Mason

by Lisa Helen Gray

  After dinner Mason picked up on my tiredness and offered to bring me home. He also gave me a kiss on the cheek before leaving which had me feeling giddy and more awake than I was actually feeling.

  Once I had showered I went straight to sleep, only to be woken up by something I obviously dreamt about.

  Sitting up I rub at my tired eyes yawning. Needing a glass of water I throw my legs out of the bed and get up, but stop suddenly when I get closer to the door and hear glass shattering. Shaking, and stupidly, I open the door a crack, enough so I can peek my head out and look down the hall. The moonlight shines through the kitchen blinds casting a dim glow on the front room, and that’s when I see a darkened shadow moving in through the window.

  Frozen, it takes me until I see the light reflect from a knife to shift myself into gear, shutting the door as quietly as I can and locking it, even though I know it won’t hold an intruder off. My heart is racing and it feels so loud against my temples I’m wondering if he can hear it too.

  Shit! I cry inwardly when I look around the room. There’s nowhere to hide and there is no way I’ll be able to fit myself through the bedroom window. Hearing another loud smash I clamp my hand over my mouth to smother the scream and I’m startled to hear a voice I vaguely recognise.

  Moving as fast as I can, I grab the magazine I had been reading and start ripping pages out to start using them as wedges for under the door, knowing it will be harder to push open if he does manage to get past the lock. Once I’ve done that, I shakily get to my feet, jumping when a knock bangs on my door.

  “Open up now!’’ the voice snarls, and for some reason I can tell he is putting on an accent, his voice sounding off.

  Quickly grabbing the chest of drawers in a dazed panic, I drag them as close as I can to the door before pushing them over. Now they’re leaning against the door and I pray with that and the wedges of paper under the door it will be enough to hold him off.

  Police!

  Grabbing my phone I quickly dial 999, screaming when a knife slices through the door. I don’t watch, but listen as he struggles to pull it back out. I’m too busy crouching down in the wardrobe, hoping the police can get here soon.

  “999 what’s your emergency?’’

  “Police please. I have an intruder in my home,’’ I cry out on a whisper, my whole body shaking to the point of pain.

  “Okay Miss. Can you tell us where you are?’’

  I rattle off the address before addressing the real issue, “I’m twenty seven weeks pregnant, he has a knife,’’ I cry, my whole body racking with sobs.

  “Calm down, we have dispatched a team right out to you. They are two minutes out,’’ she says as another bang that sounds like the knife cutting through the wood happens making me squeal and this time I don’t bothering covering the sound. He already knows that I’m in here.

  I’m sobbing and trying to concentrate on the ladies voice on the phone who is still trying to calm me down, but my attention is on the door, praying like hell he doesn’t get through. The next thing I hear is a commotion at the front door and more glass shattering. Putting the phone down when I hear the police, I rush out of the wardrobe, finally able to catch my breath. Walking closer to the door to see if I can hear what’s happening, I step on a piece of paper, at least I thought it was until I look down noticing writing on the back. Picking it up I read the words out loud, my mind too far gone to stop myself from reading them. “This is what will happen if you continue to be a grass.’’ With shaky hands, I turn the picture around to see the most horrific image I’ll ever lay eyes upon. I let out a blood curdling scream, falling backwards onto the floor with another scream, a painful one this time.

  NO! NO!

  “No, no, no, no. I want to go. I want to go,’’ I chant to myself, clutching the phone in my hands and through my tears I call the last number, which happens to be Harlow.

  “Hello,’’ she answers groggily.

  “I need to go. I need to go. Please,’’ I whimper, a sob tearing through my throat.

  “Denny. Denny, are you okay? What happened?’’

  I don’t answer her, instead I drop my phone when a loud banging starts on the bedroom door and I scream moving backwards, hitting my head on the wardrobe door.

  My eyes stay glued to the photo, not able to take my eyes off it as I rock backwards and forwards, tears streaming down my face and pain skirting all over my body.

  Please no! Please don’t let it be true.

