Mason - Chapter 25 (Patreon)

Sleep didn’t come easy for Mason on Monday night. All he’d been able to think about as he went to bed that evening was how miserable he felt. He was obviously sad, or at least sadness was emotionally the right category, but the word “sad” on its own was so short and sounded so shallow. What he felt was an arresting and all-encompassing intensity that came with an emotion like hatred—but he didn’t quite hate Skye. This was a more internalized feeling, something burdensome like hopelessness, but pointed and specific, like a spontaneous depression. It was nineteen years of living with with a horrendous disease, which he’d been conditioned since birth to view as normal, now suddenly crashing his reality.

Skye crushing his model plane had reminded him that everything he had in this world—both material things, and his relationships with other people—was only at the mercy of everyone around him. Every part of the life he lived was because someone let him live that way. A regular, full-sized person could kill him so easily and effortlessly that it was almost laughable (and a lot of people in the world fantasized about the opportunity to do just that), and arguably, regular people even had to go out of their way sometimes just to keep people like him alive. Normally, kidnapping, torturing, or enslaving other humans was hard to do (as was destroying a plane), but all of those things could be accomplished in literal seconds with a tiny like Mason. Pain was always just a moment away. Maybe that was why Nicole had always sheltered him so much growing up. But even in his own home, he was clearly living under the power of others. He was treated as an equal, despite everyone knowing that he wasn’t, and that he never would be.

Every morning when he woke up, there were a few seconds— sometimes it even lasted a few minutes—where he wouldn’t think about being a tiny. He would sit up in bed, see his bedroom and house sized appropriately for him, and not remember what he really was. And then he’d feel the footfalls of someone gigantic walking out in the hallway, or remember an event from the day before, and he’d gently, subconsciously be reminded that he was tiny. Today, the reality check came as soon as he opened his eyes and looked out the window, briefly feeling that something was missing, before remembering that he was looking where his plane had been. When he later walked outside to observe the scattered debris everywhere, the strong feelings returned, and he had to quickly leave before he broke down crying again.

He thought about cleaning the mess up. Not just from the plane, but inside his house, where almost everything had been knocked around when Skye shook his house. His house was definitely something he’d have to tend to himself, but he left the plane’s scraps for someone else to clean up. It’s the least they can do for being so fucking big, he thought. Obviously he’d prefer it if Skye was the one to do it. He recalled her feeling guilty yesterday, and hoped she saw the plane again today, its frame unmistakably the work of vandalism on a giant’s part. She deserves to feel like shit, he bitterly decided. It’s the only kind of payback someone like me can ever get.

For the following few hours, he wasted time on the internet, hoping that if he just did that all day, and for enough days in a row, his emotions would eventually mellow it. It was a self-appointed distraction. But at one point, he ran into an ad on Instagram for a model sailboat (such cruel timing on their algorithm’s part), and the feelings came flooding back. It looked even cooler than the plane, and unlike the plane, a boat was something he could actually ride around in thanks to the  pool out back. But his imagination went wild visions of Skye stomping that too, or throwing it against the wall, or doing a cannon ball jump into the pool a little too close, not even maliciously, and capsizing him and the vessel from the resulting splash. He muttered obscenities under his breath, but hesitated before scrolling past, ultimately saving the post for later. Just in case.

While he was in the kitchen eating lunch, Mikayla came home early, startling Mason with her suddenly loud burst through the front door. He hadn’t really wanted to interact with anyone today, but Mikayla was almost never home that early. “What are you doing here?” he asked her as she plodded in the kitchen, almost sounding annoyed at her presence.

She either didn’t care or didn’t notice his grumpy demeanor, and threw her keys on the table, sighing and crossing her arms. “I ripped—” Mikayla started to say, before stopping herself and chuckling as she came up with a funnier way to phrase it. “I got sent home for my ass being too fat,” she declared, and turned around to show off the lengthy rip that tore right down the back seam of her jeans. Mason looked up, easily seeing a red sliver of her underwear through the crack, but then he saw the unmistakable color of skin and gulped nervously, turning to look away so she wouldn’t catch him gawking at her exposed butt cheek.

“Kidding. Obviously,” Mikayla muttered, turning back around. “Although it’s not really a joke. Probably wouldn’t have ripped if the waist was another inch or something. All I did was bend over to pick up a stack of cups I dropped, and then I heard a SHHHKK sound and suddenly like the whole shop turned to see what happened. Middle of the day, the whole place is busy and loud as fuck, music playing and people talking and espresso machines and blenders and suddenly my pants rip so much that it catches everyone’s attention over everything else.” She laughed, but out of embarrassment, rubbing her forehead in an attempt to hide her blushing face.

She noticed Mason looking down, seemingly not paying attention, and got the premonition that something was off with the tiny teenager. “Uh, I feel like that story isn’t really boring. You okay?” she asked, squatting down to try and get face level with him. But in doing so, they both heard the jeans tear even further, causing Mikayla to bolt back up and roll her eyes. “God, I can’t even squat down!” she yelled, reaching back to feel how much worse it got. “Fucking cheap-ass Hollister piece of shit,” she grumbled, gripping both ends of the tear with her hands and ripping it apart even further out of spiteful, nonsensical frustration. She sighed, rolling her eyes again, telling Mason, “They’re already ruined, might as well get some anger out. Remind me to not let you watch me leave.” She chuckled at her last comment, but when she looked to him, she noticed he’d backed up a bit. He was paying attention now, but with a worried look on his face.

“You don’t need to freak out so much,” he quietly said when their gazes met, and Mikayla grimaced apologetically.

