Bite Me

mason

      I was not excited for the day ahead.

     Don't get me wrong, I was pretty ecstatic overall. After what felt like ages of silently chasing after Kieran Callisto, I finally had him. Maybe not officially, but he wasn't running from me anymore. He wasn't pushing me away, or denying what we felt for each other, and that was more than enough for me. For now, at least.

       So now, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach had nothing to do with Kieran.

      Today I had to break up with Marcella.

      I probably didn't have to do it today. I could've waited until tomorrow, or even Monday. But I couldn't string her along any more—I could hardly believe I'd done it for so long. I was a jerk, I knew. There was no doubt about it, and I wouldn't lie to myself and say that it was for a good reason. No excuses could explain what I'd done. It was pure assholery. It was what it was, though, and today it would come to an end.

      I was scared—terrified, actually—that she would take it badly. I wanted to remain as her friend, because I truly did like her. Just not the way she wanted me to. Marcella was the first person who was nice to me when I moved here, of course I cared about her. We'd only been dating for a few weeks, but it was clear that she really liked me. Marcella was a great girl, one who deserved somebody that felt the same about her.

      My hands were shaking as I lifted my phone and sent her a text. Hey, Cells, mind if I come over? We need to talk.

     I swallowed, staring at the screen of my phone intently as I waited for a reply. It came quickly enough, and said,

     Sure, but I'm warning you, I feel like shit and probably look like it too

      Before I could respond, another text came in.

     Oh, and bring painkillers

     I laughed under my breath and smiled as I imagined Marcella saying the words aloud, with that cheeky little grin on her face. I adored her, I really did. Which was why I hated that I was going to hurt her.

      Hey, I only had myself to blame.

      Will do, I responded, still smiling down at the screen. Be there in 30

      So I was. Thirty-ish minutes later, I pulled up in Marcella's driveway, where I admittedly sat for five minutes trying to figure out how I was going to do this. I came up with nothing.

      When I knocked on the front door, Marcella was the one to answer. She looked, well, hungover. She was wearing a big t-shirt and comfy looking shorts—probably her pajamas, even though it was noon. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks and eyes were red, and she was rubbing her temples with a look of I regret everything written on her features.

      Yet she was still beautiful. I could have really liked her, even loved her. She was just my type, or what I'd once thought was my type. Sweet, funny, pretty without trying. Honest, down to earth, intelligent. A girl.

     Who'd have thought that my type would end up being moody, brooding, and sarcastic, with a wiener on the side.

    "Hey, Mason," Marcella said quietly. "Am I yelling to you, because I sound like I'm yelling to me."