Fire Starter

Chapter Eight

I seem to write books that get waaaay too escalated very fast.

Enjoy.x

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Mason stayed over, he took the couch, but he might as well had taken the spare since I had the taken the attic. When I collided with him in the kitchen the next morning, it was only he and I. He sat at the end of the table by the back door looking so intently at his bowl of oatmeal, staggered as if I were bound to jump over the table at him any second. His neck was burgundy; burn marks shaped as my small fingers.

I was about to make me a bowl of cereal when suddenly Mason's voice spoke up. "I didn't know it was your plate of food. I was drunk, and if I knew it was... Well, I still would've eaten it." He grimaces and I make a conscious effort to try to smile. "But since I now know what you're capable of... I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He said.

I expected a: "Hey. I'm sorry for eating your food, so I made you breakfast." But then again, maybe he was looking for a: "Hey. I'm sorry for choking and burning you. Here's a turtle neck shirt."

There seemed to have already been an unoccupied bowl of cereal made on the counter, and if it wasn't for me, then it was probably Zayn's. Where even was Zayn?

"Where's Zayn?" I asked, sitting down on the opposite end of the table, disregarding his apology with a shrug. I had taken that bowl of cereal and was now shoveling spoonfuls of the flakes into my mouth. They were slightly soggy but nevertheless delicious.

"Out back, making a phone call." Mason nodded his head towards the window over the sink.

Yesterday was Saturday; Zayn didn't go out last night, and come back in the middle of the night like he did on Friday. He and Mason were locked in his room until the crack of dawn, when Zayn finally kicked Mason out.

Today was Sunday.

I nodded. "Oh."

As I was eating my cereal so quickly, I wondered if anyone-- if Mason could hear the sloshing in my mouth like I could hear it in my brain so clearly.

"What's your name again?" Mason asked.

"Whatever you want it to be." I uttered, placing my elbows on the table as I swallowed.

"Which one were you again?" He asks for confirmation, and I realize how different Zayn's accent is from his. "Nicole, was it?"

When I don't confirm my name, he smiles knowingly. "Tell me. Where's your sister?" He's overly curious.

"Which one am I? I don't know what you're referring to. You've got me twisted with another person." I utter, uninterested in a conversation with him.

"Whatever you say, Princess."

If I was the Princess, then he was the Neanderthal imbecile peasant. I'd take him calling me Princess over the nickname Nikki, any day. Nikki's a horrible name to began with, I mean, for a person like me. It's much too girly.

As regards to my name, I just rolled my eyes towards Mason and ignored him with the huff of my breath.

"I have a feeling that we will be getting along juuust graaand." He mutters, dragging the last two words. He could be cute to me if I didn't already hate him so very much, or if he his face wasn't so bruised.

If you slapped glasses on the boy, he'd seem like the most geekiest person alive. I could never picture him with a lip piercing until now, even though I never bothered to. After he finished his oatmeal, he slipped a silver hoop into his mouth and onto his tongue. I don't know how in the world he did it, but Mason had just sucked his lip into his mouth, slipping the ring in it's place in his bottom lip using his tongue.