I don’t know what to do right now.
He’s right that my mom is upset that I’m dating him. He’s right that I never bothered to tell them and that they found out after pictures of us kissing popped up on an entertainment news site. He’s right that they think he’s bad news for me and all the reasons why.
But hearing those words from his lips? So soon on the heels of defending him against my mother?
It gutted me. Ripped me open and left my entrails all over the floor in front of me. I had nothing to say anymore. No words. No defense. Just choked, bloody silence as everything good in my life came crashing down.
I know he wants me to tell my mom to back off. And I tried. I’ve fucking tried so many times, and never more than I tried today.
I defended him to her. I told her how he cares for me, how he takes care of me in little ways like setting my alarm to make sure I get up in the morning, making sure I have food to get through the day, helping me pack the snacks and water in my bag at the beginning of the day.
No, I didn’t get into the physical aspect of our relationship, but it’s never just been about that for us.
I wanted to tell her that I’m in love with him, but had to bite back those words. For one thing, I know they would’ve only produced scorn. And for another, I want him to be the first one to hear those words.
The other reason Mom called was to chew me out for not responding to any of the job notices she’s sent me over the last few months. Apparently she’s been telling people to expect my resume or application, and now she says I’ve made her look like a liar or a fool or both.
As though it’s somehow my fault that she’s been running her mouth all over town about how I’m just going through a phase and I’ll be back soon.
Because she apparently took the news that we’re having a month-long break as a sign that I’m never going back on tour. She’s created this fiction where I was only hired on a temporary basis, and now I’ll be home and looking for work. So she took the liberty of setting up an interview for me in three days.
Three days!
I’m fucking exhausted and now emotionally wrung out, and I’m supposed to go on an interview in three. Goddamn. Days.
I settle into my own hotel room for the first time in ages. I’ve had one all along, but mostly just used it to store the extra snacks and gear that I’m in charge of. I didn’t want to drag that into Mason’s room, so I put it in mine. But my suitcases, my things, always go with me to his room.
Kicking off my shoes, I climb into the bed, find the remote, and turn on the TV, flipping through the channels, never landing on anything for too long.
Being in my own room is weird. The bed feels too big. The TV too loud. The pillows too flat.
And I wait for Mason. To text me. Knock on my door. Something.
Instead I get silence.
I stay in bed, idly watching anything and everything, waiting. And waiting. And still he never comes. Never calls. Nothing.
Tears seep out of my closed eyelids when I finally realize that he’s not coming. Though I guess I only have myself to blame. I told him I need space. And that’s what I’m getting.
I guess I just didn’t expect him to give in so easily. He was so persistent for so long, and now? He’s given up on me. And I don’t know how to fix it.
I wake up the next morning, the remote still in my hand, a crick in my neck from sleeping in a weird position, and my eyelids swollen and gritty from crying myself to sleep.
Today’s the day we all go our separate ways.
After using the bathroom, I splash water on my face and smooth down my hair. All my things are still in Mason’s room, and I don’t want to take the time to call down to the front desk for a toothbrush.
No, I need to face Mason, tell him that he’s right about what my parents think, but that he’s wrong about my reaction to them. That I don’t think he’s bad for me. That I have no intention of following through with whatever plans my mother’s made for me, regardless of how she feels about it. I haven’t given into all her months of badgering so far. Why would I now?
I’ve been looking forward to spending the tour break with Mason. With having fun on our own schedule, no endless lists of tasks to get through. Staying in one place for more than a few nights. Using the same closet and the same bathroom for weeks on end. It sounds glorious. And refreshing. And like just what I need.
Rehearsing what I want to say to him in my head, I pick up my bag and head down the hall. I stand in front of his door for a second, not sure if I should knock first or just let myself in.
After debating with myself for a few seconds, I decide to do both. Knock to announce my presence, but use my key card to let myself in. It’s only eight thirty, so he could still be sleeping.
Stomach churning, I knock lightly, then wave my key card in front of the reader. The light turns red.
Brows drawing together in confusion, I do it again. And again. And again.
Each time the light turns red.
Panic starts brewing in my guts, and I knock at the door, louder this time. “Mason!” I call, hoping he’ll answer. Why isn’t he answering? Why isn’t my key working?
What the hell is
