I Don't Love You (BxB)

Chapter 1

    I opened my eyes, squinting at the light shining through the blinds. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to re-collect myself after sleeping. Sitting up, maybe a little bit to fast, I immediately started dry heaving. I swallowed dryly, my stomach felt churned up. I licked my dry lips and stared at my bare chest.
That was normal I didn't really wear shirts to sleep, what wasn't was that my lower abdomen felt weird/hurt slightly. I had no pants on but I could've just kicked them off in the night. I would've thought all this was fine except the fact that I don't remember half of last night's party held at my house.
    I froze, the lump on the right side of my bed shifted slightly. I held my breath, slowly getting on all fours and leaning over the lump enough to see the sharp jaw line of Mason Griffen. I immediately through myself backwards. I felt bile at the back of my throat. I rushed quite loudly to the bathroom and dry heaving into the toilet.
    I sighed, leaning back against the wall. The few times Mason and I have spoken consist of: "Go away freak." Or "The fuck you want from me, Fag?" I hated Mason with a passion, not because of the fact that he's a cardboard cut out of the perfect highschool jock or the words he says. It's because he fakes his emotions. And only someone who's used to hiding their emotions would notice. I do. He acts like an ass around everyone he doesn't speak to everyday. Then when he's by himself he reads, listens to music, is a chill, mellow, and quiet looking guy. It's like he's two different fucking people. And for some reason. That bothers the hell out of me.
    I slowly got up, clutching my stomach, and dragging my feet to the mirror above the sink. I swallowed, placing my elbows on the counter, and lacing my fingers together pressing them against my forehead. I stared at my reflection.
    I looked dead. My skin was pale and the bags under my eyes made my skin look slightly gray in the white light. My left eye is blue and my right brown. I chuckled looking away and re-positioning my head against my hand. Maybe that's why I'm a freak. I sighed. That's not what I'm trying to think about right now.
    Not knowing what happened last night makes me terrified. "Think, think, think." I whisper to myself.
    I remember telling my friend that if she didn't see me for at least 2 hours to shut down the party. I remember standing at the bar that separated the living room and kitchen with a red Solo cup (You've seen movies) and finding Mason's eyes in the crowd of people. He was staring at me while kissing his girlfriend, Emily White. I remember walking up the stairs to my room, and feeling him behind me.
    Re-thinking of the memory made me shudder, for some reason. I huffed out, pushing away from the counter. Slowly, I tiptoed across my room to my dresser. I looked for basket ball shorts, slid them on, and continued to look for a shirt. I took in a sharp breath when I heard the bed springs behind me.
    I turned around slowly, a black shirt in my hands, to see Mason staring at me with wide blue eyes clouded with terror. He opened his mouth, nothing come out. Mason ripped the sheets off and started to put on skinny jeans, and almost falling on his face while doing so before coming at me.
    "Ok so I'm going to ask you this, then leave." He began, he was acouple of inches from my face and I could feel his breath hit me while he spoke. "Do you remember what the hell happened last night?" Mason asked, pointing a finger at me.  I shook my head, his breath smelled of stale alcohol.
    "Maybe because we were both drinking is why we can't remember." I pointed out. His eyes widened and he gave me a 'oh, no way dip-shit', look.
    "Way to point out the obvious!" Mason growled, almost animalistic. He turned around with a huff, and walked to the other side of the room, placing his hands on the back of his head. I, for some reason, I was fascinated by the way the muscles on his back moved when he out his hands up. Something flared in my stomach and I couldn't tell what it was.
    Mason turned back to me, ran his hand through his golden brown hair, and tilted his head to the side. "Shane Coopers, right?" He asked, pointing a lazy finger at me. When he tilted his head my stomach flipped, that pissed me off and then him asking my name pissed me off more.
    "Oh my God." I scoffed loudly. He tilted his head again. "Of course you don't know my name." I waved my hands, irritated. "My name is Dylan, and yours is Mason Griffen, now that we're acquainted, I'd like you to leave or tell me what you did."
    Mason scoffed, with fake shock on his face he said, "What I did?" He huffed picking up a gray shirt from the floor, putting it on along with a black hoodie. He went to go to my bedroom, flipping me off and opening the door.
    "Hey, asshole make sure you control yourself and not steal anything on the way out!" I yelled at him, harshly pulling on the black shirt, and walking out of my room to watch him walk to the front door from the balcony (you go up the stairs and there's a balcony over a part of the living room, a hall, and bit of the kitchen to the front door).
    Mason slammed the door harshly, the house shacked. I huffed, stomping back to my room, slamming into my bed. I suddenly felt absolutely exhausted. I have school on Monday and it's Saturday, my mom and sister are out of town. My house wasn't that trashed. Just acouple things out of place.
    I rolled onto my back, I felt like listening to music that 14 year old girls cry over. I smiled. Sometimes I think I'm the funniest fucking thing since sliced bread.
    I sat up, I had to get to cleaning didn't I?  I breathed out, standing and going down stairs.