8. Mason
Mason
FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE
To all of the people who say you’ll find yourself in college…you left out the part where you lose yourself first.
It’s almost two in the morning, and I’m stuck in a piss-smelling basement with ten other guys who are all down here, embarrassing themselves, begging to belong to a stupid ass house.
The upperclassmen circle us like prey, wearing masks that cover their faces, and shirts with big Greek letters that glow under the black light.
I don’t think you could find an ounce of human decency down here if you tried. They don’t care about us or the “brotherhood” right now; they’re just here to humiliate us and prove some kind of weird dominance over us.
The game is to beat you down, and see how far they can push you just for you to earn your spot—a spot I couldn’t care less about, honestly.
If it wasn’t for my dad’s weird obsession with this school, this fraternity, and his need to constantly relive his past because he’s so miserable in life now, I wouldn’t be here. I’d find somewhere else to belong.
This is downright degrading and just sad.
But for some reason, fraternities are a lifelong connection in the world of business. To me, it’s just a stamp on your forehead that you’ve always been a douche.
We’re all lined up, stripped down to our boxers, standing shoulder to shoulder in the almost pitch-black room. It smells like sweat, beer, and shallow personalities.
I’ve perfected being numb, not caring, and not letting anything get under my skin my entire life, so this part should be easy. I’m just ready for the weird ritual shit to be over with and to end this night with a lot more drinks in me.
One of the frat guys, the president of the house, I think—Tanner—walks back and forth in front of us with a bat in his hand, dragging it along the floor as he speaks.
“You boys think you can just walk in here, wear our letters, drink our beer, and fuck our girls without paying your dues first?”
“No, sir,” all the guys yell in unison.
I’m sorry, I didn’t get the memo. Was I supposed to do that too?
I’m really trying not to laugh at how seriously they’re all taking this. It’s so fucking weird. But hey, whatever.
Tanner stops in front of me, glaring for a moment before picking up the bat and putting it on my chest. “What about you, Sinclair? Think you’re better than everyone here or something? Daddy’s name and money might have gotten you in those doors, but you won’t stay here without showing some respect.”
I stare past him, trying not to look as annoyed as I feel. “No, sir,” I say flatly.
“I’m sorry,” he says, cupping his ear with his free hand. “I didn’t hear that.”
He turns to another one of the upperclassmen who’s standing off to the side. “Did you hear him?”
He shakes his head no, then Tanner turns back to me. “Nobody seemed to hear that, Sinclair. Gonna need you to speak up for us.”
“No, sir!” I say louder, faking whatever level of “respect” he’s looking for.
He laughs. “Better. Now get on your knees with the rest of your brothers and try to prove you’re worth your spot here.”
My knees hit the concrete, and I can feel cold, sticky liquid beneath me.
A couple of the guys start pouring beer on all of us, and it runs down my neck and back, but I keep my head up and just take it.
“Smile, Sinclair,” Tanner says. “You’re the new big football star everyone’s been raving about. Better live up to your reputation around here.” He stops, getting in my face and smiling. “Give us that Texas A&M smile for the cameras.”
There are no cameras down here, just laughter from all the guys standing around. The kind that makes your skin crawl and makes you feel gross, used, and objectified.
Tanner finally takes his attention off of me, and I let out a long breath.
“This is nothing,” A guy standing behind me says. “Just wait.”
The hazing lasted another hour—shots forced down our throats until guys were gagging and throwing up, push-ups until my arms wanted to give out, then they made us all stand on the top balcony, and each shout something dumb and humiliating.
When one of the guys got to me, he told me to shout out that my mom was a dirty little whore, and without hesitating, I turned around and punched him in the face. They almost made me leave until I told them my mom was dead.
They stopped fucking with me after that. I’m glad, because I was really close to calling it a night and saying fuck them.
“Welcome to Sigma Chi, brothers,” Tanner shouts. “Welcome to the lifelong brotherhood.”
They start passing out beers to all of us and slapping us on the backs as we wrap up the hazing and switch into party mode in celebration.
I happily partake in the off switch they hand out, chugging the beer before heading up to the main part of the house with everyone else, where a party is already waiting for us.
Girls flood in from next door at the Gamma house, and the guys all flock to them like they’re starving animals.
I let the night take over, chugging drinks, screaming lyrics, dancing with girls, laughing with some of the guys, and forgetting why I thought I would hate this so much.
An hour later, when my social battery is drained and I’m in need of a small break, I find my way upstairs and into one of the rooms where I see a guy at the end of the bed doing a line off his phone with a girl kneeling next to him.
