One Week Chapter ::12::
It’s been one week since Mason broke it off with Trace, and since then, Trace had moved back in with his parents, letting Mason keep the house. He was thrilled to be alone, after everything him and Trace had gone through, he was finally with the only person he could trust anymore.
Himself.
He was on the floor in the kitchen, scrubbing at the checkered linoleum, humming along to whatever song was on the radio, he wasn’t really paying attention. He jerked up suddenly, smacking his head onto the table in the process with a loud “Fuck!”, when he heard a knock on his door. He stood, wiping some dirt off his pants as he went to answer it. Looking out the window, he saw a tear-stained Miley. He quickly opened the door only to have a package shoved in his hand and a hard slap across the face before she was running off. Turning the package over with one hand, he gently touched his cheek, stinging where it was hit.
“Damn Miley… you can fucking hit hard.”
He shook his head and walked back in, putting the small package on the table. He looked at it momentarily before opening it. Inside were a few Metro Station shirts, a copy of their CD, and their new tour schedule. Mason swore again, looking it over. They started tour in five days, with rehearsal planned in two. He didn’t want to deal with this so suddenly, didn’t want to see Trace, Anthony, and he definitely didn’t want to see Blake. But, this was the life he chose, and he’d be damned if anything was going to stop him.
He looked over a shirt. It was a white shirt with a picture of the four of them, taken a while back, back when Mason was still in the closet and they were all friends. Trace had his arm thrown over Mason’s shoulder and they looked very much like a couple. He turned to look at the back and there was something written in sharpie. TAKE THE HINT was all it said. He shook his head and through it over his shoulder. He heard a sploosh as it landed in the bucket of water he was using to clean the kitchen. He turned off the light and went upstairs. He climbed into bed and looked at his night table. Resting on it was a photo of himself and Trace, taken by Anthony. Mason had fallen asleep against Trace, and the boy and held him there. Mason reached forward and put the picture face down against the table and sighed.
“I’m sorry Trace…” He whispered before falling asleep.
The morning of the scheduled band practice, Mason was a total wreck and was considering pretending to be sick. He got up anyway, got dressed, brushed his teeth, changed clothes, brushed his hair, changed again, got something to eat, and changed three more times before he actually left the house before making his way over to Anthony’s were practice was being held. Mason stood out side, taking a few deep breaths before walking inside and headed to the soundproofed basement. Everything went quiet when Mason walked in.
Anthony stopped tapping his drums.
Blake stopped clicking his pen.
Their manager stopped talking on his phone.
And Trace…
Wasn’t there.
Mason went over to his guitar and took it out of the case, pulling the strap over his shoulder. He could feel their eyes burning holes in his back and he ignored it for as long as he could. Which was about a minute. He turned and looked at them confusedly.
“What?”
“Where’s Trace?” Anthony questioned.
Fuck… that’s right, the guys didn’t know. It was only last week they ended. Mason took a deep breath and sighed.
“On his way… I guess…”
“You don’t know?”
“We broke up.”
“MASON YOU LITTLE FUCKING PRICK IF YOU FUCK THIS UP-”
“BLAKE YOU BASTARD HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME AFTER YOU HIRED MY BROTHER TO FILM TRACE AND I HAVING SEX!”
Everything went silent then, Blake and Mason pissed and glaring each other down. The door opened and Trace walked in. He didn’t look at anyone, Just picked up his guitar and strummed a few notes. They all said nothing as they went to their respective places and practiced. For all the bullshit they were going through, Mason couldn’t help but notice that they still sounded amazing. After the set, everyone cleared out of the basement and left. Mason and Trace headed for their cars. Once outside, hand reaching out to open his car door, Mason was stopped by Trace.
“Why?”
“Don’t do this Trace.”
“Just tell me why. I have a right to know what I did!”
“It wasn’t you Trace. You did nothing wrong.”
“Then why? I still love you.”
“Let go of me.”
“Mace…”
Mason shook off Trace’s hand, got into his car, and drove off. He didn’t go right home, instead he drove to a local park and walked around for a little. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. He was lost. Not literally, he knew where he was, but mentally, he didn’t know what was going on. He still loved Trace as well. He was hysterical last week and he was still plagued by nightmares. He couldn’t tell Trace that he thought he was loosing his mind, so he ended it with the boy. It was the safest thing to do in the end.
Trace would understand, if Mason ever told him.
Which he won’t.
He stayed in the park until the sun set before he went home.
When he arrived, there was someone asleep on his porch. Mason slowly walked up and saw it was Trace. Mason bit his lip, he wasn’t ready to deal with this yet. So, instead of waking the boy, he walked around the house and went in through the back entrance. Once inside, he felt terrible. It was freezing cold outside. He chewed his lip and sighed, walking to the front, he opened the door and it startled Trace awake. He stood and looked at the boy with tear filled eyes.
“Mace, I need to know.”
“Get inside before you freeze to death.”
Mason pulled Trace into what was once their home and sat him on the couch while he went to the kitchen and made some coffee. He brought out two mugs and handed one to Trace.
“Will you answer me?”
“No.”
“Why? Mason, please, I need to know. Why don’t you love me anymore?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“You said you’d never leave…”
“And you said you’re unlovable. I’m going to bed.”
“Ma-”
Mason walked away and went up to their his room. He changed and crawled into bed, trying to ignore the sounds of Trace sobbing from downstairs.
The next morning, Mason went downstairs to find Trace asleep on the couch. He went into the kitchen and made them both something to eat. The smell apparently woke Trace because he stumbled into the kitchen and sat down.
“Mace-”
“Shut it. I’m not going to tell you why.”
“But-”
“No.”
Trace sighed sadly and watched Mason work, his heart breaking. The only other time he had ever been this depressed was when Mason was in the hospital.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
A few days later the boys were piling into the bus and were on the road. They all avoided each other like lepers. Even Anthony, who had become the therapist for the band. Tension was so thick between the four boys that you could cut it with a knife. To make matters that much worse, the door to the bus was broken. The latch to the door was broken, making it pop open and slam shut at random times. Sometimes it flew open all the way and they had to pull over to shut it.
Their first show, shocked the hell out of all of them. They walked on stage, greeted the fans, and played great. After the set, they were all leaving, except Trace, who stayed on stage.
“Hey you guys, how’s it going? Like the show? Yeah I thought it was good too. I just want to clear some shit up, alright? YES, that was Mason and I in that tape, YES, we WERE together, NO we’re NOT anymore. Get it? Good.”
He walked off stage, punched Mason, and went back to the bus.
Mason could feel his heart breaking. He lifted a hand and rested it over his eyes for a moment before crying softly. He deserved it, he knew he did. With his head lowered, Mason walked back onto the bus, climbed into his bunk, and cried himself to sleep.
Mason bolted upright, nearly smacking his head against the ceiling. He panted lightly, looking around. He grabbed his cell phone and checked the time. 2:47 AM. He groaned, it was way to early for him to be awake. He felt bad for their manager, who was currently driving them to their next location. He heard the broken door open and slam shut a couple times, and he got up and walked into the kitchenette, grabbing a bottle of water. He heard the fly open and groaned, walking into the living room to see how far it opened. He gasped, dropping the bottle, water seeping into the carpet.
Trace was leaning out the door, crying softly. He was barely hanging onto the frame, keeping him from tumbling onto the tar of the highway they were on.
“Mason, I love you.” He said to himself, not realizing the boy was right there as he took a step forward and off the bus.