  The picture is a good distance away, the image blurry from my teary eyes. Hannah lays motionless, her bruised body covered in dirt, her face cut and bloody. It’s the missing bottom half of her clothes and the blood pooling between her legs with the scared look in her wide, open eyes that has me puking on the floor next to me.

  Who could do that to someone? Is this what they are going to do to me? Feeling sicker by the second, I block out all the loud voices around me and the banging on the bedroom door, too afraid to move.

  Finishing emptying my stomach I crawl back into the wardrobe, curling into a ball, my whole body shaking with fear. My stomach hurts painfully, and I try to rub the pain away, but it doesn’t leave.

  I don’t know how long I lay there in pain, or when they smashed through the bedroom door, but the next thing I know paramedics are in front of me and I can hear shouting close by.

  The next thing I know a form comes skidding across the floor near to me. It startles me at first causing me to break out of my trance and I notice it’s Mason. Another sharp pain causes me to whimper.

  “Mason?’’ I croak out, my voice hoarse from screaming and crying.

  “Yeah baby, it’s me. Can you come out so the paramedics can take a look at you?’’ he asks me softly and I look at him confused, then notice two paramedics close by waiting.

  It takes me a second to remember why I’m here before it all comes flooding back, and I cry out. Rushing out of the wardrobe quickly, I throw myself in Mason’s waiting arms. He barely has time to steady himself to stop us from falling backwards. The pain in my stomach tightens and I whimper again before burying my head deep into his neck, breathing in his intoxicating scent.

  “Hannah, someone killed her. They said… they said ‘that’s what happens to grassers.’ Mason, she looked so scared,’’ I sob, but it turns into a cry of pain when a fresh wave of cramps hits me low in the stomach. “He was going to kill me wasn’t he?’’

  “Shush babe, everything’s fine. I promise,’’ he says shifting me so I’m looking directly into his gorgeous, chocolate coloured eyes. I know he’s trying to mask that he’s worried, but I still see it in his eyes.

  “It hurts,’’ I breathe out, finally admitting for the first time out loud about the cramps in my stomach.

  He gives a nod to the paramedics who rush over and start checking me out. Another cramp hits me and I cry out louder with a scream.

  “What’s wrong?’’ I cry.

  “We need to get you to the hospital,’’ the woman paramedic tells me calmly.

  “What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Did I do something?’’ I cry at them, and then look to Mason for answers, but he looks as lost and pained as me. He reaches for my hand when they strap me to a stretcher, telling me everything is going to be okay.

  “What’s wrong?’’ he asks them, his voice firm and demanding.

  “We can’t be too sure because of the night’s events. It’s put a lot of stress on mum and the baby, so she could be going into labour,’’ she tells us, rushing us out to the ambulance.

  “It’s too early,’’ we both cry at the same time.

  “Oh my God is she okay?’’ I hear Harlow cry when we reach the ambulance.

  “They’re taking her to St. George’s Hospital, meet us there. I’m going with Denny,’’ Mason tells them just as another pain hits my stomach. Everyone around us must have caught on to what was wrong and Harlow gasps in worry, crying to Malik.

  “She can’t have the baby yet, it’s too early. We read a
book about birth, it’s too early,’’ she kept repeating, but her voice drains out as soon as the back of the ambulance door closes.

  “Please make it stop,’’ I beg them, the pain feeling excruciating. I’m frightened I’m losing the baby, or that I’ve hurt her from everything that happened tonight. My mind is too preoccupied to even think about the breakin. It seems so insignificant compared to the horror I’m going through right now.

  An oxygen mask is placed over my face, and I start sucking in deep breaths, my head becomes woozy, my body relaxing as the pain in my stomach starts to ease a little. The hold on my hand tightens and I give it a light squeeze back, tears running from my eyes.

  We arrive at the hospital twenty minutes later. We’re rushed through the side doors and into a waiting side room where a scan machine and another machine are waiting for us.

  “I’m Doctor Harold; I’ll be treating you this evening. Can you tell me where the pain is?’’

  I show him, pointing to the lower end of my stomach close to my bladder.

