chapter 4

Over the course of the weekend I got Mason to agree not to do anything unless it happened again. It wasn't easy. It took me cooking all weekend when I wasn't working, but it worked.

Mason was the jealous type. In our last year of high school, when we had been dating for about four months, I got roses all day on Valentine's Day and he stopped talking to me because I didn't want to show him the cards that were attached. Of course, I later told him all the cards said faggot, and he felt angrier than before he found out. It just didn't end well.

Monday came and I walked into the classroom. I walked next to Greyson and sat down. I didn't say a word.

"Is my tender kiss changing your mind about fatty?" He was serious. I still needed to get used to when he was, because I could not tell at all.

"No, actually, he was quite upset. I had to tell him not to hurt you." He laughed.

"Yeah right." He laughed even harder. "I doubt some little fat boy could hurt me." He just assumed Mason was short. He just assumed Mason didn't go to the gym. He needed to stop assuming things. He had no idea what Mason even looked like.

"Your lips are disgusting." I wasn't going to tell him what Mason looked like. I wanted him to be surprised if the two ever did cross paths.

"I think you liked it. I might even do it again," he said flirtatiously.

"NO. YOU. WILL. NOT."

"I don't know--Oliver, I just can't help myself, knowing your sex life must be non-existent."

"Gosh. You're so funny, well eh--not really. But if that was an attempt at humor, you're getting there."

"I know you want me," he said.

"You must not know anything, because everything you think you know is wrong."

"Class, class! We also need desserts! Thanksgiving needs pie! So make sure you prepare a dessert that compliments your meal," exclaimed Mrs. Wither. We started talking about desserts.

He, of course, would throw in comments about how he would get me to leave my ugly, fat, lazy, slob boyfriend. The day dragged on and on. One o'clock finally came and we were dismissed. He didn't follow me today. Thank goodness.

I unlocked my bike and rode off. I made it home and saw Mason was on his computer, eating chips, in his underwear. It was very hot. "Hey," I said. I kicked off my sneakers and hung up my jacket.

"Hey Oliver," he said as he looked up at me from the couch. I walked over to where he sat. I sat down and placed my head on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Writing a paper. Will you proof read it for me when I'm done? I barely passed English senior year."

"You had a B- when we graduated." I laughed.

"Well that was all thanks to my amazing boyfriend." He moved my head to kiss me. "Thanks for helping me."

"I'd do it every day for the rest of my life if I could be around you." There was a knock on our door, which was incredibly strange. Usually visitors had to buzz the apartment they wished to visit from outside of the complex. Someone was knocking on our inside door. "Go to the bedroom," I instructed.

"Why?" he asked, standing.

"You're kind of naked."

"I'm wearing underwear--," he protested with a fake pout. He grumbled some more as he picked up his laptop and chips. He went off to our room.

I opened the door and I almost exploded. It was Greyson. I hadn't realized that I actually had to set him on fire to vanquish him. I'd rather he bother me after school than at home. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm visiting you of course." I frowned as hard as one could frown.

"Please go away and leave me alone," I said as I started to close the door.

"Fatty isn't here, is he?" He just walked in. He just walked into my home without being invited. Wolves I tell you! They found him on the side of the road and took him in as one of their own. I had no other explanations.

"If you're talking about my boyfriend, then yes, he is here. Get out."

"Sleeping?" he asked.

"Who's at the door?" Mason asked as he entered the living room, now wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

"Greyson."

"I am," Greyson said authoritatively. Mason walked up to him and Greyson's eyes widened noticeably. Mason was towering over him. It was great.

"So, you're Greyson."

"Are--are you, Oliver's, uh, his boyfriend?"

"Yes," Mason said curtly. He was trying to sound tough, and it was working. I was even intimidated.

"Well, I'm sorry he has to live with a fat pig like you." My mouth must have hit the floor. Mason's fists clenched.

"Greyson, you should go," I said hurriedly.

"I came to see you, not him," Greyson responded, standing up straight.

"Go away," I said, nearly accepting him as a permanent house guest. He was so persistent that it was kind of unbelievable. I remember in high school there was a seminar class about harassment because some freshman boy had texted this sophomore girl 406 times within a twenty-four hour span.

"Not until you leave him and give a real man a shot." Mason picked him up and threw him into the hallway, he shut the door behind him. I ran after the two, flinging our door open.

"Mason! Stop!" I had to pull his hair for him to notice I was there. He had punched Greyson in the gut. "You'll go to prison and then what?" Mason went back inside, leaving Greyson on the floor. Greyson and I looked at one another. He got up and left. I had to admit I thought he got the message.

"He's the one who just came inside," Mason said before chugging milk directly from the carton.

"It's fine, calm down," I said. When he was angry I found him to be very attractive. I was the one who needed to calm down.

"I'm fine," he said, drinking more and then wiping away a milk moustache with his forearm. "You were right though. He does have a very Bret-like aura."

"I told you so," I said, sighing.