He tips his head up, looking at me—nose red, eyes watery from the line he just did, but still sharp.
He sniffs any remaining coke back as he takes in his surroundings. “Shit,” he mutters. “Door was supposed to be locked.”
The girl gets up and looks between us before walking back out into the party.
“It wasn’t,” I tell him, pointing back at the open door behind me.
He smirks, running his sleeve over his nose. “Guess that’s on me.” He looks me over. “You look like hell.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Geez, thanks.”
“Pledge?”
I nod.
“Rough night, huh?” he asks.
“Nothing a little more alcohol can’t fix.”
“That’s the spirit,” he says, pointing at me like he’s proud of that answer.
He holds out his phone. “Need a hit?”
“Nah—I’ve never um…” I shake my head. “I just needed somewhere to breathe for a minute.”
He nods like he understands. “Yeah, it’s that time of the night. The wild ones get more wild, and the ones just trying to escape realize it’s not really working.”
Yeah, I guess that’s how it goes, huh?
He nods his head in the direction of the bed. “Probably the only empty room, come sit. No judgment here.”
Fuck it. I need the break.
I plop down on the bed and kick my feet up.
He goes to line up another row and then looks back at me. “What’s your name?”
“Mason…Sinclair.”
“Oh shit. The new football kid?”
“How do you—”
“Tanner hasn’t shut up about how his fraternity has snagged a future NFL draft pick.”
I shake my head. “Sorry to pop his bubble, but I have no intention of going pro.”
“Why not?”
“Not in the plans. I have to take over my dad’s business. Football is just an escape and a way to ‘earn respect,” as my dad always says.
“Is that what you want to do?”
I don’t know if I like the way he’s probing, but I still give in for some reason.
“Hell no. And I still wouldn’t want to go pro either way. But I have no room to complain. My future is being handed to me on a platter.”
“Sounds like it sucks,” he says sarcastically.
I nod. “Kinda does.”
“I’m Bash, by the way. Short for Sebastian before you ask.”
We end up heading back out into the party together, taking shots and bonding over not wanting to be here…but also not wanting to leave.
He’s easy to be around—a year ahead of me, I think. He’s sarcastic and funny, and not shallow like most of the guys around us tonight. He’s obviously fucked up in his own ways, and I think that’s why we click.
After I have enough shots in me, I forget that I was supposed to be miserable here. I start enjoying the night, and give in to all the ridiculous things the guys ask me to do.
I kind of like the attention. It feels…addicting.
I’m laughing loudly, pulling girls in to dance with me, and slowly drowning out the sounds of all the self-deprecating voices in my head.
One of the guys shouts my name, calling me to come over to them, and I push through the crowd to oblige, Bash right behind me, ready to watch whatever I’m about to get into.
I make my way over to the circle forming with two girls in the middle of a bunch of guys. They’re effortlessly pretty but a little sloppy from the alcohol, having fun nonetheless.
Tanner wraps an arm around me, laughing. “They got dared to make out with you…go ahead.” He nudges me towards the center of the circle where they both are.
The girls are hanging onto each other and giggling as they look to me, waiting.
Bash elbows me, laughing. “Show ‘em a good time, champ.”
I laugh, shaking my head at him. “You’re such an asshole.”
A shot is shoved in my hand as someone yells, “Liquid courage!” patting me on the back.
I down the shot, saying fuck it.
Everyone starts chanting at the same time when I step closer to them. “Sin-clair! Sin-clair! Sin-clair!”
I reach a hand behind each of their heads, pulling them closer, and then turning to the redhead, kissing her as everyone shouts behind me. Then I turn and take the other girl’s head, bringing her close enough to kiss.
They both taste like the same cherry lip balm, so either they shared it, or…they made out with each other first.
When I pull back, we’re all laughing, head thrown back as the chants keep going.
“Now at the same time!” someone yells.
I feel a couple of hands on my back, pushing me back to the girls, and one look at them tells me they’re down.
Screw it. I do what’s expected and play the wild party guy part for everyone around. Mostly because the attention feels good, not because I really want the girls.
I guess…I just want the approval.
I pull them back, all three of us kissing this time. I can see flashes going off behind my closed eyes, and I shake my head, knowing I’m not going to want to see those pictures in the morning.
The kiss is sloppy and pointless, but fun, I guess. I play along as the crowd gets louder and more excited, then break the kiss, wiping my mouth and smirking. I throw my hands up in victory like they want.
Yet inside, I feel nothing.