Page 96 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“I’m serious,” he says, wiping his face with his sleeve, trying to hide the single tear he let fall, “those boys are the only things that keep me going most days…and fuck him for trying to take them away too.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t know how to take away the kind of pain he feels.

I just know how to be there.

So that’s what I do.

After a couple of minutes, he stands back up, putting his hand out for me to take. “Let’s go dance, pretty girl.”

I take his hand and slowly stand up. “We don’t have to, Mason—”

“I really don’t wanna talk anymore. I just wanna have fun and forget about that crap.”

“Okay.”

We walk back in, side by side, his arm brushing against mine as we walk down the narrow hallway back into the banquet room.

He holds the door for me and paints his fake, happy smile back on.

The room has gone from slow dancing to real party music, and Mason quickly swipes two more drinks off a tray, handing one to me and downing the other. I take a sip of mine and place it on the nearest table before he grabs my hand and drags me back onto the dance floor, shouting the lyrics to Hotel Room Service by Pitbull. He turns the party Mason back on like nothing evenhappened, bringing out every move he has and letting the crowd swallow him.

Everyone around makes an open circle, and he finds the center instantly, giving them a show.

I don’t have enough drinks in me to be able to turn off my feelings like he does, so I let everyone else start hyping him up before I find my way back over to our table and sit down. I pull out my phone and text Lydia that the night is going well, and I’ll call her on my way home. Then I open Tyler’s text message and send him a picture of me and a couple of the girls from tonight, wanting to show him how cute I feel. Wanting some kind of attention from him.

The only response I got back was,“Glad you’re having fun.”

I place my phone back in my purse and rest my head on my hand, sipping on the glass of champagne in front of me.

I watch as Mason continues to find more drinks and pull different girls into the circle to dance with him, being the life of the party…hiding under all the alcohol and attention.

Eventually, he comes stumbling over, barely holding his eyes open, his tie crooked, shirt half untucked, sweat dampening the blonde strands of hair on his forehead. He places a hand on the edge of the table, trying to steady himself as he sways from the alcohol. Even his smile is crooked and sloppy.

“There she is,” he slurs, pointing at me like I was missing. “My favorite person.”

I stand up quickly. “You need water.”

“Water?” He scrunches his face like I just offered him poison. “Simone. I don’t need water. I need—” He pauses, thinking hard and squinting his eyes, “—another drink.”

“No,” I say, gently grabbing his wrist. “You’re done.”

He laughs, loud enough for heads to turn. “You’re bossy.”

Tank appears out of nowhere, eyes widening when he sees Mason’s state. “Geez, Sinclair. You look like a newborn baby deer trying to walk for the first time.”

Mason sticks his middle finger up at him. “Your jokes suck.”

Tank looks at me. “We should get him out of here.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, already looping my arm around Mason’s waist. “Help me.”

Tank gets his other arm, and we start walking him toward the side door. Mason slumps a little bit, leaning against me with all his weight. I stop, having to pull my heels off.

Tank reaches his hands out to take them, and I gladly hand them over for him to hold for me.

“Wher’re we goin’?” Mason murmurs into my hair.

“Home,” I tell him softly.