A Thousand Storms

04 chasing

Mason

I felt like an asshole.

Guilt—that was it, guilt. After years of empty void, I practically had the emotional capacity of a brick.

But the look on her face when I'd said those words to her...even after I closed the door—I couldn't forget it. Just couldn't erase the image from my mind.

Why is a girl like you so far away from home when you clearly can't survive by yourself?

I'd spat it in her face deliberately. Better to keep away with the barbed words, the sheer dismissal than have her get any closer to me than she already was.

I could see through the front she put up—that cheery disposition. And at that point, she was vulnerable. All she'd asked was a simple question. Yes, I'd been affected by it, but—there was a difference.

Ever had not meant to hurt me, while I had, at that point, felt a burning need to hurt her.

God, I felt like punching myself. Seeing the whites of her hazel eyes turn red because of something so stupid, because of me...

I wasn't worth it. Nothing in this entire damn world was worth those tears.

She didn't remember me. Of course she didn't. She wasn't going to remember shit from around fifteen years ago.

Everly. Her name brought up memories of my childhood. The good parts.

Snow and autumn leaves and school. Flashes of smiles and laughter. The sun and her hair, both so alike. Shades of orange and yellow and all the bright colors in the world.

That was one of the reasons I couldn't seem to call her by her name.

She was still out there now. I could hear her fidgeting. I contemplated staying inside, then decided fuck it, and stormed back out to fix the mess I made.

I opened my door to the view of her crouched over the broken glass and spilt peanut butter. She must really like the stuff.

She didn't even look up at me, though I knew she could feel my presence. When I looked closer, I noticed that her fingers were cut in small places and bleeding from the glass.

Something about the sight unsettled me.

"Get up," I ordered, surprising myself with the tone of my voice. It was not directed towards her. I found myself wishing she knew that.

This time, she shifted her hazel eyes to gently sweep over me. That bright carelessness from before had disappeared, replaced with blank hostility.

I knew that look. I knew it because I had seen it countless times. In my mirror.

Fuck. What had I done?

I crouched down to meet her gaze parallel. I saw so much more than a carefree college girl with spare money—I saw the fear, the doubt, the loneliness.

Saying nothing, I separated her hands from whatever shit she was trying to clean up. Holding her by the wrist gently enough for it not to hurt, I nudged her up and led her into my apartment. She didn't object.

Once we entered, her eyes roamed my mostly neutral home. The apartment was clocked in shades of white and grey, and the furniture was dark contrasting against its background.

"It's very...neat," she choked out.

"Yeah," I said, leading her to the bathroom.

I was a little more organised than the average college guy, but she didn't need to know that.