Strum Me

by Allison, Ketley

  “No, I—we didn’t really make plans. It’s just one dance that we agreed to,” I repeat, and have been repeating on a loop this past week.

  His hand moves down his face, where he cups his jaw and scratches. “Right, well. I’m here now, so … wanna ride?”

  “Are you okay?” I blurt out, assessing if he’s on drugs, or drunk, despite my awareness Mason doesn’t do hard drugs. His brother and father do, which is enough to “fucking immunize me against that shit for life,” according to Mason.

  Mason’s vaguely unbalanced, like he’s not sure how he ended up here.

  “Fine,” Mason snaps, then looks me up and down. “You look beautiful.”

  I raise my brows. “Nobody’s ever yelled at me for being beautiful but … thank you?”

  He holds out his hand. “C’mon. Ride’s waiting.”

  My shoes are already on. Debbie insisted my outfit wasn’t complete until I capped it off with her sparkling Jimmy Choo’s, and she was right. After she and my dad left for their dinner engagement, the halls became my runway as I sashayed in private.

  Now my feet hurt like a mother, but it was worth it. Mason’s here, I have great shoes, a gorgeous dress, and my hair’s behaving like it should for once.

  The prom I wasn’t going to attend is looking better and better.

  Then I saw our ride.

  “Is that…” My fingers tighten on Mason’s. “No. It can’t be.”

  A black stretch limo waits at the curb with the back door open, where Mason must’ve stepped out initially.

  It’s not the car that makes my spine tighten, but the swath of red tulle coupled with a white, veneered smile that flashes into my vision.

  “That’s Amy,” I whisper.

  Mason tries to pull me along, but I’ve come to a halt.

  “Yeah,” he says, but then his tone goes dark. “Court and Melissa are in there, too. And Amy’s date.”

  Tug. I keep still.

  Mason steps closer, using his index finger to tip my chin up. “Relax, Mack. You’re with me tonight. Nothing’s gonna happen to you on my watch.”

  “I don’t know that.” I search his eyes. “I have four years of proof to not believe that.”

  “Yet you asked me to be your date.”

  “I didn’t…” I let out a fake, too-harsh laugh. “I asked you for a single dance. You’re the one who showed up at my doorstep in a suit.”

  Up close, the suit is definitely secondhand. A few threads are loose along the shoulders, and the color is more of a tarnished gray than its once black. Its only saving grace is that Mason’s in it. The guy is wearing a suit for me, to a dance he hates, and I can’t lie and say my stomach hasn’t turned to mush at the sight.

  But is it trusting mush?

  “Seriously.” Mason tries tugging my hand again. “I’ll be by your side the whole time.”

  “That’s supposed to be a good thing?” I mutter out of the side of my mouth, but my feet start moving.

  Mason hears. He leans close and says, “After this, we’ll come back to your place and I’ll eat you out until you’re dry.”

  My eyelids flare. That means a lot of orgasms. A whoosh of feeling hits my core and I stumble in my heels.

  “Good girl,” Mason murmurs, his hand at the small of my back.

  At the limo, Mason guides me in first. I cringe, but hide it the instant these girls can see my face. I don’t say hello as I find a spot as far away from them as possible, but it turns out it’s not necessary when I notice who’s next to Amy.

  My mouth drops, but so not to be obvious, I watch Mason get into the car and settle beside me. His expression has turned to stone, his cheeks so hard, lines of muscle frame his jawline.

  Amy studies me with lowered lids. She’s in a scarlet gown with a mermaid cut that’s tight all the way down until her lower legs, where sparkling fabric and tulle flares out. Courtney’s in a purple number and Melissa has chosen a simple short, ivory dress.

  I clear my throat and sit back, folding my hands on my lap.

  “Holy fucknut, let’s cut this tension with a champagne bottle,” Brax says from his position beside Amy.

  Amy giggles, then nestles closer to Mason’s brother.

  Rage pulses off Mason in rivulets, the heat of his anger so potent, I’m afraid to touch him or acknowledge him in any way.

  Brax doesn’t seem to mind. He fumbles around for champagne in the side door, finds it, then holds it up like a trophy, his mouth a clownish maw and his stare uncentered.

