Identifying Sara

Chapter Thirty

I don't know how long it is, how long time passes, how many cars drive by, how many men and women walk by living their lives as normally as they can, until I hear an accented voice from behind me. "Are you alright?" I turn, whiping the water from my eyes enough to see the person standing behind me in what looks like a waitor's uniform. A boy no older then 18 stands there, messy, ash-brown hair and wild green eyes. I just look at him, as if to say 'do I look alright?' with my eyes. He throws a towel onto his shoulder and walks towards me with a sympathetic expression on his face. Great sympathy is exactly what I need right now. Not. He sits beside me and rests his arms on his knees, looking at me which I can see from the corner of my puffy eyes.

He sighs, "I'll ask again, are you alright?" His voice is deep and has a british accent, thicker, and stronger then the one Marc- or my father, has. I think back to my father, thinking about all the words he said. He told me the truth, he told me what I needed to hear, he told me something nobody else has the guts to do. It seems only fair that he should have the title of my father. More tears rush down my cheeks and suddenly a tissue is held out to me. I look over at the waitor boy who handed it to me. "Take it," he whispers with a small, weak, smile. I nod and take it whiping my eyes and my runny nose.

"No," I finally say hiding my face with the tissue. "Hm?" He asks sounding caught off guard, perhaps he was thinking of things of his own. "I'm not alright." I say back. I don't exactly feel like having a heart to heart with this boy who works in the building behind us, but the company is nice. He seems like he is around my age just about and he seems like he is a kind person, caring, but thats just a first impression, there's no way I am going to think of him that way just because he came out of the restuararnt, sat beside me, and handed me a tissue. No. I will be tougher this time around, tougher than I was before, I can't let this happen again.

"Its okay," he says in a soft, voice. The type of voice that you want to hear over and over again because it eases the wild nausea. "Everybody has their dark days. Not every single day is going to be a ray of sunshine. Right?" I nod in agreement and whipe my nose with the tissue again. His attitude is so refreshing that it's odd. He seems so down the earth, so understanding, like- I can't describe it. I tell myself to stop thinking like that. I just met this guy and he could be anything. The way he presents himself gets me thinking otherwise.

"Not to be mean, but who are you and what are you doing out here?' I ask. It hurts my throat to speak because of the agressive sobs and continuous crying that I have been trying to keep close to silent these past few moments. Now my throat is dry, still feeling small and closed up. I look at the stranger, and he looks back at me. I look right into his bright, emerald, green eyes full of life. He chuckles a little before speaking, keeping a small smile on his face that makes the tears stop escaping from my eyes. "My name is Mason. I'm a waitor back there," he points behind us in the direction of the restaurant, "I saw you come running from out and of no where and basically collapse on the curb. I didn't know if anyone was running after you or something, but after you were there just crying for more then ten minutes I came out because I happen to have a break and I wanted to see if you needed a hand." He explains.

I find myself lost at his words. Some boy who I have never met wanted to come out and sit with a girl who was crying so much that she couldn't even hide it. It's a strange thing, how one could just be kind even to someone they don't know. Yet it's a little too strange. Suspicious almost. "I-I don't know what to say," I let out a breathy laugh that doesn't even sound like a laugh at all. "I'm flattered actually. My name is Sara." I say. My mind reminds me of what happened with Carson, I feel like I am giving away too much information already and I've only told the guy my name, well technically it's not even my real name. Wow, what a mess I am.

The tears have officialy stopped but my eyes are still puffy and my cheeks feel sticky. My hands are still a little shakey and my heart is still in pain, but something about Mason's comapny, his eyes, his soft voice, it makes me feel calm. It makes me feel like my hands can stop shaking and my voice can stop trembling because I don't have to carry the weight of my problems on my shoulders all alone. I mentally slap myself. I need to stop getting closet a stranger. This is weird and I can't walk myself right into a terrible situation. He smiles and I see his pearly white teeth, "Nice to meet you Sara. Now, do you want to talk about what happened to you?" He asks with concern. Do I want to? This is a yes or no question, there are options. I have a choice. The good things of talking about it is it might make me feel better, but it also might not. I could feel ven worse than I already do, or I could feel even better.

There's a lot of things to say, and who knows if Mason will actually want to listen. Plus, he's at work, it would be rude to keep him from a lunch break or from anything he has to do. "It'll take a long time to tell, I don't want keep you here listening to a bunch of nonsense from a stranger you met on the street when you could be doing better things." I say truthfully. I look at the ground below my feet, knowing he might get up and leave.

"I don't care about a lunch break, plus, I want to know. I want to help you. But first, I'll be right back." He gets up from his spot beside me and goes inside the restaurant. That may have been my cue to leave, he probably isn't coming back. I can't find the strength to stand up, so instead I wait for somone who probably won't be returning. I poke at some sand between where the road meets the curb and jump in surprise when someone sits down next to me again. I look to the side and see Mason holding two cups with spoons sticking out of them. I hesitate for a moment before taking the one he held out to me, before even beginning to reach for the spoon, I look inside and find what looks like vanilla ice cream covered in hot fudge.

He smiles at me and begins eating the ice cream from his own cup. "Now, tell me what's on your mind."

***

"Figured you came from America." Is the first thing Mason says after I finish giving a summary of my life leaving out major details that he didn't really need to know. I only told him things like moving to a new school, meeting Carson, and changing the part about how my mother kidnapped me and was eventually caught so I came to live with my father. Instead, I told him my parents had a rough divorice and I moved to America when I was young and now I had decided to move to England with my father for something new. But the whole story was mainly about Carson because those were the feelings I couldn't shake off the most.

"Huh?" I ask looking over at him. He's listening intently the entire time I was telling the story, he would make comments about Carson's actions weather they were good or bad, he had something to say about everything. "Well, I've never been to the states before but I've met a few people from there and I recognized the accent." I nod understanding what he's saying. However, a little surprised he's never been to the United States. "Anyway, I'm sorry that Cody-" I correct him immediately, "Carson." Mason chuckles and shakes his head. "Right. Carson, sorry. But, I'm sorry he did that, he's clearly clueless. Maybe he just didn't know what he was losing."

I think about it. How could he not realize if he let me go, that was it? I would be gone. At the time, I didn't have a phone, so he wouldn't be able to contact me. How did he think that would work? Did he realize that once I was gone, I was gone? Why didn't he fight? Why didn't he do everything he could to keep me in his life? Maybe I wasn't important, or maybe he just didn't care for me at all because I was only something for him to work on to help his father succeed in an illegal plan. I sigh and stand, thinking that I should probably get home before I worry anyone.

"Thank you for listening." I say to Mason when he stands as well. "I think I should probably get home, storming out of the house and running to the front of a restaruant is not something I told my father I would be doing." I laugh a little and Mason chuckles, holding a napkin out with numbers written on it.

"My number," he says smiling. "I would like to see you again Sara." I smile feeling like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, now that I'm not the only one who knows about all of this, maybe I won't have to fight my way through it alone.

Updating again because you guys deserve it and I suck at updating. Only 10 chapters of IS left!!!! AH. Okay anyway, I'm working on a new book so give me some feedback on this book because I may be able to work out some things..... ByE