03 alone

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I woke up early on Saturday, made myself a bowl of cereal that I got after work, and took a shower. I was not looking forward to going to Charley's, but it had to be done. I wasn't even sure what that rude stranger wanted.

It didn't take long for my apartment to become...personalised. I had never been one to keep my room in order. It somehow always returned to a state of wreckage, but organised wreckage all the same.

I could find my things in my mess of a room, and that was all that mattered, really.

Shoving on a pair of light blue jeans from a pile of clothes I was too lazy to properly put into my closet, I decided to throw on a Regular Show t-shirt that read "AWWWW YEAHYUH!".

I didn't really like leaving my hair down, it just got in the way of practically everything, so I pulled it all into a bun at the crown of my head, and slipped on a pair of oxfords.

My car revved as I switched it into gear, the huge dent at the back still painful to the eye. The streets were busy—they always were, I quickly realized.

It would have been better to walk, I supposed, because the auto repair was not that far from my apartment. But I needed to fix that nasty dent anyway.

My eyes zoomed in on the black and bright orange trademark that read CHARLEY'S in bold. Pulling in, I noticed a few men zoning in on me.

I climbed out, locking it, and shoving my keys back into my pocket. There were murmurs and one was particularly loud—

"Gringa."

I gripped onto my phone tighter, thinking of putting Rhia on speed dial.

The fear that licked up my spine was ice-cold. I calmed myself down. These men didn't know me. They had no reason to hurt me.

Suddenly, there was a low whistle from behind me. I turned to find a tall, young man with jet black hair and dark skin.

He was attractive, save for the grime that covered most of his forearms. Grime wasn't the only thing covering his arms, I realized, when I looked closely. His arms were covered in night-black ink. Intricate tattoos that hissed as they snaked around his forearm to his wrist.

The men from earlier dissipated, as though this man held some sort of authority around here.

I raised a brow.

"Not for you, princess," he said with a feline smile and then he winked, then motioned to my car, "for this beauty over here."

"Makes me feel a little better," I said, dryly.

He chuckled deeply, then held out a hand. "I'm Logan."

He looked down at his hand, as if only just realising the soot covering it, and made to pull back, but I took it anyway.

"Ever," I said.

"Ever what?" he asked, confusion lurking in his dark eyes.

It was my turn to chuckle. "Ever is short for Everly," I explained, "my name."

"Oh," he said, drawing his hand back to the nape of his neck. "My bad."

An amicable silence settled.

"So, what can I do for you, Ever?" Logan asked.

I cleared my throat. "I'm looking for..."

Shit, the idiot hadn't given me his name...

"Have you introduced the princess over here to your tic-tac dick yet, Logan?"

That voice, the tone, the crudeness of it all. I knew it. How could I forget?

I turned, narrowing my eyes at the rude stranger. My heart picked up its own beat at the sight of him.

The tank top he had on showcased toned biceps, and a sheen of sweat covered his bronze skin. Black ink peeked out at his chest, alluding to a tattoo he had there. His curly hair brushed against his forehead, and slight stubble had formed over the bottom half of his face.

I gulped. I could practically taste the testosterone in the air.

"I introduced it to your mom last night. That's why her breath is so fresh," Logan responded with a smirk, completely nonchalant.

It took me a while to get it, and when I did, I didn't know whether to choke myself or cackle with laughter.

The rude stranger didn't respond to Logan, but kept his eyes trained on me as a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"You came," he said, flatly. His eyes snaked across my cartoon t-shirt, holding a glimmer of amusement.

"I didn't say I wouldn't," I replied. "I'm—"

"Ever," he said lowly, as if testing out the waters.

I looked at him questioningly.

"I heard," he explained, motioning to Logan.

"Mason, man, don't give the girl a hard time," Logan intervened.

Mason. That was his name. Mason. My temples started a dull, growing ache. Why did it sound so familiar?

"I did nothing," Mason said, leering at me with a smirk as his eyes travelled my length. "Yet."

The way he said it sent another shiver—icier than the last, up my spine.

I shouldn't be here. This guy—Mason, was setting off all my alarm bells.

Logan just shook his head and left the garage. A black motorcycle behind him caught my eye. It was the same one I'd partly destroyed. Except it now looked as good as new—better, even.

