7. Chapter 7
Ok, so when I posted the first video on my new online hobby, I did not expect to have received hundreds of unhinged comments, ranging from harmless emojis, to women promising Satan their new borns just to lick my tattoos.
I had to turn my post notifications off whilst the views climbed higher and higher, as well as the follower count that I definitely won’t complain about.
This might be quicker than I thought, which tames my worries about how tangled up I’ve already become with this masked weirdo.
No, calling him weird doesn’t feel right.
After getting past my confusion on why he’d shown up in the first place outside of Grace's house, I’m sort of settling into looking the other way about how creepy that might seem too.
He’s not creepy, or weird, just incredibly intense with this game he’s created.
Hell, what’s really fucking with my head is how potentially he could just be some guy trying to mess with me.
When I posted the video last night, I’d only felt dread momentarily, until the likes and comments poured in.
It wasn’t the reaction I expected, not that quickly anyway, but how feral people were for my naked body…
I liked it. It puffed up my chest, and after a cold kick to my ego after being dumped via text, I welcomed the little boost. It’s incredibly annoying, this added layer of confusion.
Why should I care what strangers think about me over the internet?
Maybe I’m just lonely and admittedly horny, because I definitely felt a buzz the more comments I read that told me I was sexy, beautiful and hot.
After I finally pushed past my anxiety and crushing exhaustion, I napped and a small piece of clarity did come to me.
If this was someone I knew joking around, surely they wouldn’t have sent me a picture of their dick in the first place.
They instigated this; turning up outside the window, creating their account, goading me into making one too.
The latter had been my choice, so I doubt this was a bunch of guys waiting around to see what I’d do.
I thought over everyone on the team and my class mates, no one vindictive enough springing to mind and I just didn’t have any enemies like that.
Apart from going to class, practice and hanging out with my friends, trying to be an available boyfriend has taken up my time lately.
Granted I’d come to realise I only received scraps of her attention, but I’d been so preoccupied.
I didn’t think this was someone fucking with me.
It was only now settling with me that I had a lot more time on my hands.
I was single again. Em suggested we hit open mic night this Friday and started adding more events to the house calendar.
Both my friends had said they were sorry to hear about Grace ending things, but I could tell they had wanted to say more.
In fact the moment Em opened his mouth whilst still chewing on a piece of spaghetti, Harris had knee’d him under the table.
Neither had gotten to know her very well, so it didn’t seem like a huge deal that I now found myself girlfriendless.
I also didn’t feel as hurt as I thought I should be—just another confusing item to add to my list of problems. It had been a couple of days since the rejecting blow, but I felt more consumed with figuring out who my masked tormentor was and dealing with my blush over thirsty bitches in my comments.
Please sir can we have some more?
Just a friendly reminder that masktok men belong to booktok girlies.
The things I would do just to taste him.
Looking for a sub?
I’d love a pearl necklace Daddy.
I’d let that man choke me to death. At least I’d die happy.
I stare at the comments flooding in on the new video I just posted before coming to the gym, bewildered at how more unhinged each one gets.
Is this what it’s like to be a public figure online?
Or is this just saved for the people that take off their clothes?
I didn’t really care that people may get off to my body or how suggestive my caption was, in fact I found it slightly thrilling to see what the next comment would say.
I still stood against the blank wall in my room, the natural light casting a striped glow over one side of me as I flexed my arm and grazed my own hand over my neck.
I flex my fingers a little as I go to squeeze, but the video cuts and begins all over again.
The content idea came to me whilst I got ready to head here, but maybe I needed to make some sort of schedule for filming.
My enthusiasm to grow the account just added to my confusion about the entire thing.
The message icon in the app makes me itch the longer I leave it unchecked.
What if he's sent more messages? I did just bail from the conversation after sending him my own photo…
The clink of barbells hitting metal draws me back to the present.
I’d been at the gym for a good half an hour already, but I was so unfocused I half heartedly made my way through my workout.