“You’re right, sorry,” she said. “But you never answered my question. Even besides me, I can tell something’s off with you. Super big mood shift yesterday, and you still seem off.”

Mason debated whether or not to tell her what happened with Skye, but considering he didn’t even bother cleaning up the model’s debris, it wasn’t exactly a secret. So he told her the whole story, starting from his overly zealous revenge prank on Skye, including how Skye sounded like a demon and had Mason literally scared for his life, and ending with her smashing his weeks of hard work to bits. But even with his details, Mikayla scoffed at how her sister had handled things, sounding unimpressed.

“I mean if you ask me, you got off pretty easy,” Mikayla announced. “If it were me, I’d like, throw you in a jar, sit on top of it, and then squeeze out the biggest fart I could, right in your face. Then I’d screw the lid back on and hide you in my closet for the rest of the day, so you can’t escape, and just sit, breathing in my gas for the rest of the day.” She giggled as she was talking about it, and as Mason frowned at her take, it even seemed to him like she was fantasizing about the idea, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Like, a whole day, not just the afternoon, but at least 24 hours of making sure you breathed in toxic fumes. Honestly, I don’t even know if a smell can last inside a jar for a full day, so I’d probably have to keep “refilling” it for you every couple hours.”

She laughed at Mason’s horrified expression, who shook his head, looking aggressively unamused. “I know you’re joking,” he said, “but that’s seriously fucked up.” And it capitalized on two of the fears Mason had been thinking about last night: kidnapping and torture. He doubted if any regular payback between normal-sized people on otherwise good terms had ever been so creatively inhumane.

“Who says I’m joking?” the 22 year old shrugged. “The joking version would be to pick you up while you’re kicking and screaming, pull my pants down, and shove you in my ass. And I don’t mean like, just between my cheeks or whatever, I mean like, I am prying my shit open, the eye of the tiger’s right there, I shove you against it, and then literally push you inside. Inside my asshole.” She smirked at the idea, as if it wasn’t one of the most psychotic things she’d ever said. “Then I wouldn’t need to worry about whether or not you can still smell my fart smell, cuz obviously you’d be like, right there at the source. Also wouldn’t need to worry about hiding you and the possibility that someone finds you, cuz you wouldn’t be able to get out. A tiny little person, buried inside the anus of another human being—the last place anyone would ever think to look—until I decide to let you out. Which’d still probably be like, a day or two, something fair.” Mikayla bit her lip, possibly on the verge of getting turned on, and giggled at Mason's shellshocked expression. “Again, that’s just the joke version of my revenge though. Fart jar I feel like isn’t that bad, you’d just be kinda bored, but I mean, I already fart on you all the time anyways.”

Mason was speechless, staring up at her, and it took him a moment to even think of how to respond. “It sounds a little too much like you’ve already put some thought into those. And I definitely still stand by my opinion that they’re way too overboard.

Mikayla raised an eyebrow. “For habanero brownies? Have you ever even had a habanero Mason? I ate like, the very tip of one in middle school once, and I’m pretty sure my tongue was numb for the rest of the day. From how you told it, Skye ate so much she could barely even talk.” Mason wasn’t willing to give in, so Mikayla continued. “The super joking version of how I’d get payback would be where I remind you of what spicy food does to a person’s intestines, so not too shortly after sticking you in my asshole, I’d have to rush off to the bathroom and you’d—”

“OKAY!” Mason called out. “Jesus… Christ. You can actually shut up now.” He shivered at the thought of where Mikayla was going with that, and she took a deep breath, equally as mortified with where she’d been going with her story.

“Sorry, maybe that humor was a little too dark,” she resigned. “But yeah, obviously I’m joking dude. I’m actually kinda offended you think I’d seriously go through with something like that. I mean, for those rare times when you really, really, really piss me off, then yeah, I’m gonna find a way to get you back twice as hard so you don’t do it again. Realistically if you pulled that habanero prank on me, I’d definitely keep you in a jar for a few hours so I could fart on you to my heart’s content. So now you know.” She shrugged, laughing to herself as she added, “Just in case you want me to fart on you. I dunno, haven’t really seen you try to run away as much lately.”

“That’s cuz I realized there’s no point in trying,” he grumbled in response.

“Anyways,” she continued, reaching behind her to cover the ripped part of her jeans with her hands as she walked past Mason towards the fridge. “Since I’m getting rid of these pants now, I’m gonna go through the rest of my closet and purge everything I don’t want anymore.” Turning around again to hide her butt, she opened the fridge and browsed through her options, deciding on a seltzer water. Giving him a friendlier, more genuine smile than before, she said, “I understand if you wanna be on your own for a bit, but feel free to join me if you wanna get your mind off Skye.” Opening the bottle and swigging a giant gulp with a relaxed sigh, she headed back the way she came, towards her room. Except this time, she forgot to cover her pants, and Mason finally got a glimpse at the new tear that Mikayla had given the pants in her anger. It went from the waist to the crotch; her whole backside was torn open as much as there was room, and this time there was far more than just a peek. Though still mostly covered, there was a clear view of her butt cheeks jostling against each other, so huge and menacing that her ass honestly looked like it was trying to eat her underwear. Mason was mesmerized, the despondent sorrow brought on by one girl now replaced by the curious lust he had for the other.

But his infatuation was ruined once he remembered Mikayla’s disgusting threat. He scowled, and shook his head, and was able to successfully push the thoughts from his mind. Whether it was because he felt drawn to her butt, or because of her kindhearted invitation, he nonetheless started climbing down from the table, and decided to join her in her room to see what she was up to.