  Oh, boy. Brax is loaded.

  On what, I have no idea, but it matters little when the whites of Mason’s knuckles cut through his skin like blades as he grips his thighs.

  The three girls titter and clap when Brax pops open the bottle, Melissa grabbing five flutes. I’m no mathematician, but it’s obvious they’ve missed a glass. Me.

  “You’ve had enough, B,” Mason says.

  Brax cackles. “Not even close, bro. We’re not even at the stupid dance, yet. And since watery fruit punch isn’t gonna do it for me, I’m gonna swig now.”

  Amy offers him a flute, but Brax knocks it away. It hits the other glasses and a couple shatter to the floor. Courtney covers her mouth with a laugh and Amy smirks.

  “Whoopsie,” Brax sing-songs, then tips the bottle to his mouth. “Who’s next?”

  “Me,” Amy says. Brax passes the bottle over with a lecherous smile, and Amy daintily grins back.

  I note the slyness in her expression, and, even though I didn’t need it to understand what was really going on in this vehicle, it solidifies my opinion.

  “Shit, bro, I’ve had an epicany!” Brax hoots, slapping his thighs.

  “A what?” Mason asks tightly.

  “Epic … epif … you know, a bright idea.”

  “Epiphany,” I say, before I can help it.

  Brax points at me. “Yeah, Big Mack Bookworm, that.” Then he frowns. “When did you get here? And why are you here?”

  “Because she’s my date,” Mason bites out.

  “Oooooh.” Brax nods sagely. “Makes complete no fucking sense.”

  “Tell me about it,” Amy says. “Talk about an ugly duckling making her debut … as an ugly duckling.”

  “Fuck off, Amy,” Mason says. He throws an arm around my stiff shoulders, pulling me closer. It’s like being slammed against a cold, brick wall.

  “No one want to hear my epitaph?” Brax asks.

  Amy trails a finger down Brax’s cheek. “Tell us, babe.”

  Mason’s torso contracts beneath my arm. He’s coiled to spring.

  I don’t like that Amy’s using Brax, especially when he’s so vulnerable, but I’m not sure I’m enjoying Mason’s reaction, either.

  “My brother, my gosh dang, freaking big boy bro who’s always cutting a path for me, has fucked every single chick in this cab.” Brax slaps his thighs and jiggles up and down. “Ain’t that right, Mase?”

  My gut hardens, but I school my face.

  Amy laughs. “Braxie, shut it. This isn’t the time, nor the place, to point out Mason’s conquests—hang on.” Her tipsy expression hardens. She glares at Mason. “You’ve fucked Big Mack? No way. Are you serious?”

  Mason’s hand hasn’t left my shoulder. I try to move away, but he’s leaving deep red marks on it as he grips me harder.

  Amy face goes white. She says to Mason, “You’re not denying it.”

  “Oh, my God…” Melissa whispers to Courtney. “Can you believe he…”

  And in an instant, I’m transported to what the dance will be like when I arrive on Mason’s arm. The whispers. Stares. Cat-calls. Insults. Laughter.

  What am I thinking?

  That this would make me cool? That being here, becoming one of Mason’s girls, would heal the years of terribleness these people have wrought?

  The sex is good, mind-blowing even, but it’s not enough to bury the memories.

  “Can’t blame you for eating the most famous burger in the land,” Brax say
s. “She got that special sauce on her cooch?”

  Amy sneers. “Never knew fast, fatty food was your craving, Mason. I always thought it was fine dining you were after.”’

  An overwhelming urge to escape hits me at the same time the limo stops at a light. I open my mouth to say, this was a bad idea, I need to leave, but I don’t even get to inhale.

  I miss what else is said, but Mason’s leap to the other side of the car is impossible to ignore. He throws himself against Brax, his arm raised for a punch. Amy squeals, champagne spills everywhere, and Courtney and Melissa scramble to get to my side.

  “Mason, stop—!” I shout, but the limo’s moving again and standing in a crouch, with no handhold, in heels, is a recipe for disaster. I topple to the side, narrowly missing Mason’s shoe side-swiping my cheek as he struggles with Brax and I land in a heap.

