how not to flinch. I forgot that he was my lifeboat in the tides that tried to wash me away. I forgot that he was him.
And that terrifies me.
Because I'm scared it'll always be like this - that I'll never get to explore intimacy because it all reminds me of nights with locked doors that I want to forget.
There wasn't even anything sexual about Mason holding me down but as soon as he was on me and I closed my eyes in the struggle, it wasn't him I felt on top of me anymore.
Instead of Mason asking for my phone I heard Derrick telling me to be quiet. I felt his sharp nails digging into my wrists and the fear choked me because I knew what was coming. I knew I didn't have the power to stop him.