  “Is it there now?’’ He asks touching my lower abdomen.

  “No,’’ I tell him shaking my head, feeling tired and exhausted. A fresh pain hits me low in the stomach and I breathe through it, just like the paramedic showed me.

  As soon as it eases off the doctor resumes his examination on my lower stomach.

  “I just want to do a quick scan, and then I’m going to put sensors across your belly. They’ll track your baby’s heartbeat and it will show us the strength of the contractions. Are you happy with that so far?’’

  I nod my head yes, the panic not easing any since the pains started. He nods his head to the nurse to come closer.

  “The nurse is going to put an IV in your arm to get some fluids inside you. I’ll also be doing an internal examination to make sure your cervix hasn’t dilated. Am I okay to do it or would you prefer a female doctor?’’

  At this point a monk could do it and I wouldn’t care, just as long as they knew how to help my baby.

  “I don’t mind,’’ I assure him, then spend the next twenty minutes or so being poked and prodded in the most intimate places.

  After leaving us for half an hour the nurse and doctor walk back in. The doctor walks straight up to the heart machine monitoring the baby’s heartbeat, and pulls out the sheet of paper that’s been printing the progress since they attached me up to it. The contractions have gone and I haven’t had a pain in almost fifteen minutes.

  “After an internal examination and from what I can see here, the stress you endured tonight has caused you to experience Braxton Hicks; which is your body’s way of preparing itself for birth. However, Braxton Hicks contractions aren’t usually that painful, the contractions can be closer together, but usually they are just mild pains. After monitoring you it’s safe to say you aren’t going into labour. I’d advise you to go home and get lots of rest for a few days. Do you have any questions?’’ he finishes.

  “So, Denny is going to be okay? And so is the baby?’’ Mason breathes, relieved.

  “Yes. It happens in most pregnancy’s, especially at this stage in the pregnancy. It just so happened that the stress from tonight brought them on.’’

  Mason slumps back in his seat, his hands running over his face. When he looks back up his eyes are glassed over when he looks at me.

  “Can I go home?’’ I ask, not turning my eyes away from Mason. Something in the look he’s giving me is so powerful it’s choking me. I’ve never needed anyone in the way I’ve needed him tonight. I hate depending on people.

  “Yes. I’ll get you your discharge papers ready and then you are free to go,’’ he tells me before leaving the room.

  I wait for the door to close behind him before turning my attention back to the nurse.

  “I need to remove the IV from your arm,’’ she says softly, setting up the stuff she needs beside me.

  “Are you okay?’’ I ask turning my attention back to Mason, keeping my mind off the nurse removing the IV.

  He laughs, but there’s no emotion in it. “Am I okay? Denny, I’m far from okay, but the bigger question is, are you okay?’’

  “Still shaken up, and glad everything with the baby is okay. Have the police said anything?’’ I ask, mentioning the breakin for the first time. I can’t remember if Mason has left the room or not since we arrived, my attention has been emotionally and physically on the safety of my little girl.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to anyone. I know my brothers, Harlow, Granddad and Joan are outside waiting.’’

  “Go see them. Tell them to get home,’’ I gasp, horrified that they’ve been waiting out there this whole time. We’ve been here for three hours. It’s four in the morning now, so they must be tired as hell just like me.

  “I’ll go out and let them know what’s going on. I don’t think they’re going to leave until they’ve seen you’re okay for themselves. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,’’ he tells me on a whisper, his voice hoarse.

  “None of this was your fault Mason.’’

  “I should have been there to protect you. I hope you know you’re not getting out of moving in with me now,’’ he warns.

  “Don’t start Mason, I’m not moving in with you.’’

  “Yes you are.’’

  “No I’m not,’’ I snap, ignoring his ‘we’ll see’ look as he leaves to tell the others that I’m okay.

  Chapter Nine

  My legs are really sore when I wake up from the long day I had yesterday gathering the rest of my belongings from my parent’s house. It took a toll on me, not only physically, but emotionally too.