  I crawl up Mason’s leg, gripping his blazer and trying to pull him back. The limo lurches to the side and comes to a stop, the driver tumbling out and running to the back door.

  He opens it and helps me drag Mason out of the car by his feet, but the damage is done. Brax’s face is bloody, already swelling, and I’m fairly certain I spot a cracked tooth when he grins maniacally at Mason’s departure.

  I stumble out behind Mason as the driver barrels down on him.

  “—out of my vehicle!” the driver screams. “Completely unacceptable behavior! You’re walking from here, kid. Lady, it’s your mistake if you stay with him.”

  I grip the fabric of my dress as I sidle up to Mason. “I’ll stay.”

  “Fucking punk kids,” the driver mumbles as he dismisses us. “If you were my daughter, sweetheart, I’d never let you within arms reach of scrap like that. You need to reevaluate your decisions in life.”

  “Thank you for your unsolicited advice,” I say to his back as he climbs into the limo.

  With a mild engine roar—because it’s a hulking stretch limo—the vehicle lurches back into traffic and disappears.

  Mason wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and starts limp-walking away. A few droplets of blood pattern the pavement as he moves.

  “Wait up!” I say, toddling behind in my heels while trying not to scrape the hem of my dress against the filthy sidewalk.

  “Don’t know why you got out with me,” Mason says without turning around. “Shoulda stayed in the car and gone to the dance of your dreams.”

  “That’s a joke, right?” Finally, I catch up to him. “You want me to stay in that car with them? I might as well be a Big Mac. They’d eat me alive.”

  “Only because you let them,” Mason mutters.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Big Mack Doormat, Big Mack Bookworm, Big Mack Mouse—there are so many nicknames for you, because you give us so much to work with.”

  Hurt spears my heart, but I’m comfortable enough with Mason to retort, “Not any original material, at least.”

  Mason whirls. “Yet you take it. Each and every time. Hell, I’ve treated you like shit on my shoe, and you still let me fuck you! Scratch that—you let me take your v-card! Like, holy shit, dude, where is your pride?”

  I stop in my tracks, heat flooding into my cheeks. “I know why you’re saying these things to me right now. You’re hurting. Brax isn’t well and—”

  Mason’s finger jams near my face. “Don’t you dare bring up my family problems. Not if you want to come out of this without bawling your eyes out.”

  I grab his finger. Clutch his hand in my own and force it down. I keep holding on when I say, “I’ve gotten to know you these past few weeks. Not just your body and not only the random moments of tenderness when you stroke my face or kiss my forehead when you think I’m sleeping. And I know, right now, that you’re lashing out, and I’m you’re closest target.”

  “Target?” Mason sneers, and it’s such an ugly, old expression of his that I recoil. “More like you’re my victim. You’ve always been such easy prey. I zeroed in on you out of spite. That spoiled, rich, lonely girl who thinks she has it bad but has no idea how bad it could really get. Not until I came along. And you know what?” Mason laughs darkly. He rips out of my hold and turns, scrubs at his red-rimmed eyes, then whirls back. “You’re still my victim. I’m not fucking you ‘cause I want to. Or even because you’re willing and there. I’m doing it because Amy thought it’d be fun to make you feel special before bringing you down in front of the entire class at prom.”

  I grit my teeth against any incoming tears. “You’re lying.”

  Mason grins, and it’s a lot like his brother minutes before. “I ain’t.”

  “You are.” I storm toward him, stopping when my face is inches from his. “You can’t fake what we’ve been doing. Your late night visits to my house, the fact that you’re starving—”

  “Stop it.”

  “And that my bed is the first real place of warmth you’ve had in years—”

  “I said fucking stop it.”

  “And the escape I’ve brought you. Away from your druggie brother and abusive father, out of a crumbling home in a dangerous neighborhood, and into something good. Something real. You’re just pissed I’ve broken down your walls, Mason Payne. You can’t stand that I’ve given you feelings other than numbness and cruelty. That—dare I say—I’ve given you happiness.”

