“You don’t talk about your parents much,” Mason noted.
“Because they’re arseholes.”
“So did they? Kick you out I mean?”
“Yeah. Two weeks after my sixteenth birthday and the day I started working at the salon. Being an apprentice, the money wasn’t great and of course London is one of the most expensive cities in the world to live in. I ended up in a grimy hostel until Elle figured out what was happening, then she helped me get set up in a little studio-flat near work.
“That was going well for a few years until…” Shit I’d never discussed this with anyone except Elle before. “Fuck I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this, but…” I sucked in a deep breath, trying desperately to pluck up the courage to share this piece of myself with someone I already considered one of my best friends.
“You know I won’t judge you, Ry.”
“I was a smack addict,” I said quickly, closing my eyes when I heard the words come out of my mouth. “Long story short, it came to a head when Elle caught me stealing from the salon to fund my habit. I’ll never forget the look of disappointment in her eyes as long as I live,” I admitted, shame flooding my veins. “I lost the flat she helped set me up in, spent the rent on heroin instead. I’d sold most of my stuff, pushed away the few friends I had. I had nothing. Except Elle.
“She should’ve kicked me to the fucking curb, reported me, hated me for what I did. Instead she fucking hugged me. She hugged me and spent the next nine months of her life helping me get better. She forfeited any kind of social life so she could keep an eye on me. She came to every doctor appointment, every counseling session, every methadone clinic. She’s the only person who’s never given up on me.”
“Fuck,” was all Mason said, blowing out a breath. “But… you’re clean now?” he asked nervously.
“Yeah. Still an addict of course. Always will be. The urge will always be there, some days more than others. But I don’t want to live like that again. I won’t live like that again. Elle, Ivan, and now you are the only three people in my life that know about it. Once I was clean I stayed with Elle for a while, but she had her own life and I felt like I was holding her back. She never said that of course, but she never brought any guys home, or went out partying and shit and I didn’t know if that was because she felt an obligation to stay home with me and keep me out of trouble.”
“So what did you do?”
“I crawled back to my parents’ house. Sucked up to them, humored them, told them what they wanted to hear. But I don’t want to talk about them.” Ever. Not even Elle knew the shit that drenched our family, the shit that made me rip open that first needle, the shit that still taunted me when I was sleeping…and she never would. “But I could only keep on lying about who I was for so long, and when they found out that’s how I ended up on tour with the band.”
“From the second I met you I got this vibe from you – like a confidence. A strength. This just proves how strong you really are.”
“I’m not strong,” I protested, my voice weak. “Just a good actor.” I winked in an attempt to play down the emotions clogging my throat but somehow Mason saw right through me.
“You don’t act with me,” he said. “I’ve seen you out there,” he added, cocking his head towards the window, “That cocky, mischievous, don’t-give-a-fuck party animal. And I’ve seen you in here, with me. Mellow, smart, funny – just as happy watching Dancing with the Stars eating a carton of ice cream as you are smoking pot and shoving your ass in people’s faces. You don’t show yourself, not the real you, to many people. I’ve seen you do it with Elle and Ivan and I’ve seen you do it with me. I’ve seen you forget to act. I’ve seen you, Ryder, and I’m telling you, you are strong.”
I shook my head, wondering why he would think that. “I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” I didn’t realize I’d said my thoughts aloud until Mason scooted down the bed, rolled onto his side to face me and cupped my neck with his hand.
His eyes didn’t close as he leaned in, and the second his lips touched mine I felt something. Something new. Not the raging erection having a party in my pants, not the feel of his skin against mine or the wetness of his tongue as it brushed against my lips. I’d felt all those things before with countless different people, but this was different, unfamiliar. I don’t know how to describe it. A warmth perhaps? A tingle. A need. Maybe even fear.