“Mason, please, get them out! Get them out of here!”

I walk over, kneeling in front of my mother, taking hold of her face. “There is no one here, Mom. They’re gone. They’re not here.”

“They are here!” she cries. “They are, I saw them. They’re hiding. They’re tricking you. When you leave, they’ll come out, and they’ll hurt me.”

I squeeze her hands, trying to get her blue eyes to focus on my face; it seems to be the only way she is able to come back to reality from whatever hell she’s living in in her head.

“Mom, look at me. Look at me. It’s Mason. I promise you, they’re not here.”

“Mason,” she cries, cupping my face. “Mason, don’t leave. When you leave, they come. Please don’t leave.”

I look up at the clock. I’m late for work. If I miss another day, I probably won’t have a job. Without a job, I’ll have no money. Right now, Mom doesn’t know left from right. She has money, plenty of it, that my dad left her when he passed, but she has zero control over it right now. She couldn’t shop if she tried, which means I am the breadwinner, I am trying to keep everything afloat.

“Mom, listen to me, we’re going to get your medication and put you to sleep, you’ll feel so much better when you wake up.”

“Mason, no!” she screams. “No.”

Her fingernails dig into my face, and I wince, but I don’t push her away. We’re still unsure as to what is going on with her. She became ill after my father passed and started having hallucinations after an attempted break-in one evening. The doctors think it is mental, some sort of heartbreak and the fear she felt when she was alone and nobody could help her when someone tried to get into her home, but I think it’s more than that.

Something isn’t right.

Trying to get somebody to believe me is nearly impossible.

Getting help is even harder.

“Come on, Mom, let’s go upstairs.”

“No, you can’t leave, please don’t leave.”

Her voice cracks and she hangs onto me so tightly that I know today is a bad day, a really bad day. Most days, she manages with the help of a hired nurse, but some days, like today, nobody can help her but me. I exhale and take her hands from my face, saying in a low voice, “Okay, Mom. I won’t leave. I won’t go. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Good boy, my good boy.”

I hang onto the exhale and help her up the stairs.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do this.

How much longer can I throw everything in my life away?

I look at the fragile woman in my arms and I know, I just know ...

I’ll do it forever, if I have to.

I grip the sheets in my hands and glare at the wall in front of me, holding a massive television that almost glistens in the dark room. Another fucking dream, only they’re more memories than fantasies that are created when you sleep. My dreams are always real, which makes them that much more painful. Every time I see my mother in them, I wake up with the same empty ache in my chest.

The one that reminds me I failed her.

I promised her I wouldn’t, but I did.

And now she’s gone, and I’m here alone in this big, fucking empty house.

A house that brings me nothing but fucking misery. I hate being here. Yet, I can’t bring myself to sell it. It’s the only thing I have left of my parents, and damned if I’ll sell it and let my greedy sister anywhere fucking near what’s left.

I shove out of bed and stand, walking out of the room and down the stairs into the kitchen. I stop when I see Saskia sitting in there, staring at her phone. She’s looking at pictures, from what I can tell, her eyes scanning over the screen. Looks like pictures of her and a man. If she’s got a man, where the fuck is he? Because I sure haven’t seen him here. I clear my throat and she turns, eyes wide, startled.

“Jesus, dude, you could have warned me you were creeping around the house at night like a weirdo.”

I grunt. Always got something smart to say, this girl.

“My house, didn’t know I needed to announce myself everywhere I went.”

“A pre-warning would have been nice. Maybe a cough, or a fart, or something before you entered.”

I scrunch up my lip. “Don’t fuckin’ fart.”

She giggles, and it sounds fucking cute. “All men fart.”

“Not in the presence of ladies, they don’t.”

She blinks, and for the first time, I’ve startled her. She has nothing to say. I’ll be damned. I’ve shut her up.

“So, it is possible to shut that mouth,” I murmur, walking over to the fridge and opening it.

“I guess so. I didn’t expect something like that to come out of your mouth.”

I grab a pitcher of milk and put it on the counter, then go in search of a glass. “Don’t know what kind of gutter trash you’ve dated, but not all men are pigs.”

She huffs. “I don’t know, you might not fart but your attitude sure stinks.”

She laughs softly at her own little joke, and I turn around, glaring at her. “Fuckin’ really?”

She grins. “Well, it was funny in my head. Why are you so grumpy all the time, anyway? Is that just your personality or are you some dark, twisted, broken person?”

I pour the milk, ignoring her question.

Doesn’t stop her.

“I’m going to go with dark, twisted, and broken. Which makes me wonder why? And considering you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to have to make a guess. And let me tell you, I have a very active imagination. I’m not sure you want me going around town sharing my theories with other people ...”

“Go for it,” I mutter. “Nothin’ that hasn’t been shared around before.”

She huffs. “You were supposed to fall for that and then share with me why you are the way you are.”

“Not sure why it matters to you, woman, considerin’ we ain’t friends.”

“That’s not very nice,” she points out.

I shrug. “Not a very nice person.”

“Is your little girlfriend still tied to the bed? I’m sure she is fully aware of how mean you are.”

I look at her, putting the glass of milk in the microwave.

“Not my girlfriend, don’t do girlfriends.”

“What is she then? Your toy?”

“Basically.”

“Ugh.”

“You asked.”

“Well, I didn’t expect such a brutal answer.”

“Honesty ...”

She nods. “Fair enough. Okay, well, how come you like tying women up?”

I pull my milk out. “What makes you think it’s me? Ever think it might be them?”

She snorts. “No. Why in the hell would it be them?”

“Some women like being controlled.”

“Weirdos.”

I snort and glance at her, studying her fucking lovely face. She’s not a classic beauty, and she’s not blonde and hot like most of the girls I have around, but she has something about her, something fucking incredible that makes my dick fucking hard every time I look at her. Maybe it’s her outrageous confidence and lack of fear, or maybe that she knows exactly who she is and what she wants and isn’t afraid of it.

Whatever it is.

She outshines most women.

“Anything else you want to know before I go back to bed, considerin’ you’re askin’ my entire life story?”

She smiles, and fuck me, it about takes me off my feet.

“Nope, that’s it for now. Although, I must point out, it’s rather cute that you’re drinking warm milk because you can’t sleep.”

“Goin’ now,” I grunt, turning and walking toward my room.

“The gruffness only makes it cuter,” she calls after me.

“My mom did it for me. Tradition,” I yell back. “Not fuckin’ cute.”

“That just made it ultimate cute,” she yells, and her voice echoes down the hall. “Goodnight, cutie.”

I smile. It’s small, but there.

Fuck me.

She’s almost addictive.