Deafening Silence || Mason & Matt

Matt had tossed and turned all night; and why wouldn’t he? His mind desperately sought a peaceful state of mind but ever since that day he couldn’t break free of this weird, depressive, state he was in. He couldn’t turn his thoughts off, or keep the images away. All he thought about while attempting to fall asleep was walking in and seeing her lay there, stiff, dead. Gone. She’d basically raised him and now Mammy was gone. What would he do on Sunday’s now? What about that hour in the evening when he’d used to call her and see how her day went? He hadjusttalked to her the day before finding her, too. She’d talked about watering her plants and wanting to see that cheesy action movie that had just come out. But her heart had to stop that night.

Matt didn’t want to think about what he would’ve walked into had he not felt the need to stop by and give her a few books. She wouldn’t have picked up the next night. And Matt would’ve worried. But seeingher. Oh, that was horrible. He couldn’t stop thinking of it no matter how hard he tried. Everything that ached within him was because of what had happened. He felt so broken. He had loved her so much; his grandmother was a wonderful woman why she have to go? Matt felt his eyes sting, fill up with tears, and he quickly blinked them away, wiped them with the back of hand. He had hardly been up five minutes and he was crying. He had to hold it in until tonight. When he was in bed.

When Matt flipped over for what felt like the thousandth time and found out it was nearly noon, he gave a heavy sigh. His eyes were dull with no spark of really anything, and no doubt swollen from crying, and when he stepped out of bed he felt a dark weight settle on his shoulders; it squeezed his heart and seemed to pull the corners of his mouth down into a frown. He couldn’t even fake a smile for Mason, who was probably out in the kitchen waiting for him to come out. Mason understood though, he knew how special Mammy had been to him. Unlike his parents, Mason cared. Their coldness, their lack of concern for him, was ridiculous on it’s own. Matt couldn’t shake the memory of his father grabbing his arm andorderinghim to be social at his grandmorther’s funeral out of his head. When he had cried his mother had leaned in and whispered, “Cut that out, it looks trashy.” Missing someone you care about was trashy? He hated his parents. They were horrible. Mason on the other hand, his beautiful Mason; he was the most perfect boyfriend-being there for him with everything-and Mattjust knewthat he wasn’t returning the favor. That hurt him almost as much as the death of Mammy did.

Stepping out of the room in his flannel pajama pants and old, soft t-shirt, Matt presented himself to a bright kitchen. Normally sunlight when he woke up made him feel good, ready to tackle the day, happy. Now it was just too bright and he found himself squinting while going to the coffee pot. He poured some in his coffee mug and took a sip before spinning on his heel slowly then settling his eyes upon Mason. He hadn’t even told him good morning. The words were there in his mind, begging to be said, trying to persuade Matt to speak to his boyfriend. But his tongue was so heavy; it snaked out anyway to lick his lips. His feet moved, made their way towards Mason where Matt was able to bend and kiss his cheek lightly. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, to take forever.Say it! he ordered himself.You can do it, you love him, he deserves it.”Good morning,” he said weakly. His voice was soft, raspy, probably hardly audible. Sitting down, Matt glanced up at Mason. He felt like his eyes were going to going to burst from tears not being shed. His hair was messy, his eyes lookedso worn out, and his whole form slumped. Hands wrapped around the coffee mug, Matt shut his eyes and dropped his head.

He didn’t want Mason seeing him like this. Matt had always been the strong one for Mason, always caring for him and toughing it out. He didn’t want to falter. Letting himself crack made him feel like a failure. Yet, Matt was finding it very hard to be the person he was before. Reaching his hands up and scrubbing his face, Matt squeezed his eyes shut to keep any moisture from spilling out. He wasn’t going to cry at the table. No. Gulping, he sniffled and dropped his hands. Matt felt like a mess. So sad. So tired. So depressed. Like it would never, ever get better. The sadness was going to envelope him, never let him return.

Oddly enough, Matt couldn’t find it in himself to really care.