A SHORT STORY (Audio narration)
Mason appears off-kilter tonight—completely out of the norm. His uncharacteristic behavior is jarring: fundamentally sporadic and wildly unpredictable. He avoids eye contact, his hands twitching nervously, and his usual calm demeanor is replaced by an unsettling fidgetiness. It’s as though I'm staring at a stranger, making me question if I ever truly knew him at all. Perhaps I’ve been deceiving myself all along.
Preceding this moment, before confronting Mason, I’d anticipated the discomfort and uneasiness one might expect to be had during a breakup speech, but what I’m witnessing is far beyond that. His reactions are alarmingly disproportionate—and richly out of sync with what I'd envisioned during my self-preliminary. The tremor in his voice and the restless shifting of his weight only heightens my anxiety.
The dark, muted tones of the walls devour the already diluted lighting in our home, a comfort Mason and I used to share together late into the night. The faint aroma of the somber wooden furnishings infuses with the scent of old books and leather. I run my icy fingers over the soft plush throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa. Cold memories of our shared intimacy nip at my skin, ossifying my heart.
I uncork the aged bourbon, pour a glass, then finish it in a single motion. The deep notes of caramel and vanilla slide over my tongue, blending with toasted oak and a subtle smokiness. There's a warm, spicy undertone of cinnamon and nutmeg that linger, coating my palate with a rich, smooth finish. The pleasant burn gradually fades and a shiver runs down my spine.
I close my eyes, reminding myself that I need to do what’s right. I have to prioritize my own well-being. I can’t continue to allow this madness to go unchecked: I have to take control and protect my own sanity. I take a deep, quiet breath through my nose, feeling the cool air expand in my lungs, then fix a stern gaze on Mason, though he seems oblivious of my presence.
“Mason, I can’t do this anymore,” I hear myself say aloud. I release the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding and continue, “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”
His dark hair, usually neatly styled, is disheveled. Although his deep-set eyes maintain their enchanting golden-amber hue, they seem to transform into a swarming bee hive as his eyes dart around the room.
Mason’s fingers spontaneously begin drumming against his leg when I confront him about his recent, frequent whereabouts. He claims he has a "personal agenda" to tend to, insisting his activities aren’t new, just that I hadn’t noticed them before. He reassures me he's not engaging in promiscuous behavior. Despite his assurances, something about his defenses feels more like rigmarole than veracity—his explanations don’t quite add up.
Why go to such great lengths to hide if there’s truly nothing to worry about? What could possibly be so significant that it demands complete secrecy?
Mason has been sneaking out of the house late at night, disappearing for several hours at a time without any explanation of where he went or what he was doing. Since I discovered this, he’s been assiduous with his attempts to conceal every aspect of it, avoiding any discussion revolving around it.
“Liam, I told you already, it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he says, then returns to pitifully glancing around the room as if searching for something to change the subject, yet never once focusing on me. I can’t clearly identify what is going on with Mason, mostly due to his stubborn refusal for transparency, but I can’t help it, seeing him in such disarray is disheartening.
No matter—it’s been a long time coming, and he knows it. For too long, I’ve endured his scripted, off-handed excuses about where he disappears to under the cloak of night—his phony falsifications of honesty and virtue. And on the rare occasions when he does offer it, his supposed sentiment is sickeningly slimy.
I bite down hard until my jaw bulges, my hands clench open and closed, animosity plastered across my face. My body language speaks for me, making it clear: this is something I indeed need to worry about.
He smirks, under hands a playful snicker in response, as if this was some kind of joke. His laughter is a grenade—small and misplaced. I explode at the sound of it, my blood boiling at his lack of respect. He clearly doesn’t understand the gravity of what I’m saying.
“Mason,” I blare, “what’s gotten into you lately?”
Mason stops pacing for a brief moment but doesn’t respond to my question. He wrings his hands desperately, shakes them out, then turns toward me.
“We’ve always been honest with one another,” he stutters as he spews the words. “That’s still the truth. I’ve never lied to you, Liam—" his face flushes with an uncomfortable sheen, in vivid contrast against his pale skin.
“Bullshit!” I bellow.
Mason pauses, then locks his eyes with mine. His demeanor shifts to a false level of seriousness. Without hesitation, he responds, “Why can’t you just accept the fact that I have something in my life that I’d rather keep to myself—huh?” His golden eyes twinkle with tears, and my heart rips out of my chest. I almost give up, but then I quickly banish my emotions from interfering this time. When I do, I am able to see clearly again.
I bet he’s convinced that he’s got me fooled—absolutely outrageous.
He continues, “I’m being as straightforward and honest with you as I can be, Liam, without having to sacrifice my personal…” he trails off.
My voice shrinks, straining to push out the words, “Whatever it is that you’re hiding from me—”
“—Not hiding from you.” Mason interjects with assuming confidence.
