Bite Me

December was a good month for both Mason and I. Along with the further development of our relationship, we also had cause for celebration in the success of Carrington High School's football team.

Mason had become the team's starting quarterback, much to the disappointment of the previous star, Ryan Andrews. He was a homophobic, misogynistic douche, though, so Mason didn't feel very bad about taking his spot. What had Mason really excited, however, was the fact that the football team had won districts and was moving on to the state tournament in two weeks.

     So, yeah, pretty good month. With the beginning of Christmas break came the beginning of me constantly leaving the house to meet my boyfriend in our old shed. It had become so routine, nobody even questioned where I was headed anymore. I always said the same thing: "out". They gave up asking after a while.

     I only wish that I could've spent an actual holiday with him—that would've been pretty romantic. However, Christmas was a no-no and always had been, given that I was damned. Besides, he spent it with his family. And, to my great annoyance, Mason had to go to a party with his fuckboy buddies on New Year's Eve. He was way too hungover to do anything the following day.

     Although, I probably shouldn't complain. I had him pretty much every day otherwise.

Like today. Mason had finished football practice an hour ago and wasted no time in calling me over to our little shed to hang out. We had to use as much time as we could now, because Mason's schedule was about to become hectic. It was the last day of winter break, after all, and the next two weeks would revolve around football—his coach wasn't messing around. According to Mason, our team has made it to the states for the last three years in a row and lost in the finals each time. Yeah, ouch—the coach was doing everything in his power to ensure that that would not happen again.

Mason was sitting beside me on the floor with his legs thrown over mine and his hands occupied with scrolling through his Instagram feed. I swear, if he wasn't occupied with me, he was on Instagram. Always Instagram. I had the app too, but it I'd never actually seen what was on Mason's account. It was private, and it would look weird if I followed him.

"Hey, Tiger, can I see your phone?" I said over the music that was currently blaring from Mason's portable speaker. We had argued for a solid ten minutes about who got to play their music—as usual—and today I won, so The Ghost of you by My Chemical Romance was playing. No way was I about to spend the last day of winter break listening to Mason white-boy-rapping 2 Chainz or whoever the hell he listened to.

"Why?" Mason asked, looking up at me with a quirked brow.

"I wanna see what kind of shit you post on Instagram."

Mason shrugged, apparently deeming this a valid reason to hand over his precious baby, and gave me his phone. I went to his profile and rolled my eyes—there weren't many pictures to begin with, but the ones that were there almost all revolved around football. He had 23.3k followers, and I silently wondered just how popular by boyfriend was. I didn't know very much about Instagram—I hardly ever used it—but I was pretty sure that was a lot, at least for somebody who's account was private. As popular as Mason was, I knew he didn't have twenty-three thousand friends. Which got me wondering: what's the point of being private if you just let everybody follow you anyways?

"Mason, you're such a fuckboy sometimes," I groaned as I came across a picture of him, Blake, and some other guy from the football team, on the football field, all shirtless and smirking at the camera. The caption was: "Don't hate us cause you ain't us".