the other side of us | ✓

1.5 | nowhere fast

Mason cursed loudly and rammed his fist into the brick wall. The anger from before was back. He kicked a trash bin, and as the round, metal lid went flying, he didn't notice the door being opened.

"Oh!" someone squeaked.

Mason turned and locked eyes with the girl from earlier. The pretty one with the red hair. He could place her now. Charlotte, from the Stop and Go. Her mouth was frozen in a perfect little "o," her eyes wide in shock. Mason watched as she seemed to shake herself out of it and tentatively reached towards him. He took a step back.

"Your hand—" she murmured in a low voice.  Mason looked down to see the cracks across his knuckles, blood oozing from them lazily. The skin was an angry red, and he clenched his fist.

"It's fine," he said. "I need to go."

"Wait!" The girl said in a louder voice, startling Mason. He stopped his retreat and looked down to see her small hands encasing his own. She released his hand and looked at him defiantly.

"At least wash it off. The walls are dirty."

Mason cracked a smile. "I don't think the dirt is the biggest problem."

She wrinkled her nose.

"You're right, but we don't have anything to fix your attitude right now. Just come with me, I'll help you bandage it."

Mason wanted to laugh.

"My mother's been trying to fix that for years," he responded as the girl pulled him towards the door. She was gripping his non-injured hand, and it seemed that she wouldn't take no for an answer. Her hand was warm, and Mason didn't mind it.

They walked in through the same kitchen that Mason had tried to escape through a few days ago.

"Won't you be in trouble with your boss for letting strangers in?"

The girl laughed like he'd just told a joke. "It's fine."

They were in a hallway now, and Mason recognized the door that led to the dining area. He was tugged past that and through a second doorway into an office. It was cute, decorated with candid photos of her and her friends. There was a small window on the far wall, decorated with some type of flowy curtain. It was small, but there was still a large desk up against the back wall. A wall calendar hung above it, and next to that were news articles that had been carefully cut out of the paper and framed.

The girl let go of his hand and went to the desk, pulling a first aid kit out from the bottom drawer.

"Sit," She said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. Mason took a seat slowly. The door to the office had closed behind them, and he was suddenly very aware that he was alone with a girl he'd never truly met before.

"Aren't you worried?" he asked.

"What would I have to be worried about?"

"Well, you don't know me."

"That's not true," she said suddenly, her eyes brightening. "I know you were at the party Thursday night."

"I was."

"You're the boy that ran through my shop, aren't you?"

Mason paused. "Yeah," he said slowly, "I am."

She had set the kit down on the desk now and taken a seat on the edge of it. She pulled Mason's hand onto her lap while sifting through the kit to find what she needed. Her skirt lifted a bit, revealing her bare knee, and Mason cleared his throat, shifting his gaze.

"Why were you running?" she asked casually.

"People were chasing me." He said, examining the room some more. A bulletin board hung on one of the walls, decorated with tacked up recipes and a printed schedule.