From Enemies to Enemies

Chapter 10- Thrift Shop

I'm standing in front of the thrift store nervously. I've been here countless times before my parent's divorce, but it's been some time. It was like muscle memory walking here. And my first impression of the store was that it hasn't changed, not one bit. But still, there's an encroaching feeling that whoever wants to meet me here, isn't who I thought. Logically, the worst thing would be Mike playing a stupid prank on me. He'd laugh, snap a picture and say something stupid because he's too dumb to say anything smart. But on the other hand, it could be Rachel, looking for a mystery date. I wonder if she likes thrifting. If she finds looking at secondhand items, and priceless heirlooms thrilling.

The text I received yesterday was from an unknown number. Unsaved in my phone. I hadn't even recognized the area code. I thought it was a wrong number at first. So, here I am, walking into the thrift store, hands shoved into my pockets. I check my phone again. I'm here at the right time. One PM. The store smells like old books, and yucky, grainy paper. Theres a lady in a red sweater with glasses held up by beads. She's probably only in her twenties, yet she dresses like she's an octogenarian.

"What can I help you with?" she says in a chipper tone, but I shake my head no. "I'm just here waiting for a friend."

I go to sit down on one the benches near the front of the store. This place looks so like how it was two years ago. Nothing, besides possibly the merchandise, has changed. I don't know why I decided to come today. It's so out of my element to do something like this, but I had a feeling. My gut told me to come today. So here I am.

A few minutes pass before I feel the buzz of my phone. It's the unknown number asking if I'm there. I tell them yes. A few seconds pass and the door jingles as it opens. I expect it to be my mystery guest. But instead, it's Mason. And he looks pissed.

Mason stands in front of me, buzzing with nervousness. "Hey!" I say surprised. He gives an unenthusiastic nod. I can tell he's just got off work. He's got his workers uniform on, and two milkshakes in his hands. "Are you the one who invited me out today?" Mason nods again. He doesn't look so happy to see me, but I grin. Maybe this is Mason's way of saying he forgives me. Telling me that we're friends and everything I said is put in the past. I'm glad it's not Mike trying to make a mockery of me.

"This is for you." Mason speaks up, hanging me the chocolate milkshake. He remembered my order. The first sip is icy and chocolate-y and delicious. As silly as it is, it makes me feel warm inside instead of cold. "Thank you. How was work?"

We walk around the store for a little bit and settle into the back corner by the changing rooms. Theres two chairs there that we sit on. Mason tells me about his day with crazy little sister Jazzy and the rest of the café gang. It feels nice to know that Mason is having a good time at work, and that people are treating him well. Eventually, Masons face goes from his beautiful smile to his signature frown, and he looks at me. "I need to pick out my outfit for homecoming."

Mason shoots up from his seat and by God it's the fastest I've ever seen him move. The man of few words grabs my arm and pulls me up. "Wait." I say, excited. "You want me to help you? Oh, this must be opposite day!" I joke with him as he pulls me through the store, and he hits me.

"Watch it. I'll walk out of here right now." Mason scolds in a stern voice. We walk around the suits section for some time. Despite being indifferent about most things, Mason seems quite judge about his suits. "I'm surprised you care so much about what you look like." I comment, holding up a blue button down. He frowns and shakes his head no.

"I don't care." Mason pulls up a green dress shirt and then sets it down again. "Well, maybe just a little." I chuckle.

As were shopping, we got into a rhythm of speech. I talk to him; he says something insulting back and I laugh about it. It's comforting. Mason still hasn't picked out an outfit. It's a thrift store, so things aren't in the best condition, so I tell him we'll stop by the laundry mat to wash anything he picks out. I find a nice suit jacket for him that's forty dollars. God, inflations the worst. "Wait, how much is our budget?" I turn to Mason. He's pursuing the jackets section.

"Thirty dollars." He tells me, and I drop the jacket exactly where I found it. I find from our outing today that mason likes company, but he likes the Dum minded company. Silly words. Not someone like Rachel who's a go-getting in everything that she does. He likes the quiet sometimes too. He just wants a spectator. And I'll willingly be that for him. Anxiety maybe? Whatever his reasons are for inviting me today, I'm glad he did. Because, I'm having such a nice time!

Eventually, Mason grabs my arm and drags me to the sweater section. "You don't want a jacket?" Mason shakes his head no. We've spent quite some time looking in the jacket section. I wouldn't be surprised if he was bored of the options. "Don't wear 'em." He admits. Finally, we find a couple of things. A nice pair of black pants and a red sweater. We get tired of shopping and check out. I see on the illuminated screen at the checkout station that the total is thirty-five dollars.

Mason sighs and frowns. "Here, I've got it." I pull out my wallet and hand the cashier with the red sweater another five dollars. She checks Mason out and we bag our stuff. When we leave the store and begin walking over to the laundry mat, Mason looks at me. "Thank you. You didn't have to pay."

"It's no problem. You made me a milkshake, so I bought your pants."

We decide were hungry after tossing Mason's clothes into the washing machines at the laundry mat, so we decide to stop in the café for a snack. Mason looks uncomfortable, having to be there and not be on the cashier's side of things. When we order, he puts in his employee discount, and doesn't order anything for himself to eat. Just a plain black coffee.

Mason watches as I down another milkshake and order a third. I think about the first time that I met him. How he was standing behind that counter, same scowl on his face. Then I think of that scowl when I walked in on him changing. All those bruises cascading down his body. Someone put them there! They put him in pain. It hurts me to think of mason in pain. Or maybe, he was just clumsy like my mother is and runs into things all the time. I have to keep an open mind.

"They don't hurt." Mason says abruptly, interrupting my thoughts.

"What?"

"The bruises. They don't hurt. I know you were wondering about them." I nod and frown. "How'd you get them."

"Uh, I just did something wrong, and it was the consequence."

"No consequence should ever leave you with scars Mason. Who did that to you?" I clench my fists. I may not know Mason well, but I know that he doesn't deserve that. Anything but that.

"My father." Mason whispers, looking down at his lap. He must have felt so weak and small. Frail. The fact that his father, someone who's supposed to love and care for him can do that is vile.

"I could never imagine my father doing that." I tell him, though I'm sure it provides no aid to him. I thought my father was bad for divorcing my mom, but this is much worse. "You didn't deserve that." I slide my hands onto the table towards him. I don't know why. What's he going to do, grab them?

"It's fine okay! It doesn't matter." His hand pushes my hands away from his and he turns to look out the window.

"If you say so." I wonder if Rachel knows that he was being abused. How long ago did it start? How long did it go on for? Is it still happening? So many questions that I want answers to.

It gets awkward so we decide to leave and go back to the laundry mat. When the clothes come out of the dryer, Mason goes into the bathroom to try on all his clothes. When he comes back, he's looking very cozy.

His shirt looks wonderful, and not too oversized like the rest of his clothes. His pants are nicely pressed and they're not too formal so he can wear them out on any regular day if he wants. His hair is messy like always because I doubt that Mason would care about how his hair looks. He looks really nice. He looks ravishing. Beautiful, supple, ambient. All these words float into my head. Goodness gracious, what's gotten into me?

"How do I look?" he asks me. I nod. Delectable. "Stunning."