Currently I’m sitting on the low bench that stretches across the entire back wall of mirrors, my elbow on my knee and my face nestled in my palm.
This was where my mind was today, focused on the social media creature I’d created that maybe was an escape for reality that I needed.
A break from being dumped, the work from class that was already piling up and I needed to find my work placement for spring semester.
Heading home to work with Harris’s family wasn’t an option because it took me away from my classes I still had to attend, as well as rugby.
We’d unintentionally created a life here, with friends and commitments that had tied us to the city for the past couple of years.
Harris had done his masters, and I would officially graduate from veterinary medicine next year.
Our dream was so, so close. His family had created an empire, so I wanted to prove I could handle myself.
Exhaling, I slip my phone back into my shorts and force my body up to finish the last part of my work out.
Straight after this I needed to shower and get to campus for my first class, which luckily was only ten minutes away from the gym.
Upbeat music plays from speakers around the open space, the sound of soft grunts and equipment being a regular comfort.
Usually I lose myself here in the routine, but today was far from normal.
Accepting I had little energy to finish working on my arms, I smoothly step up onto the treadmill and fiddle with the settings till the belt picks up a steady speed.
I prop my drink and phone on the little shelf in front of me, willing the time to pass quicker so I can at least tick this full session off my to do list. Barely walking more than a stride to warm up, someone chuckles at my side and I instantly recognise the low sound.
“Didn’t take you for a treadmill guy. Kinda basic.
” Miles teases, his tall frame coming into view as he steps onto the treadmill beside me.
I don’t know if it’s due to my recent awareness of how attractive a cock looks, but he looks really good in casual work out clothes.
The thought doesn't freak me out. My eyes drag down him, taking in the branded white t-shirt that clings to his compact muscles and the tiny shorts that show off his toned legs. Was all this hidden under his cosy jumpers? He is fit—in the sense he has actual muscles that look well honed. He clearly works out regularly to craft abs like that, his torso sculpted through the tight tshirt, more so than his arms. He must focus on his body and legs over his arms, but he still has muscle there too. His blonde hair is wavy and swept off his face, like he tumbled out of bed and didn’t bother to fix it before coming here.
His smile is warm and playful, but it’s the dusting of light freckles across his nose that I focus on. Miles is really cute.
“Bitch please, you won’t be saying that when I out run you.” I tease back, tearing my gaze away from his face before he thinks I’m staring. He turns his machine on and matches my pace, falling into a stride that flexes each tendon in his long legs.
“To be fair, I’ve seen you running around campus and you take part in physical activities, so I’m sure you could easily out run me.” His smile makes crinkles appear next to his eyes and I wonder if that's something I’ve ever noticed before in a person.
“You should come with me next time–on a run, I mean.” I blurt out without thinking, causing the crinkles to deepen and his smile to brighten, if that's even possible.
“Sure. You'll have to go easy on me.” He leans over just enough to nudge my elbow with his and obviously I break out into a blush, but it's not painful.
“I would never expect to see someone like you in here.” Again, can my brain let me think before it word vomits? I know I've said something wrong when his smile falls, expression hardening as he pretends to focus on something outside of the gym windows.
“Someone like me? Someone gay?”
“What? No!” I splutter, the pause in my pace sending me shooting back two steps before I right myself.
“No, that's not what I meant. Grace said she'd rather be at home than go to a gym, so I just assumed all writers preferred blanket burritos and writing from home.” It's the wrong answer because he's still scowling, his face so expressionful that it'd be impossible to hide how pissed off he is.
At times I know I can be a bit clueless, so it's refreshing to read someone like an open book.
A thought has me smashing the side of my fist down on the emergency stop button, turning to face him fully as I step onto the still side of his machine.
“Who told you that you can't come to the gym because you're gay, Miles?” I'm furious, needing the name of whichever dickhead sprouted such horse shit.