Saving Laurel

9. Pyromania

Laurel Gilroy

The wind blows through my open window, the white curtains dancing to a song only it can hear. I'd like to say I've been doing something productive but I've spent the last hour scrolling through Instagram as I lounge on my bed.

My phone goes off in my hand and I drop it, nearly hitting myself in the face as I do. Molly's name dancing across the screen waiting for me to accept the FaceTime request.

"Laurel! Oh my god!" Molly's brown eyes are bursting with emotions. "I had to call you and tell you! Mason got arrested!"

I swallow hard, fear rippling through me. "What? How? Why?"

"I don't know yet." She breathes, her eyes darting around to things in her background that I can't see. "Sam just called Chase."

"And Chase didn't get arrested?" I find it hard to believe. Chase is always with Mason.

"He wasn't there, he heard from Sam who got away when the cops showed up." She says, her voice is higher than normal giving away her distress. "Chase said something about a fight."

"What!" It tumbles out of me as I try to piece the puzzle together.

Mason in a fight? It's not the longest stretch but it's out of character. And my mind instantly jumps to the worst case scenario, that he's hurt.

"What are you going to do?" I sit down on my bed even though nothing in me feels calm. But just behind that thought is a question beckoning to be asked. "Wait. Why wasn't Chase with them?"

Mason, Sam and Chase are always together.

Mason's the leader. Sam's the loyal brains. And Chase is the fumbling moron for lack of better words.

"He was with me." Molly breathes, wind whipping her hair around her face.

"Since when do you hang out with Chase, alone?"

Her shoulders shrug and for a second I think I see a smile tug on her face. Sometimes she looks just like Mason. Like now, with a hint of a smile and the lingering mischievousness that grazes her features.

A car door slams, the background shifting behind Molly and I recognize Chase's car. I've only been in it a thousand times.

"I'll keep you posted on Mason." Molly says. "Unless you think you want..."

"No!" I shout, panic bursting through me. Molly's eyes widen slightly and I release a breath, smiling even though I'm suddenly trembling. "No, I can't. Just let me know what happens."

And then I hang up before she can say more. My hands shake, my heart beating erratically in my chest as panic consumes every corner of my being.

Not Mason.

A million questions flood my mind. If he's okay, if he's hurt, if he needs me. But just as soon as the last thought enters my consciousness I'm hit with the reality of the truth.

Mason doesn't need me. I'm the one that needed him.

The one that is imperfect. Damaged. Not good enough. Unloveable.

Tears blur my vision as I stand in the center of my room, my eyes taking in its features frantically until they settle on the drawer.

Don't Laurel.

But even as my voice rings through my thoughts there's no real conviction. Because I know, even though I hate this, I know it'll settle everything inside me. It'll bring clarity and focus and allow me to mask all of my imperfections behind an impassive front. That it'll push away the hurt and the pain for a little while at the very least. I may not be perfect still, ever, but it'll be better.

Wiping at my tears, my mascara smudging onto the palms of my hands, my focus heightens as I rifle through the drawer. My fingers finding the small plastic container with the perfect silver rectangles neatly tucked into their thin cardboard sleeves. Plucking one out, I turn the object around in my fingers, trying to find some reason not to. But the benefits far outweigh the cons.

So I yank my sleeve up as far as I can and select a spot amongst all the other scars that line my bicep and etch one more into the gallery.

                            ————————

I'm on the couch after dinner, watching The Office for the millionth time when my parents join me.

My mom props her feet up in my dad's lap and he mindlessly starts to rub them like he always does. My parents fit together like peanut butter and jelly. One isn't nearly as good without the other.

"So make any new friends yet?" My mom hums into her decaf cup of coffee.

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I'm tempted to give her the truth. That no, I haven't made any friends, despite multiple attempts on their part. But that'll just open the door for more questions. Like why I'm not trying to make friends.

Then I'll have to say it's because of Mason.

And I don't want to bring up Mason.

They know all they need to know.

That we broke up on mutual terms. That I didn't beg him to stay with me, that I didn't apologize for whatever I did wrong, whatever made him mad. I don't actually even know what it was. I'm not about to explain Mason and I and all that we were. It was complicated. He was complicated. He still is complicated.

And I'm still protective over us. Him. Even if we aren't together. Even if I don't ever want to see him again.

He's Mason.

"Yeah, this girl Cora." I say, leaving out that she's a cheerleader, not opening that door either.

But even as I say her name my thoughts drift, my mind filling with the sound of the piano and an image of unruly hazelnut hair pops into head. I can almost see the angles and curves of his face and the way his body moves in time with the music, elegant and romantic.

It's only because he's intriguing, I'll give him that. Like today at lunch. Babbling like an idiot after he told me to fuck off as color rose to his cheeks. It was the first interaction I had with him, the bad boy stereotype I had him pegged for faltered as he stumbled over an apology mid swearing. It was sort of enduring really, a little innocent. It was probably an act.

Mason never apologizes.

And Mason's never wrong. Just ask him.

"You'll have to invite her over sometime." My dad suggests.

I smile, agreeing even though I have no intention of becoming friends with anyone.

"What about any cute boys?" My mom asks, of course she asks.

Once again, Wes infiltrates my mind. He is cute, hot even. But even if he's nothing like Mason, I still have no desire to tangle with fire. No matter the size of the flames.

Mason inflicted enough lasting damage to cure me of my pyromania.

————————

So here's the deal.

I say this EVERY story. Well almost every story. I didn't say it in Okay.

But I just want you all to catch up to me. It's so hard keeping secrets. 😫 😭