Take Care, Sara

eyes shot to Mason.
    “It wasn’t the first time I’d attempted it. Actually, it wasn’t the last either. It’s so convenient; rocky cliff, choppy waters below. Imminent death.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “I hated myself for a long time. Carried guilt around like a blanket I couldn’t remove. I didn’t want to remove it. If I let go of the guilt, it was like saying what had happened was okay, and it wasn’t. It would never be okay. So I had to keep that blanket on, I had to feed the guilt, I had to hate myself, I had to never forget as penance.”
    Her eyes burned and she swallowed thickly. She’d hated herself for a long time now. And the guilt…she didn’t think that would ever go away. “Never forget…what?” Sara whispered.
    The door softly clicked and Sara looked up, surprised to find Spencer had left, leaving Mason alone with her. She tensed. Sara didn’t know this man. He was a stranger in her home. So what if Spencer knew him? So what if he was Spencer’s friend? Sara didn’t know him and he wasn’t her friend.
    “I think you should leave,” she told him, backing toward the bathroom, her fingers tightly gripping the tie on the robe.
    Amusement lit up his wine-colored eyes. “I will. In one hour. That’s how long our sessions will run.”
    “We’re not—we’re not having sessions. You can’t just…come in here, into my house, and—and boss me around,” she stuttered, disbelief raising her voice.
    Ignoring her, Mason said, “My brother died four years ago. Snowmobile accident. We were making jumps. He went first; didn’t make it all the way across. I didn’t know it and drove over him, killing him.” He paused. “I killed my brother.”
    Sara’s stomach clenched as she looked at Mason. He was staring at his boots. When his tortured eyes found hers, she felt sick. She’d seen that look before; she saw it every time she looked in the mirror.
    “Derek was younger, smarter, better-looking; pretty much better in every way imaginable. He had his whole life ahead of him. He was going to be a lawyer. He was engaged to a girl who loved him like I’d never seen anyone love anyone.” Mason sucked in a sharp breath. “No matter how much Annie, his fiancée, hated me, she never could hate me as much as I hated myself.”
    Sara felt something warm and wet on her cheeks, and was surprised to find she was crying. Why that surprised her, she had no idea. Maybe because this time, the first time in a long time, her tears were for someone else, and not herself.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered, fisting her trembling hands under her crossed arms.
    “Everyone’s sorry, aren’t they, Sara?” Mason’s eyes drilled into hers. “Everyone’s sorry, but does it really do anything? Does it bring them back? Does it bring my brother back? How about your husband? Does it make you feel better? Is there really any point to it? Why do people say it, Sara?”
    “I don’t…I don’t know.” She swallowed.
    “Then why did you say it?”
    Sara stared at him, flustered and confused. “Because—“
    “Because why?” he interrupted, his expression stern.
    “Because I wanted to help!” she cried, agitated from his berating of her.
    Mason smiled briefly. “Spencer wants to help. I want to help. Talk to me. Let me help.”
    Sara walked toward the kitchen, stopped, and turned back to Mason. “What good will talking do? It won’t bring him back. It won’t make what happened go away. It’s a waste of time, a waste of words. Just like saying you’re sorry. Right?”
    “Spencer told me you’re an artist. Show me your artwork.”
    Sara’s body jerked; her mind unable to keep up with Mason’s. “No.”
    Mason moved to sit down on the recliner that was his and Sara lurched forward, throwing her body between him and the chair. She trembled as she met his eyes and her breathing was too rapid, her heart pounding. “You can’t sit here.”
    His eyes narrowed, but Mason moved away, into the kitchen. Sara wanted him to leave. She opened her mouth to demand it when he directed his gaze toward her. There was stark pain there, so vivid Sara’s mouth went dry. It contorted Mason’s features into a mask of anguish.
    “I did a lot of drugs. I’d always had a tendency to drink too much, experiment with illegal drugs, but after Derek’s death, I became dependent on them to function. They dulled the pain, but never for long enough. It was never enough. The pain always came back.