"You fixed it?" I motioned to the cycle.

"Yeah," Mason said, leaning against my car.

He made it brand new in such a short span of time? Impressive. I didn't admit it, though.

"I brought my car," I said.

Mason looked beneath him, lifting his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. "It just needs a little panel beating. Pick it up tomorrow."

I exhaled, relieved that it wasn't too serious. "How much do I owe you?"

He lifted his gaze to me in a slow, deliberate sweep. "It's on me," he said.

I frowned, my molars meeting harshly. "Just tell me the price."

"I told you," he drawled, those brown eyes scouring my face, "it's on me. I'm feeling generous today, and besides, it's nice to have people indebted to you."

I growled under my breath. This guy was infuriating. "Well, it's not nice to be in debt. I don't want to owe you anything."

"Too bad, blondie." The smirk on his face sent fire running through my blood.

"Don't call me that," I hissed.

"Why not?" He bit his lip, edging closer to me. His eyes lit up with a bright glint, dark chocolate with brilliant flecks of honey.

The Gods were seriously testing my patience.

We were close enough to be breathing the same air. He brought his lips to my face, and I shut my eyes. I couldn't breathe.

I felt his lips brush my ear, soft and tentative. Goosebumps rose on my flesh. "Blondie," he whispered.

I jumped, backing away from him quicker than a flash of light. I tripped over something metal, landing on the bonnet of my car.

Breathing slower, I placed a palm on my chest. What was that? That leap, like going over a bump in a road? Like someone had flipped an omelette in my stomach?

"Don't—don't do that again," I said, lifting up a hand.

His features receded into platonic boredom. I could have sworn it was hurt that lurked in those brown eyes. "Pick up your car at two tomorrow," he murmured.

I swallowed. "I will."

He offered me a hand, one that, like Logan's, was covered in car grime. Although I had many reasons to refuse, I took it anyway.

Just as he pulled me to an upright position, I noticed something—through all the dirt caking Mason's warm, calloused hand. It was his left hand, and I'd written my number on his right, which was why I didn't notice before...

The tissue on his left hand was terribly scarred. Almost as though the flesh had been mauled by some vicious animal. It pained me to even look at it.

Mason noticed my gaze and immediately tried to pull his hand away. I held on, looking up at him firmly.

"What did this to you?" I asked, and I was surprised by the anger, the distaste, in my voice.

Surprise bounced in his eyes, as if he didn't expect me to care. He didn't pull away when I held on a little tighter, my skin soft against his.

"Nothing," he said, his voice muffled. We stood there for a few seconds longer, hands clasped, eyes unwavering, before he finally pulled away.

Logan returned, brows rising at the tangible tension in the air.

He started, "Coffee for you, prin—"

Mason clenched his jaw, like he'd punch Logan if he were to go any further.

"Ever," Logan finished, catching on to whatever silent message Mason was sending him with eye-daggers, handing me the cup.

I accepted it, almost too quickly. Coffee had become my survival technique during the last few years of high school. And I had an unhealthy obsession with foam.

"Thanks," I said to Logan, offering him a smile.

"Cheers," he said, and lifted his cup. I humored him and lifted my own. The paper cups made an awkward pop sound when they met, and I downed the whole cup happily.

When I looked back up, I was met by a deeply frowning Mason. He turned his gaze immediately, muttering something about "work to do."

Logan stayed by my side. I felt comfortable in his presence, though I had only just met him. He had an endearing sort of charisma. Unlike Mason, who just left me intensely curious.

"What's up with him?" I asked Logan, watching as Mason rolled himself under a seemingly irrecoverable car with ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he did so, and it was hard to turn away.

I didn't know why I asked. Was it for me? Did I want to gauge whether Mason was that type? Why did I want to know? I wouldn't be seeing more of him, anyway.

"Mason?"

I nodded.

Logan exhaled. "He's a difficult fucker. Don't take anything he says to heart. He has a hard time letting people in."

I wanted to know more, but I was not in the position to ask and Logan was not in the position to tell me.

"He's the best we've ever had. Brings in the big bucks. I've seen him revive even the most screwed up cars. He walked in here at sixteen, already a self-trained mechanic."

"He's a mechanic?" I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice.

