Pretty Boy [bxb] | ✔️

• Chapter fifty-seven: I'm disowning you first

I'm disowning you first

Alex told me his decision as soon as we woke up. He wants to go to Rhode Island to see his mother.

He's apprehensive, I can tell, but I can also tell how badly he does not want that to show. He doesn't want to be treated any differently, though, and I respect that. We go about our morning as usual, like he's not about to go and visit his mother who abandoned him when he needed her the most. I try to go about as normal, anyway, but I can't help acting out small signs of support; silent ways of saying 'I've got you'.

"Stop putting salt on everything! I'm taking this away from you," I say, snatching the salt shaker from his hand before he can pour it over his eggs.

"Why? It makes things taste better," He responds around a mouthful of toast. He tries to take the salt from me but I quickly pull my hand away from his reach and raise my eyebrows at him disapprovingly.

"It gives you heart disease," I inform him.

He gives me a look as if he thinks I've gone crazy, "Baby, I go to the gym multiple times a week. I don't think I'll be having heart disease any time soon."

"I don't care. I don't want you to end up having a heart attack. Think of the medical bills," I say, putting the salt shaker down, grabbing my plate, and sitting at the small two seater table situated in the middle of the kitchen.

"It's great to know you care more about medical bills than the fact that your lover is dying or dead already," My boyfriend retorts sarcastically.

"I was kidding. I'd probably lie down and die next to you."

That look again, "With no cause?"

"Broken heart, duh. Apparently dogs can die from that," I tell him before shoving a forkful of eggs in my mouth. I've never worried about eating elegantly in front of Alex, ever. So much trust in so little time, evident for the first time when I dropped sauce onto my pants from the burger I was eating on our first date. I laughed and didn't give a shit about his judgment. Mostly because I knew there would be no judgement from him. It's the little things that paint a bigger picture. Since then, my trust has grown.

"Are you calling yourself a dog?" He asks, frowning.

"Well, apparently I am a bitch," I say, thinking back to a few days ago when I was walking out of my house when I saw Cami giving me a death glare and then mouthed 'bitch' at me. "I can see that! Put it down! The eggs have already got salt in them, why do you need more on top?"

He doesn't give in to my reprimands and sprinkles the salt onto his food, "Because I like it."

"Weirdo."

"Dramatic."

"No, I'm in love." I stand up and try to wrestle the salt shaker from him. "Give that here," I demand.