Chapter Three

“You have got to be kidding me,” I moaned.

“It’s not so bad,” Mason understated, cocking his head sideways. “If you just close both eyes it’s like it never happened.”

“I can’t exactly erase it from my memory.” I buried my face into Mason’s chest, shielding my eyes from what I just witnessed.

My cardboard box was flattened, and not even the way it was supposed to be. It was like someone had just decided to sit on it…someone that was like six-hundred pounds. And I guess that could be compared to what really happened.

The place where I slept every single night for the past three months was now occupied by two people—a boy and a girl covered in scabs—going at it like wild animals. And that would’ve been fine if they were actually in the wild, out of the public eye. The fact that they were doing it on my shelter just made it twenty times worse.

“Where am I supposed to sleep? I can’t even stand here without wanting to puke.”

“You can stay at mine if you want.”

“Your box?”

“It’s a lot nicer than yours.”

“Anywhere is nicer than mine at the moment.”

“So it that a yes?”

I nodded. “I guess I’m moving in.”

It took me about ten minutes before that sank in. And when it did, I started to hyperventilate.

I was going to be living with Mason, a boy. We would be sleeping together, not like the couple we saw earlier, but like an old married couple. He would see my morning face, not that it was any better than my afternoon or evening face. We would be together like every hour of the day, and that was a lot of pressure.

***

“So this is your place?”

He nodded and smirked. “Told you it was better than yours.”

“I never denied that it wasn’t!”

“Whatever,” he muttered.

I looked around in awe, marveling at all the bright street art that surrounded me. It wasn’t like the ones I’d seen before; this was real art. I couldn’t really describe it—it was like a combination of abstract, modern, and cultural art. It had meaning, a definition.

Although the décor amazed me, it’s not what took my breath away. Cardboard boxes—and other things, like desk drawers—were scattered everywhere, some double stacked. They resembled little homes—random things were added to it to make it more comfortable and quirky. There were shopping carts scattered here and there. People were milling out and about, making conversation with their neighbors.

It was little community that was hidden between four walls of four different buildings. It was like a hidden courtyard that no one really knew about it. There were only two entrances and exits; both were thin alleys that you wouldn’t really notice unless you knew they were there.

Such a charming sight left me speechless, captivated. “Mason this is…” I couldn’t find an appropriate word to describe it. It was heartwarming and beautiful to know that even people who were suffering could find happiness.

Mason seemed to understand what I was getting at because he smiled. “I know.”

I found myself grinning back at him. Finally, I found someone who I could communicate with without talking, something that was close to extinct back home. “So which place is yours?”

He pointed over to one towards the middle. “That one.”

I grabbed his hand and ran to his “apartment.” He chuckled, jogging up so we were running in sync. Since I had shorter legs, I had to run faster than him.

It was sort of plain, just a really big, average box. The ones surrounding him were covered in paint, stickers, and even dirty. His was pretty immaculate, save a few stains on the sides. He kept it in good conditions. “It’s not painted,” I commented.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “It’s easier to find when yours is the only one not decorated.”

“We need to give it a more…womanly touch. Do you have any objections?”

He puts his hands up, shaking his head. “None.”

I smiled and clapped my hands happily. “Good!” I beamed.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go see if I can borrow some of Bertie’s paint.”

“Who’s Bertie?”

“My neighbor,” he said, pointing across a circular clearing, “who’s obsessed with covering every single surface he can find.”

“How does he get the paint?” I thought everyone was poor.

He shrugged. “Beats me. C’mon, let’s go see if he’s got any spare paint.”

Bertie seemed kind of weird. “Do I have to come with you? Can’t I just stay here?”

He let out a guttural laugh. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Even from across the clearing?”

“Especially from across the clearing. Are you forgetting that these people are homeless? Just because we live together doesn’t mean that we aren’t capable of stealing things.”

“We?”

“You know what I mean.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, Bernie it is.”

We walked the short path to Bernie’s, which was only like six feet away.

Bernie was a middle aged man, who was balding in the middle of his head, leaving a shiny center. His voice was slightly high-pitched. “Mason, what a pleasant surprise this is. What can I do you for?”

I looked to Mason with a raised eyebrow. I didn’t actually think he interacted with people. Maybe that’s why he was a pleasant surprise. He did a one-shoulder shrug and turned back to Bernie. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare paint, would you?”

“What’s the dealio?”

“My lady friend wants to decorate.”

Bernie had a cheeky grin on his face. He turned to me and stuck his hand out. I shook it. “I take that you’re Mason’s lady friend?”

I blushed. “I guess so.”

“In that cause, take all the paint you two lovebirds need. Going to paint your nest?”

I nodded shyly.

While Mason climbed into Bernie’s artfully decorated box, Bernie gestured me closer. “Be good to him. He’s a real fragile, rattled rugrat.”

“I will,” I promised. I was going to hang myself out on a limb and say that Bernie was the fatherly figure in Mason’s life. I wonder what happened in his earlier days that caused him to end up like this.

Mason came back out with two bottles of paint in his hands. “Are you flirting with my girl?” he asked teasingly.

“But of course.” Bernie reached into his makeshift smock and pulled out two worn out brushes. “Have fun, you two, but not too much fun.” He winked and Mason rolled his eyes.

“He seems nice,” I said wistfully, squirting a bit of purplish paint onto the brush. I handed the other one.

“Yeah, he’s a little eccentric, but he’s good to me. Hey! Don’t be painting an girly things here. I have to live here, you know. I don’t want the guys to see it and make fun of me if they stop by.”

I looked at him curiously, stopping mid-stroke. “The guys?”

“Guys: people with—“

“I know what they have!” I yelled quickly. “I just didn’t realize that you had friends.”

He playfully pushed me, resulting in a long, purple streak across the side. “I’m not completely antisocial.”

“You ruined the windows!” I cried.

He looked at me amusedly. “Windows?”

“Like in a house.”

“Yes, yes, I get that. Why were my windows purple?”

“It was either that or orange.”

“I’d rather have the orange windows.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he saluted.

I resumed painting, patching up the mistake I—err—Mason had made. “So…?”
“So what?”

“When do I get to meet your ‘guys’?”

“Ah, never.”

I stuck my lip out into a pout and put the brush down. “What do you mean, never?”

“Never: it’s not going to happen, like ever.”

“Would you stop with the definitions? Why can’t I meet the important people in your life?”

He cupped my face, his inky grey eyes piercing into my light brown ones. We were so close, out breaths were mingling, mixing, making babies. Too far? Thought so. His thumb stroked my cheek gently. “You already know yourself.”

I cocked my head to the side, smiling and loving the intimacy between us. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled quietly. “I thought you were supposed to be the educated one in our relationship. It means that you’re the most important person in my life.”

My heart fluttered. I couldn’t stop the wide grin that was blossoming across my face. He said we were in a relationship. “Really?”

“I’m not this vulnerable in front of everyone, Soph,” he mumbled.

Tears were starting to glaze over. To me, this was like the equivalent of saying, ‘I love you.’ And that deserved a reward; a big, special one.

I ripped the paintbrush out of his hand and threw it lightly over my shoulder. I heard it tumble on the ground. I leaned in, the nerves bunching up and overwhelming me, for a kiss.

My first kiss.

His first kiss, I assume.

Our first kiss.