my well being. Although, I was sleeping in a shelter at night, I was sleeping without a dark, drama cloud floating above.
I knew, through word of mouth that Mason had returned toward the end of May and to be honest I hadn’t thought of him since the last time I saw him. He’d tossed some money and an address on the couch like I was some sort of whore. Fuck him. I spent too many damn days thinking I was a cold hearted bitch when really, he treated me like shit right back. As far as I was concerned, we were even. With that said, nothing, and I do mean nothing, good would come of me going to see his band play in West Hollywood, however; I had plans to go. So, maybe I was a masochist or maybe I had trouble admitting to myself that he was intriguing. The little voice in my head was screaming ‘what if’ and there was no way I could back down.
After I’d left the shelter that morning I spent my day wandering around the city. I usually wandered with no real direction until one of Jill’s friends drove by and picked my ass up. Someone would feed me and give me a ride; that’s how my life went every day. The day I speak of though, went differently. I walked along Santa Monica Blvd, which I just never did, until the display in one of the shop windows caught my eye. I wasn’t a huge art buff, obviously, but the main painting on display caught my attention. It was a young girl, younger than me I assumed. She was crying but her tears were blood. It was almost as if she were bleeding from the eyes. I’d never bled from my eyes but I could appreciate the meaning of it all.
Through that window, I also caught my own reflection. It made me want to switch places with the girl in the painting. My dirty blonde hair was tangled; someone had stolen my brush. I’d been wearing whatever I could find at the local church and trust me…the olive green board shorts and white tank top was not holding up well.
“I know you.”
I turned to the familiar voice, shocked to see Mason Jennings standing behind me. Jesus Christ, I can’t be this unlucky.
“Are you stalking me or something?” I shot back.
“I remember now…Fallyn, Jill’s ex-friend.” He looked mighty fucking pleased with himself until his eyes began to look me over.
“What are you staring at you creeper?” My arms crossed automatically.
“Um…how are you? I can see you got back okay.” It was too late. I noticed the realization on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” He asked, pointing toward the window.
“Oh, this?” I directed my thumb toward the bleeder. “No I was just checking things out, you know. I’m on my way to meet someone actually…so I should.” I edged away, trying to get away before he started asking questions.
“I’ll give you a ride. My car’s at a meter up one block.” He narrowed his eyes, probably judging me silently.
He could join the masses for all I fucking cared. As far as I knew he was one of the faces that passed by and looked at me with shitty, horrified looks. “I don’t need a ride, I’m fine.”
“Look, I’m just trying to help…”
Why am I so bitchy to this guy? I started walking away backwards. “You want to do something for me? I’ll be at your show tonight…buy me a drink.”
“I can do that,” Mason called, smiling.
I broke out in a run after that. The further I got from that window and Mason, the better I would feel. He just wouldn’t give it up. It was bad enough I had developed word vomit and asked him to buy me a drink. He had the nerve to smile at me. What was his issue anyway? There was always girls willing to get busy with him and he was trying to help me for some unknown reason. Maybe he really was an okay guy, but that was harder to swallow than expected.
A gas station bathroom served as my vanity that night. I’d jammed the door with a mop from the cleaning closet and changed my clothes quickly. I stared in the mirror, looking at my unrecognizable face through the streaks. At one point in time I was going somewhere, I had direction. My eyes weren’t quite so dull and lifeless. My cheeks weren’t quite so sunken. The