Page 32 of Sapphire Spring

“You don’t exactly seem like a great catch right now.”

Mason slugged from his beer and toasted Naser with thebottle. “Good thing I’m not trying to get caught.”

“Well, there’s a lot you’re running from, that’s for sure.”

“You know,Nas—excuse me,Naser.I’ve got an idea. Just say it. Say it all. Say everything you’ve wanted to sayto me for years. Get it out of your system.”

“Three years of being bullied and abused because of who youare and what you can’t change doesn’t leave your system in five minutes becausesome privileged white boy has decided he wants to offload his guilt to improvehis hangover.”

If Mason’s wits had been more about him, if he hadn’t beenas hung over as New Orleans the day after Mardi Gras, he might have managed aresponse to this. But all he could think—all he couldfeel—was thathe’d helped build the anger that filled his kitchen now. And the discovery thatNaser’s wounds were still this raw after ten years drove home the need for anapology while simultaneously making it harder for Mason to articulate one.

“I’m still investing in your sister’s line.”

Naser threw up his hands. “My sister doesn’t need investors.She’s backed by a massive home shopping network. Fareena was just busting yourballs.”

“Still investing.”

“You’restalking, and I’m not going to make thiseasier for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You were.”

“I stopped. I’m stopping. So…let me have it. Say what you’vewanted to say since…then.”

“Then?”

“High school.”

Naser bowed his head and sucked in a deep breath that causedhis upper back to rise and fall. He shook his head, which suggested he wasdismissing his first words, his first response.Not a good sign, Masonthought.

“I’ll tell you this. I haven’t wanted to say it for ten years,but I’ve wanted to say it since last night. In your drunken stupor, you told methe reason you used to shove me against all those lockers is because you wantedtofuckme against them. And I think you said itbecause you think it makes it better. But it doesn’t, MasonWorther.It makes it worse. It makes everything you did feel like a betrayal, and itmakes you a hypocrite on top of a bully. I’m a numbers guy, not a therapist.But something tells me if you werereally differentfrom who you were back then, if you could accept who you really are, youwouldn’t be drinking a beer first thing in the morning after a blackout.”

Mason felt as if every gasp of oxygen had been pressed fromhim by a giant hand. How was it possible for someone half his size to have somuch power over him? Words, he was reminded, were so much more powerful thanbrute force when they were aligned with hard truths. First came the initial shameof realizing how much he’d revealed to Naser while drunk, then came theleveling insight of Naser’s assessment. He told himself to stay silent, but hisdefenses had already coiled.

“Guess we’re not gonna fuck then.”

Naser raised his head and took a step back, and Mason wouldbe lying if he didn’t admit he was satisfied by the man’s sudden breathlessness.It looked as if Naser had never expected Mason to express a desire for himwhile sober. “No,” Naser finally said. “Because I have something I didn’t backin school.”

“Herpes?”

Naser rolled his eyes. “Self-esteem.”

“Overrated, especially when you find out how good I am inbed.”

“The parts you can stay awake for at least.”

And with that, Naser was gone.

When he took the beer bottle in his hand again, his handshook.

When his vision blurred, he told himself it was the hangovermaking a mess of his emotions.

He knew better.

It was the shame of being seen—for who he was now, for whohe’d been then.

He’d always thought there was an overwhelming complexity tohis life that justified his drinking. Always figured that someday he might sitdown with a therapist to sort through it all, but right now he didn’t have thetime. He was too busy trying to put a career together, showing up late for workand going on benders with a best friend he couldn’t stand to be around when hewas sober.

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