Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

chapter twelve | winding his web

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"We all have chapters we would prefer to keep unpublished."
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Carrie

I SHOULD BE IN BED, FAST asleep. But I'm not. Instead I'm pacing up and down our front lawn at six thirty in the morning, cursing the very existence of every living organism on this dumb planet.

The half-frozen ground crunches beneath my boots, the harsh sounds cutting through the eerie silence of the quiet neighbourhood. Snow falls in gentle sheets from the grey, clouded sky and I watch as a pile begins to build on our doorstep.

I take my phone out from my pocket and switch it on silent. Kane has been texting me non stop since I left his apartment, my dick of a father spent hours standing outside my barricaded bedroom door pleading and begging me to forgive him and let him explain himself, and now my sister is giving me the silent treatment aside from a handful of hateful glares, while my mum still remains cocooned in blankets and pillows in the spare room, too broken to face reality.

With a scream of fury, I throw my phone at the brick pillars holding up the carport. It ricochets off them and lands in the snow, facedown, a few feet away from where I stand. 

"Not a good morning, hey, princess?"

I whip around to find Mason lounging over the wooden fence separating our lawn from his. His cheeks are flushed and sunken from the cold, flakes of snow settling on the tips of his black hair, his skin looking almost translucent in the odd light, as though the sun is debating rising or not. Shadows push against his face, swallowing up his house behind him. One of his bright blue eyes are swollen shut, the other blooming a shocking purplish blue. Truth to be told, he looks exhausted.

His eyes are like flames dancing in a deathly darkness, burning brighter than the crimson cigarette butt hanging arrogantly off his lips. A cloud of smoke distorts his face as he exhales deeply.

I fan my face with my hand, coughing as I breathe in the revolting smell. "Dude, what the fuck? Smoking is bad for you, didn't you listen to your health teachers?"

He grins but the smile doesn't reach his eyes—or eye should I say. He chews the end of his cigarette butt before answering. "Guess I must've missed that class. What a fucking shame. You should help me catch up."

I pick up my phone from the ground, not surprised to discover the screen is fractured badly in multiple areas. I groan loudly, stomping my foot in frustration and nearly slip over on the thin layers of ice and snow coating the ground.

Mason sniggers.

I glare at him. "Shut up, Brain Boy."

"What's it with you and B's, McDermott?" he muses, raising his eyebrows

"What's it with you and the attitude?" I fire  back.

He laughs again, amused. "It's in my nature."

"To be a dick?" I say with a smirk, stuffing my broken phone into my pocket.

"Pretty much." The wind is blowing his dark hair all over his pale skin.

"That's, like, really sad." I take a step closer to him, kicking the ice and shrivelled leaves at my feet.

Mason shrugs. "We all have to take a personality, Carrie. I suppose I didn't fancy Mr. Nice Guy."

"You're shallow if you think that's true," I say, my gaze grazing the bruises peeking out from underneath the collar of his jacket. They look like finger marks.