(MASON'S POV)
When I woke again, the room was bathed in that soft, golden evening light that slanted through the blinds and made everything look gentler than it was. My body felt like it had been run over by a truck—every breath a dull, grinding throb, my face swollen and hot, one eye almost sealed shut. I dragged myself up eventually, legs trembling, and caught my reflection in the mirror over my dresser.
I looked like a stranger. Broken. Used. The black eye stared back at me, puffy and angry, the split in my lip crusted dark. Bruises painted my stomach in ugly shades of purple and green. I didn't even recognize the kid in the glass.
From downstairs, Mom's voice floated up the stairs, bright and normal like nothing in the world was wrong. "Mason! Dinner!"
I closed my eyes, swallowed the fresh wave of nausea, and wondered how the hell I was supposed to walk down there and pretend.