"Informally, yeah," Logan said, "He's studying Mech Engineering at NYU. The brightest of all of us in this shithole."

Logan faced me. I bet a face like his came with many admirers. "He's not a bad person."

I shrugged. "Most of us aren't."

Logan smiled. "True that."

"His hand..." I trailed off.

Logan nodded slightly, like he understood and I didn't need to elaborate. "It got stuck in machinery when he was sixteen. He didn't scream once— didn't say a word. The asshole refused to even shed a tear."

I stared at the way Mason continued to work, relentlessly. He lost himself in the metal, amongst the parts. What was he hiding beneath that tough shell?

Was he...was he a bad person?

I was not sure whether I wanted to know.

*

The food at Aletta was good, but there was no way I'd be able to live on the stuff.

I visited the grocery store again, this time buying more wholesome food. I didn't really know what I was going to do with the stuff when I didn't know how to cook to save my life.

I also bought a whole stash of peanut butter jars which could serve as a temporary solution.

Problem was, they were as heavy as pure hell and my T-rex arms weren't helping. I waddled all the way back to my apartment, peering up over the brown paper bag the entire time.

Finally, thanks to the grace bestowed upon me by God alone, I reached my apartment. Now all I had to do was get the access card from my back pocket and...

I collided into a brick wall and my grocery bag went flying.

"Fuck!" a male voice barked.

I was on the floor now, lying across the presupposed brick wall, which was in fact a breathing, cursing person whose voice I recognised.

"YOU!" We both yelled simultaneously.

"Maaaan," Mason drawled. "Were you born with two left feet or did you have to practice?"

Although he was partly right, and I couldn't count the number of times I'd tripped when putting on my underwear, his words incited anger.

"Grasp your ears slowly and pull, you might just be able to remove your head from your ass!" I spat.

Then, I realized, I didn't care about him at all.

My poor peanut butter jars. They had toppled out of the paper bag, and the glass had cracked, the thick substance oozing slowly onto the floor.

"Oh my God," I wailed, "my peanut butter!"

I completely lost my shit.

The tears came before I could control them.

I could feel Mason's eyes on me as he witnessed my tantrum. I let out a loud, raw scream that encapsulated all my frustration, before getting up and drying my face with the palms of my hands.

As I'd guessed, Mason was staring at me with a mixture of amusement and utter confusion.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, sniffling.

"What?" his brows furrowed. If it were another situation, I would've deemed the action irreversibly hot. "I live here, blondie."

What?

"No, you don't!" I argued, like a petulant child, "I've been here for two days and I haven't seen you once."

"I don't need to justify myself to you," Mason started, then he looked at my now red eyes and sighed, "but I will anyway. I pulled all nighters at Charley's to fix the mess you made."

My heart stopped drumming in my ears. "Oh," I said, quietly.

"Yes. Oh," he repeated, condescendingly.

He rose to his full height, then offered me a hand, for the second time today. "C'mon, blondie," he said.

And for the second time today, I took it.

"Don't call me that," I muttered, tired. I sniffed again.

"Why is your nose so red?" he muttered, staring at my nose with a frown.

I offered him an unimpressed glare, and he thankfully took the hint. My nose turned red when I cried or got sick.

"There goes my dinner," I muttered, staring at the ruined jars of peanut butter. To see all of that go wasted... it physically pained me.

Mason raised a brow.

"Do you live here alone?" I asked him.

I immediately regretted asking the question. His features completely crumbled for a second, and then as quickly as it had, dissolved back into a sheet of cold neutrality.

"I should be asking you the same," he said, edging nearer. "Why is a girl like you so far away from home when she clearly can't survive by herself?"

The words hit home, and as much as I wanted to slap Mason across his insolent cheek, my midnight thoughts matched his current one.

I was not only homesick, I was homesick and alone, and everyone back home had wanted me to leave. Told me that I'd be fine, told me not to call too often.

They wanted me to leave.

Why?

By the time the tears started falling again, Mason had disappeared into the apartment opposite mine. Without a word.

Asshole.

I had been right all along. That gut feeling that kept telling me to stay away, stay away, stay away.

Mason was that type. I decided. The bad type.

The type that wouldn't think twice before destroying someone's life.

I began cleaning up the broken pieces of glass.

*


yuenwrites

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