Page 167 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I kiss him back, needing the comfort, needing him…even if he isn’t mine. Hefeelslike mine.

Eventually, I have to pull away because if I don’t, I’ll just crumble in his arms and ask him not to leave, like that’s even a possibility.

His forehead rests against mine. “I’ll see you,” he tells me quietly. “Okay?”

I nod and whisper back, “Okay.”

“I’m only a call or text away…if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

He kisses me one more time before walking out, and it leaves me more confused than before he walked into this room.

39

Mason

Time doesn’t care how much you beg it to slow down or speed up. It doesn’t change for anyone or anything. It’s my biggest fear. The thing that keeps me up most nights. The thought of time going by too fast, or being wasted, or time stopping short before I’m actually ready to go.

I feel like I’m going crazy some nights when all I can do is lie awake, staring up at the ceiling, feeling like my body is physically recoiling from the thoughts of this being all my life is, of thinking about dying one day and never getting to experience any real happiness here.

I think about how much I don’t want to be here sometimes, but also how much death scares the shit out of me. And then I feel even shittier when I think about how sad my mom probably is watching who I’m becoming, watching me waste away like this. It still physically hurts to think about her not being here, not being able to lean on her when I need to.

This summer has been one huge pile of sleepless nights and miserable days that drag by way too slowly.

By the time I walk into the office this morning, my tie is crooked because I didn’t care to put it on right, and my head feels too loud. People glance up and then look away like they don’t see the shitstorm that surrounds me. Like, I’m still untouchable here. Like my last name still does the talking.

Where I normally would hate that being the case, right now I’m grateful for it, grateful for everyone ignoring me. It’s easier to be the disappointment when everyone is already expecting it.

After an extremely long call with one of my dad’s most complicated clients, who wanted tospecificallytalk to only me, I throw my legs up on top of my desk and pull out the aluminum water bottle full of numbness I packed as my lunch.

Brooke walks up, pushing my legs down, making me spill my drink a little as I’m taking a sip.

“Hey,” I scold.

“Did I spill your rum?” she teases.

I glare up at her. “It’s just water.”

“Hmm, that’s some strong-smelling water. What brand is it?”

I turn the bottle, looking for the label. “I don’t know. Some natural spring shit.”

Her face drops into a bullshit look. “Come on. Grab a coffee with me.”

“Do you need me to hold your hand and pour it for you, too?”

She slaps me on the back of my head before walking off, not even looking back or waiting to see if I’m coming.

I screw the lid back on the bottle and place it on my desk before getting up and following her into the break room.

When I walk in, she’s leaning against the counter, pulling her heels off and throwing them on the floor next to her.

“You look tired,” she says, staring at me.

“I am.”

“Long night?”