“Okay, keeping to yourself. Whatever it is you’re keeping to yourself—it requires too much of your time and attention—more than what I find acceptable. I hardly see you anymore, Mason. What kind of partnership is that?”
Mason’s face turns red hot. “One that I’m willing to risk everything for.”
I try to respond, but only faint grumbling sounds escape my throat. His response catches me off guard.
“Wait here,” Mason says, almost inaudible, then turns and runs from the room. A few moments pass, my thoughts scramble trying to decide on what I ought to do next, but just before I do, Mason returns. He beelines in my direction. I raise an eyebrow and take a step back. Mason’s eyes dart between mine and my hand, then back to my eyes again. It’s almost like he’s trying to send me a secret message—some code to keep on the low-low. “But why?” I think to myself, “No one else is here.”
Just then Mason slips a folded note into my hand, throws his arms around me, then whispers, “Please understand, please forgive me.” He kisses my cheek and adds, “I’m a little out of my element.”
I keep my eyes on him, now pacing back and forth again. I subtly unfold his note, read, “I AM A WITCH”, then I accidentally sing a single laugh at the sight of it. “Are you serious right now, Mason?”
He takes my hand, guiding me towards the front door. I pull away. “Come,” he silently lips the word, “there’s something I need you to see.”
“Slow down,” I shout, “one thing at a time.” I hold up his note, waving it, so as to imply that I’m referring to it when I ask, “you’re a wit—” but before I can finish the words I can’t believe I’ve just read, Mason covers my mouth at the speed of light, practically smothering me to keep it shut. My eyes snap wide open with surprise as Mason’s grip tightens around my lips.
“Shhh.” Mason hisses aggressively. A flame ignites in his golden, amber eyes, and for a moment, I am terrified. “Don’t say it out loud, Liam. Why else would I have written it down?”
We remain frozen in place, eyes fixed on one another for what feels like hours. For a moment, I think I catch a glimpse of truth twinkle in his gaze, but then a flash of terror sweeps across his face shattering the illusion of truth I thought I glimpsed. I straighten my posture, tighten my grip on Mason's hand, silently pleading for him to see the pain he's caused me. I’m hoping—desperately—that this time he'll drop the pretense and finally be honest—something that suddenly feels so foreign.
Maybe if I stay strong, stand firm against his lies, he’ll find the courage to reveal his secrets. Whatever it takes, I have to figure out what will be enough to start mending the damage between us.
I realize now that somehow, this place we're currently in feels so familiar— Mason pleading for my trust, me grappling to make a decision one way or the other.
Do I believe him? Do I have a reason not to?
With my view of things from my vantage point, reaching a conclusion in the matter is a process entirely too complicated, given our circumstances. Too complex. Truthfully, it’s just too much.
Mason clearly doesn’t value integrity to the same degree as I do. But maybe that’s entirely my fault though—for having been so feeble to deliberately ignore all the countless red flags over the last decade—for allowing the behaviors. Maybe it’s my fault for having inappropriately offered my forgiveness when I should have been confrontational. Maybe I’m to blame for my unapt acts of kindness and humanity in understanding—my God-forsaken supply of merciless sympathy…
Aside from the questionable surface clues I gather from analyzing Mason’s body language and a carefully articulated educated guess on my behalf, I’m left with nothing more than my own devices to make a decision. But this time, Mason has really outdone himself. Pulling this absurd stunt with the note is beyond me. He’s got me all wrong.
If he really thinks that for even one second I’m buying this ridiculous notion of him being a witch, well, he's got another thing coming.
While I understand that Mason is terribly serious about keeping this certain portion of his life shaded in the darkness, kept privately to himself, this feels more like a punch in the face. I won’t have anything more to do with it. I’m not prying for answers, not anymore. He has got to make his own decision about what means more to him, because I’ve made mine. I need a connection that is whole, solid. Not one that is partial, laced with cracks.
When we had initially committed ourselves to one another, I had given all of myself to him in exchange for what I thought to be all of him. Now, I realize that I’d been foolish to believe that. I was terribly mistaken. I can’t shake the feeling like I’ve been ripped off, cheated out of my share of our agreement to commitment.
His desperate need to keep his secret is met with my equally intense frustration at being in a relationship where only parts of ourselves are ever truly given. I can’t continue to accept a connection that is incomplete, built on half-truths and hidden corners.
But in this moment, with Mason’s stare back into mine, his genuine look of terror at my attempt to say aloud the words he’d protected for so long, it is the place where I’d expect to discover a glint of humorous deceit twinkling in the vast, amber coves of his eyes. But I see nothing like it. Instead, all I see is the truth. Honesty in its purest form.
COMMENT | LIKE | SUBSCRIBE
Share this post