Scripted

four

four

           “What do you mean you’re ‘straight’?” I demanded with a laugh, still panting heavily from the kiss. Mason rolled off of me so that we were no longer touching, and I awaited an answer to the absurd proclamation he had just made.

           “I like girls, Nat,” he said simply.

           “Great. I like starfish. That doesn’t mean that I’d do one, though,” I scoffed, expressing something even more outlandish than what Mason had asserted.

           “Natalie, I like you,” Mason said with a sigh, his eyes boring into mine with that same weird look from before. Things were getting a little bit too intense for me. This wasn’t what I signed up for. Besides, he was probably just joking. Yeah. That was probably it—he was trying to be funny.

           “I like you, too, Mason,” I returned hesitantly, “but what do you mean you’re ‘straight’? Mason, just because you like me doesn’t mean that you want to do me…or the rest of my gender.”

           “Actually, it does, Nat,” he said with a heavy smirk. “Natalie, I’m not gay. Never have been. Never will be. The only dick I care about is mine, and I like you, Nat.”

           “You’re—you’re not gay?” I exclaimed, wondering if I was just hearing things or if this was really happening. Mason nodded his head slowly, attempting to gage my reaction and how pissed I was about to be. “What the hell, Mason! I can’t believe I let you see me in my underwear all those times! And the one time that we went skinny-dipping! Ugh! Mason, you can’t be straight! You just can’t be!”

           “Really? Because the boner that I may or may not have right now begs to differ,” he replied back in that smug little tone of his. My eyes widened, and the only thing I could think to do was inflict the pop star with as much pain as he was currently putting me through—by hitting him. My fists stretched out to his shoulder, and I began to punch over and over again, but he didn’t even wince. The asshole had muscles, and along with a whole slew of other things that I hated about him right now, his toned body definitely made the list. Mason Grey was straight. Not gay. He liked girls. Not boys. If he were kidding, then I would literally buy a gun, and blow his brains out.

           “Mason, if you’re playing some sick joke on me, then—” But before I could even finish my threat, he silenced me by his lips once again. His hands were gripping my waist tightly, and his lips were trying to mold against my reluctant ones. My stomach dropped, and then decided to learn how to jump rope along with every other internal organ in my body. At first, I refused to kiss the asshole back, but then after a while everything blurred and I finally yielded. Like the first time, it was weird, but I didn’t mind kissing him back. Though it pained me to admit, Mason Grey was a good kisser. A really good kisser.

           “Do you know how long I’ve waited to do that?” Mason asked once he had pulled away.

           “What are you talking about? We’ve kissed a bunch of times, and we just did, like, seven minutes ago!” I expressed, restricting myself from running a finger over my lips.

           “Yeah, but this time was different.” I couldn’t disagree with him, so I didn’t. Besides, he was right. Kissing him this time was different. Generally, when we “kissed” it involved little to no exchanging of saliva and tongues were never involved. My stomach also didn’t feel like it had been knotted five trillion times when we typically kissed.

           I crossed my arms defensively over my chest, and then doubtfully asked, “How do I even know that you’re telling the truth, Mason?”