Hating Grayson ✓

13

Murder. I was actually contemplating murdering Grayson Scott and burying him in a shallow grave. I've watched enough thrillers and murder mysteries to get the gist of it, how hard can it be? I'm not saying I'm bordering on sociopathy, but if I was capable of murdering anyone, it would be Grayson Scott.

More so now that he was blackmailing me and threatening to tell the entire school that I had, during a lapse of judgement caused by the effects of one too many cups of alcohol, kissed him.

Would I feel remorse? Honestly, who's to say.

Okay, enough talk about murder. I may hate Grayson with a burning passion, but I would never wish to kill him, even if he was blackmailing me, and even if he was most probably the worst human being I had met.

I could barely sleep a wink last night, not with Grayson's words echoing inside of my mind. I had no idea what my sexuality was, but the thought of Grayson outing me to our entire school, it was more than enough to set me on edge.

Thank god it's the weekend, so I won't have the displeasure of seeing his annoying face until Monday at school.

I groaned as I walked downstairs in my pajamas, heading straight for the refrigerator. With weary eyes, I scanned the contents of the refrigerator for a jug of orange juice. I reached for it and held it in my right hand before i took a step back to close the fridge door. I then set the jug on the countertop and headed towards the cabinet where we had kept our mugs and glasses. I reached for a tall glass and set it beside the jug before pouring.

"Dude! I told you to watch my left!" I familiar voice groaned.

I couldn't be certain, but it sounded like Mitchell's friend named Brock. I internally groaned. Why couldn't Mitchell just go and hang out someplace else?

After pouring a glass, I took a refreshing sip.

"I was watching your left you idiot!" Another familiar voice stated with a grunt of frustration.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Of course the one person I didn't want to see today was currently seated in my living room playing video games.

Panicked by Grayson's dumb presence in my house, the glass of orange juice slipped through my fingers and plummeted towards the tiled floor. I heard the shatter of the glass before I felt a shard of it pierce my bare left foot.

"Fuck!" I cried out, wincing.

"Yo, are you okay bro?" Mitchell wondered in a panic from wherever he was. I had lifted my left foot up off of the ground while trying to keep myself steady by keeping my hand pressed hard against the surface of the countertop.

I seethed at the sharp sensation in my foot as my brother came into view, followed by his pack of idiots.

"Shit!" Mitchell gasped with shock. "Don't move." He warned, cautiously walking over the puddle of orange juice that was laced with shards of glass. He was wearing shoes, so glass was not the reason as to why he was being cautious, though I guess glass could on occasion pierce through one's sneakers. "Gray, come help." He called out to his best friend as he stood on my left side. Grayson immediately rushed forward at Mitchell's command.

"Holy shit! Uh, maybe we should call an ambulance?" Brock spoke.

"It's just a tiny bit of glass." I feigned a chuckle, though in reality I was fighting the urge to cry out in pain.

"Dude, that is way too much blood for a tiny piece of glass." Jonah says.

I was too afraid to look down at the floor as both Grayson and my brother held me up on either sides and helped me over the shattered glass before setting me down on my mother's cherished ottoman by the dining area's entrance.

"Fuck, uh. Where's the first aid kit?" Grayson asked Mitchell in a panic, as if he were the one who had their foot stabbed by a shard of broken glass.

I know that it was all my fault, and mine alone, but I couldn't help but put the blame on him.

"Bathroom." Mitchell answered.

My breathing was quick as I entered full blown panic mode. "Is it bad?" I asked Mitchell, scrunching my face up. "Is it really bad?"

"It's fine." Mitchell answered.

An hour later I was seated on the couch with a bandage wrapped around my foot. Turns out this specific group of morons had a flair for the dramatic, as the shard of glass that had previously been embedded into my foot was no bigger than a penny. Idiots. The way that they had carried on about it made me think that a toe might've been cut off or something. But no, it was just a minor cut.

Diego, Jonah and Brock had left not long ago, while Mitchell had just rushed upstairs to relieve himself.

"Can you walk on it yet?" Grayson wondered from the other side of the couch.

I stood up and slightly pressed my left foot against the ground. It hurt, but I could definitely limp. "I'll be fine." I told him, headed towards the staircase.

"Good, can you get me a drink?"

Is he serious?! I turned around and gored at him. "Get your own drink you halfwit!" I spat angrily.

His eyebrows rose slightly before he clicked his tongue. "Did you forget our conversation from yesterday?"

Fuck.

"Fine." I groaned. "I'll get you a drink." I limped my way towards the kitchen.

Maybe I'll put a shard of glass in it, or better yet, why don't I just straight up pour him a glass of Cleanex.

After pouring him a glass of orange juice, I handed it to him, glaring daggers at him. "There. I did what you asked, now can you leave me alone!"

"But we're only getting started." He grinned mischievously, making me rethink my earlier thought about murder.