Poison of love

Jessica

It has been three days since Mason disappeared. I try calling him again, but once more it's the voicemail that answers. Unease begins to creep inside me. He can't have just vanished into thin air. Something must have happened. I try to study, but my mind is too restless to focus. From the library window, I scan the courtyard, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mason among the students coming and going, but there's no sign of him. I sigh, trying to compose myself. I shift my gaze back to today's biochemistry notes, but I can't concentrate. I rest my chin on one hand, absentmindedly chewing the cap of my pen while my eyes anxiously scroll through my phone's screen, waiting for a sign, a message, anything. After a few minutes, I give up. Enough. I need to do something. I close my books, gather my things, and get up from the chair. Without thinking too much, I leave the library and start searching for Mason.
I walk across the entire campus: first, I head towards the cafeteria, but I only find a group of guys laughing among themselves, completely unaware of my concern. Then I go to the dining hall, which is now deserted; lunch has long passed. Suddenly, I remember there's rugby practice in the afternoon. Wasting no time, I rush to the gym. When I arrive, my eyes immediately start searching for Mason's figure, but he doesn't seem to be here either. I spot Will a little distance away, busy with a set of lunges. I move a bit closer, hoping he'll notice me, but it's Coach Gerald who distracts me.
"Miss, you can't be here," he growls in a stern tone. He approaches with his imposing physique, shoulders broad as a house and enormous hands that send shivers just by looking at them. "Can I help you with something?" he asks, his tone tinged with irritation.
"I'm sorry... I'm looking for..." I start, but my voice comes out shaky, intimidated by his presence. Fortunately, Will notices my difficulty and steps in to help me.
"She's looking for me, Coach. I told her to come," he interrupts, sweat running down his forehead to his neck. The coach looks at him with a severe expression, making it clear that such a thing shouldn't happen again, but in the end, he lets us talk and walks away.
"Don't mind him, the Coach doesn't want outsiders when it comes to gym practice," Will says, shrugging it off.
"Sorry, I didn't know..." I murmur, embarrassed. But I'm here for a specific reason: Will is the only one who might know something about Mason since they are always together. "I'm looking for Mason, do you know where he is?" I ask, trying to remain calm. Will looks at me with a confused expression, towel around his neck.
"I haven't heard from him in days. I thought he was with you," he admits, running a hand through his damp hair. How is it possible that even Will doesn't know where he is? They are always together.
"No, he's not with me, as you can see," I reply, my tone betraying my rising anxiety.
"He's been missing for three days. His phone is off... I'm worried," I add, nervously biting my lower lip.
"That's really strange," Will reflects, scratching his forehead thoughtfully while wiping his face with the towel. "Mason never skips practice."
So something really has happened. But what? I torture my hands on my hips, unable to hide my nervousness, and Will notices.
"Hey!" he exclaims, coming closer and placing his hands on my elbows to try to calm me down. But his touch, instead of reassuring me, makes me even more uncomfortable.
"Don't worry, I know Mason. If he hasn't reached out, there must be a good reason. I'm sure he'll contact you soon," he says, trying to instill confidence in me.
"Okay... If you hear from him before I do, tell him to call me," I ask, my voice uncertain. He nods and walks away, returning to his training. I take a deep breath, trying to regain some calm. There's nothing more I can do for now. I head toward the dormitory intending to take a shower and try to resume studying from where I left off. When I enter my room, I realize I'm alone. Leyla has gone out with her mother to do some shopping. Lately, she has been very busy, perhaps trying to distract herself after the death of her ex-boyfriend. She does everything to chase away that pain, but I know that deep down it will never be enough to fill that void. It's a wound she will carry with her forever.
I arrange my books on the desk, slowly undress, and head for the shower. The warm water cascades over my face, washing away the chaotic thoughts and leaving space for just one: Mason. "Where are you, Mason?"... "Why haven't you called me?" I torment myself with these thoughts as I step out of the shower, trying to push them away. I put on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, grab my notes, and sit on the bed, determined to study, but it's hard to concentrate. The hours pass, and with them, my anxiety grows. Mason still shows no signs of life. The phone sits there, next to the books, waiting for a call that seems further and further away.
The sun is now hiding behind the clouds, leaving me with a sense of melancholy that grows with the arrival of darkness. I lie down on the bed, one arm over my eyes, trying to stop the incessant flow of thoughts. I am exhausted, not only from trying to concentrate without success but also from thinking, from worrying.
I slowly get up, determined to drink a glass of water to clear my mind. As I take a few steps, I suddenly hear the door to the room open. My heart leaps into my throat. I turn around quickly, hoping, for a moment, to see Mason standing in the doorway. But it's just Leyla. I lower my gaze, disappointed, and prepare to hide my anxiety behind a forced smile.
"Oh, it's you," I say with a frown, gulping down the glass of water in one go.
"Hi to you too. What a face! What happened?" Leyla asks with a light smile as she sets down the bags next to the bed and approaches.
"Nothing, it's all okay," I reply, resigned, not even believing it myself. She looks at me for a moment, skeptical.
"Are you sure? It doesn't seem that way. Come on, tell me what's wrong," she insists affectionately, taking my hands in a reassuring gesture. I tell her everything about Mason: the days without news, the phone being off, my growing concern. Leyla listens attentively, then smiles at me, trying to calm me down. "He probably just had an unexpected situation. The only thing you can do is wait for him to get in touch and explain everything. There's no sense in stressing out like this." She's right; maybe I'm just overreacting. I need to try to stay calm and have a little more trust. Leyla moves toward the bathroom, then, from a distance, she proposes:
"By the way, there's a party at the 'students club' tonight. What do you think about going?"
"At the 'students club'?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, at the student center, the first party of the year. They haven't had one in a while."
"Why not? Did something happen?" I sit on the bed, closing my notes. I've already accepted that I won't be able to study. Leyla hesitates for a moment, then murmurs, "Well, yes... after Betty's death. You know, that girl used to stay there." Her words rekindle a memory I had tried to bury. Betty's death... it was one of the reasons I distanced myself from Mason back then. I don't want to be involved in that world again, so full of secrets and shadows.
"Oh... I understand," I murmur after a long silence. Sadness washes over me again, like a shadow. I think of that poor girl, Betty, and of Mason, who somehow hurt her. My eyes fill with tears, but I stop myself. I don't want to give in. I try to push those thoughts away, but others crowd my mind, and the idea of going to a party seems like the last thing I need.
"I'm not in the mood for a party," I tell Leyla, reminding her how I feel.
"Come on, we'll have fun! We're always buried in our books; we need to relax sometimes," she insists, still far from the bathroom.
"Please, don't make me go alone," she continues, peeking through the door with a pout and tilting her head to one side. She makes me smile; she really looks funny.
"Are you trying to convince me by pouting?" I say, suppressing a slight smile. We exchange a glance, and suddenly we burst into laughter, like two little girls. Then Leyla comes closer and, without warning, jumps on me, making me squeal with laughter from the tickling. I can't resist being tickled; I never could.
I'm reminded of my father. When I made him angry, he would pick me up and throw me on the couch or bed, tormenting me with tickling until I apologized. He knew I wouldn't be able to resist, and it was his way of making me give in. He, however, didn't suffer from being tickled, and I remember our laughter, the teasing I did to get back at him, even if just for a second of reprieve. I miss that feeling, those carefree laughs.
Images flash through my mind, like an old videotape of memories. Suddenly, my expression changes, and Leyla notices, looking at me perplexed. I quickly try to hide that flash of sadness with a smile, not wanting to reveal the turmoil of emotions tied to the past. I manage to push her away from me and, laughing, I return the tickling.