I just sat there staring, watching as the blood dripped from my hand onto the floor, and I could feel a tear run down my cheek. I knew she wouldn’t want that for me. I knew she’d want me to be strong, but it was just so hard.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and looked down at my wrist. I knew the cut wasn’t deep enough to do any real damage, but the way it made me feel was something I wouldn’t be able to forget.
It was almost like an escape from my own mind. It felt good, and I immediately knew I’d do it again.
With all the pain, guilt, and loneliness inside, it was the one thing that made me feel alive, as though I finally had some kind of control over my life.
Nothing compared to that.
I’d just have to keep it hidden, which wouldn’t be hard since I had no one else in my life.
Chapter 23
Mason
I shouldn’t have been so hard on Emma in class, but I just didn’t know how to handle my feelings for her. I’d never been in an intimate relationship. I distanced myself from ever getting that close, but she made me want to change that. She made me think about a different future, one that wasn’t filled with guilt, despair, and darkness. She made me see a glint of hope. How do I change who I’ve become? How can I ever forget the past and move forward? If she ever found out what kind of man I was, she would run. It was better if I pushed her away, but then I was pissed at myself for doing it.
I was confused. The internal battle wouldn’t go away, and it was taking over every part of my life. I was becoming too emotional. Something I wasn’t used to.
The urge to cut took over my senses just to ease the feelings coursing through my body, but the thought of her alone stopped it from happening. I stood there and stared at the worn metal, my hands shaking with the need to let it all out, but her face was all I could see. It fueled a rage inside me, not with her but at myself. I was so fucking messed-up in thinking I could change, possibly have a normal life. Nothing in my life would ever be normal. If she got too close to me I’d fuck up her life, too, and yet I still didn’t want to let her go.
*
The day I’d been dreading had finally arrived. I hated going to the fucking fundraisers, but I was expected to be there. John’s colleagues expected to see me, and so did the press, but not only them. The university expected me to be there, as well.
John was an important man in the city, so when he was out representing something, it was just assumed I would be there by his side. I should say ‘fuck it’ and not attend, but I wouldn’t put it past him to put my job in jeopardy. I knew he had a lot of connections, and I didn’t know how far they extended. I wasn’t willing to test it, at least not yet. If attending a few fundraisers throughout the year kept him out of my life, then I could deal with it.
I straightened my bowtie before Carlos opened my door, flashes blasting me as soon as I exited the car. That was one aspect I fucking hated, the attention I got from the press at the events. It was a cesspool of reporters, a bunch of assholes trying to get into my business.
Questions were thrown my way, but I ignored them and bypassed the red carpet entirely. I had no desire to put my face intentionally in the tabloids.
Walking up the steps into the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I passed a few people I’d met in the previous years, people with lots of money looking to schmooze it up with other snobby assholes. They were a bunch of arrogant fucks.
John used those kinds of events to network, which was actually smart of him on a disturbing level. All the political people he could ever need showed up, especially for an event against the abuse of women and children. There were a few each year that supported the rights of women, and John was a part of every single one of them.
Making my way into the museum, I headed to the gallery and straight for the bar. If I was going to stay there for a few hours, I needed something to help me through it.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Three fingers of scotch. Dry.”
He tapped the bar and walked away to fix my drink as I turned to survey the room. The space was fully open with pillars all around, separating the different sections you could explore in the museum. It was the same location they’d had the event for the past two years.
The same people, the same drab location, the same bullshit every year. I’d need more than one drink to get through the night.
“Here you go, sir.”
I grabbed my drink, throwing it back in one swallow and closing my eyes as the burn took over my throat.
“Already chugging back the scotch, I see.”
I opened my eyes and lifted my hand toward the bartender, signaling for another round before I turned to see John.
“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my son, Mason,” John said as I faced him.
I looked toward the men he was referring to and held my hand out. I was always cordial even when I didn’t want to be.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I offered as I shook the first man’s hand. He was older, maybe in his late fifties.