  I honestly didn’t believe Mason when he told me they’d have my stuff still. But when we got there and my mother wasn’t there, only my dad, he told us he shifted the boxes into the cellar so my mother wouldn’t find them. Turned out she wanted them binned.

  Totally not surprised that she wanted that, but what did surprise me was her not burning them the second I left the house. It’s something I could totally see my mother doing, or well, getting someone else to do the dirty work for her.

  We managed to get most of it in the trunk of Mason’s car when she pulled up in her flashy car, wearing her over the top fancy clothes. She immediately went crazy at us all as soon as she got out of the car. She even threatened to phone the police on us. Dad had talked her down and pleaded with me to leave before things got out of hand. He didn’t even need to give me the look; I had already decided to hightail it out of there. I didn’t want to argue with her after everything that has been going on.

  The rest of my stuff is at my Nan’s, who surprised me when she informed me it was already boxed and ready to go. Best part is that she is moving to town to be closer to me. She told me she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life miles away from her granddaughter.

  That was two weeks after the breakin, just when I finally agreed to move in with Mason in the new house on his granddads property. He pleaded, begged, guilt tripped me until I relented. It’s now been three weeks since the breakin and today I move into the new house, with Mason.

  I’ve been sleeping in Malik’s old bedroom until they had the new one sorted, and I don’t know whether it’s because he was being a gentleman or because he knew I wasn’t ready to share that personal space just yet, but not once since I moved in here has he tried to sleep in the same bed as me. As from tonight though, that is going to be another matter. Tonight we will be sharing a bed and I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself when I’m around him. Every minute I spend with him is another minute of torture. My body is burning for him, craving for him so deeply that it’s gone beyond what people would call, healthy.

  “Oh, hey, you’re awake,’’ Mason says startling me as he moves into the room.

  I cover myself up; conscious of the fact I’m only wearing knickers and one of his t-shirts that I robbed off him the night he brought me home from the hospital three weeks ago. Don’t worry. I washed it. The
n I made him wear it again so it smelled like him.

  “Um, yeah, why wouldn’t I be?’’

  “I thought you’d sleep longer. Want to come over to the new house when you get dressed? Max has just gone to the chippy, so if you want some I’d hurry up,’’ he grins.

  “I could eat. What time is it?’’ I ask trying to look around for my phone. It seems too early to eat fish and chips.

  “Half twelve.’’

  “Half twelve? Are you kidding me? I’ve been asleep for fourteen hours?’’ I grumble getting out of bed.

  “It’s fine. Joan told us to leave you to get some rest when Max started moaning about you getting to sleep in and not him. She had to remind him that in a few months it will be you not able to have a lie in.’’

  “She could be a good baby,’’ I defend rubbing my stomach.

  Grabbing my clothes I turn to look for my boots. When I see them over on the chair, I lean over to grab them when Mason starts choking, startling me. Turning around I find his eyes glued to my ass and I blush knowing he’s staring at my red lace maternity knickers.

  “I’ll um… I’ll go wait at ours and I’ll see you over there,’’ he stutters, his eyes giving my ass one more glance before he stumbles out of the door. I want to laugh at his quick retreat, but then it has me wondering if it turns him off. I’ve been putting on a lot of weight on the past week and maybe he’s not into big girls. The weight doesn’t even bother me. After being skinny with no figure for all of my life, it’s nice to have some shape to me.

  Not wanting to get upset I cross the hall to the bathroom to get washed and changed, ready to get this day over with. Oh, and to get some food before Max purposely tries to eat it all. Although, after this past week, since I agreed to move in officially, Mason has been the one pinching my food. Just the other day I was eating some tikka wraps that I made when he walked in, took a huge bite out of one, leaving me with just a mouthful. I shrugged it off trying to not let it bother me, but then he did it again when I made more. He has also tried doing it over the week when we’ve had dinner, pinching little things or wanting a taste. I swear he’s so lucky he has balls at the moment, because I was determined to ruin them a few days ago when he pinched the last slice of pizza. Before him it was Max. I was eating a lot of sweets the first week I was here and he had a tendency to help himself, telling me sharing was caring.