Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

chapter thirty-eight | stitches and scars

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"Healing does not mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives."
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Carrie

I CAN'T STOP SHAKING AND Mason can't stop pacing. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he walks up and down the length of the waiting room, muttering darkly under his breath.

I don't interfere, in full knowledge he's going through the stages of grief. There's no doubt he's thrilled his father is going to rot in prison for a good portion of his life but that victory is dimmed when your stepmother is killed right before your eyes.

Jared is sitting beside me, his head bowed as his hands grip his hair fiercely, tears falling down into his lap. "Do you think they'll send me away to my dad?" he asks suddenly.

My gaze snaps over to him and I swallow, hard. "I mean if he's your biological father, than I assume so. What's he like?"

The fifteen-year-old shrugs and inhales shakily, clearly trying to get a hold over his emotions. "He's alright, I guess. Never really had much to do with him; Mum divorced him when I was a baby and got full custody over me. He sends me birthday cards with money every year and I talk to him once in a while, but that's about it."

"Oh." I don't know what else to say, my eyes following Masons agitated figure. "Mase—"

At that exact moment, he aims a kick at one of the plastic chairs and it flies across the room, crashing into the child's play corner and knocking over an impressive Lego tower. Everyone exchanges alarmed glances and indiscreetly moves away from him.

Mason spins on his heel, his wild eyes locking with mine. His face is a swollen, bruised and bloodied mess and I can tell he's in a shit ton of physical pain but he flat out refused to get medical treatment until Ruby's condition is confirmed.

"Mason, calm down," I say softly.

He belts out a laugh. "Calm down? Carrie, it's my fault she's dead. If I hadn't picked a fight with Dad then none of this would have happened!"

"It's not your fault!" I argue pointlessly. "Viktor was the one—"

The door to my right swings open and a doctor enters, carrying a clipboard and a grave expression. He beckons the three of us over, his cheek indenting as he chews it anxiously.

"Mason, Jared, Carrie," he acknowledges the three of us despondently, "I'm afraid to say that the glass punctured the carotid artery in Ruby's neck. These blood vessels carry blood to your brain and head. Her wounds were fatal and severe and with the lack of blood transmitting to her brain, I'm terribly sorry to say that she didn't make it."

I feel like a piece of ice has stabbed itself into my heart. Tears well up in my eyes and spill over down my cheeks.

"I have been briefed over the circumstances," the doctor says sympathetically, "You have my sincerest condolences."

"That doesn't mean shit," Mason speaks up, his voice teeming with fury.

"Pardon?" the doctor says politely.

Mason takes a dangerous and intimidating step forwards, storm clouds rolling over his expression. "Did your father ever beat you, Doc?"