Thirty three

When Graham lunges over the table, I pick up my unfinished cup of coffee and stand. Graham had said that this is how they resolve their issues. Fighting.

I roll my eyes and make my way to one of the cushy armchairs by the fire where Shay is currently lumbering, unbothered by the commotion. At least Shay has got the right idea.

Men.

Taking the chair opposite to the one that Shay is sitting on, I settle myself in it as comfortably as possible and watch as fists fly left and right and the once quiet room is filled with angry grunts, and pained moans, a chair flies over my head at one point, landing somewhere behind me with a harsh clatter. I duck my head, instinctively to avoid getting knocked out. After a few minutes of watching, I conclude that the two men are equally matched, meeting each other punch for punch, kick for kick.

When Mason stumbles into the armchair that Shay is currently sitting on, Shay yawns, stretches his limbs, and plods off and then onto my lap.

At least, an animal has more brains than those two numnuts.

I'm choking on testosterone at the moment, and I can't tell for certain that this isn't exactly a sight that would want to deprive myself of. Call it morbid curiosity, if you will.

Mason lands a rather strong punch, Graham curls on himself grunting, glaring at Mason through half-open eyes.

Both men are sporting split lips, and angry red bruises on their faces, and I try not to think what the rest of them look like, but I'm pretty sure, it is not negligible.

Mason falls to the floor when Graham kicks his right leg from under him, and I know why he fell so easily. It is the same leg I mended that night when he came into my room. It has become his weak point. Good to know, if we ever happen to go against each other, ever again.

" Give up," Graham pants," I win," He smirks and leans over Mason, within arms reach. Too close. Rookie mistake.

" The hell you win," Just as he says those words, Mason punches Graham in the face, and then drags him to the floor. From there, they toss, and wrestle, holding each other tight. I suppose at this point, the question is who will outlast whom.

Shay yawning drags my attention from the two men rolling on the floor, and I'm glad that at least the creature shares the same mindset. Let them have at it.

At the end of the day, I'm pretty sure that tomorrow when everything aches, they won't feel so cocky about their little wounded egos.

Men.

Somehow, Mason wrestles Graham under him, on his belly, hands pinned behind his back, wraps an arm around his throat and settles his body weight on top of Graham, pinning him to the floor.

" Still feeling smug," Mason seethes through bloodied lips and squeezes Graham's neck. I'm pretty sure that he won't kill Graham, but also I'm not so sure considering Mason's thundering expression.

He is beyond angry. I thought that I was the only one capable of bringing that side of him out to play, but I guess I was wrong. Among many other things.

On the verge of turning a sickly shade of blue, Graham taps the floor, signalling his surrender, and Mason finally releases him from his death grip.

It stands to reason, that men are nothing more than a bunch of cavemen dressed in fancy suits pretending to be something more refined than what they truly are; primal, led by their instincts to prove who is the strongest and the true leader. In this case in point, that would be Mason.

Proudly, he stands and offers his hand to help Graham up, and pulls him into a brotherly hug as soon as he is on his feet. They pat each other on the back and begin to laugh. My best guess is at the ridiculousness of what I've just witnessed.

As if nothing happened, they both strut out of the room and head into the bathroom, bantering among themselves about who did what, and how.

I'm slightly befuddled at the picture they paint and fail to understand what was the point of the scuffle. Releasing pent-up anger, that's what it was.

At least, Shay and I had a break from all the dread surrounding us, and the boys put on a good show.

Eventually, they emerge out of the bathroom still laughing, and suddenly I feel like a third wheel. Although, according to all and any recorded history most arguments have been settled in this primitive manner, only with a lot more casualties.

" So, " Graham says, wincing. He has split lips, a swollen eye, that is only half opened, and a few bruises already blossoming on his jaw. Luckily, none of them have broken bones. Mason, is in no better condition, and I briefly wonder how will he explain his appearance to everyone in Morston. At least, I still have some leeway until the new semester starts.

" Ready to see Meza?" Graham wipes the blood that trickles from the wound on his lip," We will go have a wander about for a few hours. Maybe stop at the local drinking den nearby to have a few," He takes a lot longer to say what he has to say, wincing in between words, while Mason, pulls on his woollen coat, ready to leave.

I look at both men and wonder if any of them has suffered brain damage during the fight. Actually, I'm wondering only about Mason, because he is not rushing back to Morston.

" Come, it will be fun," Graham urges, while Mason just looks at me with furrowed brows, that now look weirdly comical because he has a few cuts, slicing vertically through both of them, bearing semblance to a clown.

Bitting my lip to suppress, a giggle and hopefully more thoughts of clowns, I nod and head back into the room to see if I can find a jacket. If Mason has packed one, I'll probably will.

After rummaging through the bag Mason has haphazardly packed, I realise to my consternation that in fact he did not pack a jacket.

" Here, have this," Mason shrugs off his woollen coat and lays it on the bed.

" That's very gentlemanly of you, but I can't take your coat. I'm sure Graham will have something that I can wear," I say, but don't dare to take my eyes off the coat to look at him.

I'm afraid. Not of him. I'm afraid of the chaos he is stirring inside of me.

Mean Mason, I can handle without as much as a flinch. Angry Mason, also, not a problem.

Caring, attentive, and all in all, nice Mason, turns me into a heap of mumbling mess that doesn't know which way is up.

" I insist. It would be my pleasure," I feel faint, at the sound of his purring voice. This can't be happening. It is all I ever wanted and yet, I feel wary of his intentions.

This Mason has a tendency to blind me and dazzle me, taking away all the resistance. This Mason makes me pliant and awakens a part of me that has no desire in obeying reason, or logic. It tends to have an agenda of its own, and it usually ends with me and him on the horizontal.