  “Fuck you!” Mason screams, and despite the deserted curb we’re on, I look around for any witnesses. “You don’t know anything about me because I’ve made it that way. You don’t make me happy. You disgust me. Amy had my blessing for tonight. She brought scissors. Was gonna cut your hair when you weren’t looking, rip your dress off, and push you out onto the stage. Something about, I don’t know, everyone getting a taste of McKenna’s Dollar Menu. Offering you up to the whole class.” Mason palms his chest. “And I knew about it! Why do you think we were taking a limo with them? It was to get you drunk. To make you vulnerable. I fucked you to give you a false sense of safety with me. I was gonna ditch you the minute I could. It was a set-up!”

  I bare my teeth and say through blurred vision, “You don’t mean any of that!”

  “Hell, I was gonna be the cameraman and document the whole thing! Upload it on YouTube!”

  “No.” I shake my head. “This isn’t the Mason I’ve been seeing—”

  “Are you fucking dumb?” He bears down on me and whispers, “I mean every. Fucking. Word. You’re nothing to me, Mack Beckley. You’ve been nothing. You’ll forever be nothing.”

  Mason’s upper lip curls before he spins away. “You’re forgotten.”

  “This is because of Brax!” I cry at his back. “And what Amy did by bringing him as her date. Nobody’s trying to help him but you. He’s surrounded by these bobbleheads that do whatever he wants, and you’re at a loss. But you entertain the same company, Mason!” I’m crying now, tears streaming down my face. “You’re around nothing but bobbleheads! And because I’m the first one to call you out, to want to help, to have real feelings for you, you become cruel—you—you—”

  But it’s useless. Mason’s turned a corner and is gone.

  I crumble into a heap in the middle of the sidewalk, doing exactly what he swore I’d do. Bawl my eyes out.

  Even worse, I’m a fool to hope he’ll ever come back.

  31

  McKenna

  Dee left for work at 5 am, but made sure to have a full pot of coffee ready when I crack my eyes open a few hours later.

  I’ve never considered myself old, but when I sit up on the couch, I wince when my back pops.

  My best friend’s furniture sure isn’t the same as the five star hotels Mason and his band were staying at.

  Mason.

  The name forms a cloud in my already dark morning mood. It seems I can’t leave his company without some form of disgrace.

  I also miss my bed. And my old life. Today, I’m hoping to conquer some of the terribleness that’s seeped in, starting with my afternoon meeting with Giles.

  Giles leaves a bad taste in my mou
th, so I pad over to Dee’s open kitchen and pour coffee into the biggest mug I can find. I prop a hip against the counter and sip as much as the hot liquid will allow, not bothering with cream or sugar. The bitter beans are a welcome balm against the bile and acid that Giles brings out.

  Knuckles crack against Dee’s front door. Coffee spills against my nightshirt, scalding my chest.

  “Jesu—”

  I don’t even get the curse out before the pounding starts again.

  Not Giles. It can’t be Giles. Too Soon. Too…

  He can’t know I’m here.

  I set the mug down with both hands, yanking a paper towel from the roll on the counter and tip-toeing to the door.

  As quietly as I can manage, I peer into the peephole.

  And gasp.

  Mason’s hard eyes flick up and icepick into mine through the small hole.

  “Open up, Mack,” he says.

  I don’t. I splay my hands against the cold metal of the door, mouthing how in the hell? Why is he here? to myself.

  “I can see the shadow of your feet.”

  There’s no way he knows they’re my shadows. Could be Dee’s.

  Crack-crack-crack.

  I shriek and jump back at the unexpected shaking of the door as Mason pounds.

  “I know that cry, have tasted that sound, and it ain’t your friend’s.”

  Fine. If this is how he wants it.

  I throw the door open, my expression stern and unmoving. I pretend there isn’t a giant coffee stain on my shirt as I stare him down.

  He arches a brow at my silence, arms crossed against his chest. “Can I come in?”

  “No.” Unable to resist, I add, “How did you find me?”

  “Same way I found you the first time, sweetheart. You have one friend. Dee. And you’re not about to head home, what with the stable of press camped out on your street.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Here I am, anyway.”

  “You’re halfway through your last tour. And you just left? You could’ve texted. Or called. Or, I don’t know … emailed.”