FRICTION

Ch. 16: Bark

-Eric-

"We need to jump him," Mason offered off-handedly, though there was a strange seriousness to his expression when he peered up from the monitor. He did, at the very least, briefly furrow his brows while pondering to himself, as if to at least humor the idea of reconsidering such a harsh stance.

This was most likely due to the sheer bewilderment on my face as I turned to frown at him, which I didn't really bother hiding at all.

But then he doubled down anyways, gleefully taking the opportunity to be unhinged: "Think about it... an eye for an eye. He's messing with you, so we slash three of his tires. And we break his windows for good measure."

"Are we jumping him or his car?" I mumbled sarcastically, sighing to myself when he just nodded along in agreement. As if I was suggesting both. "Wait, Mason, no..."

See, I enjoyed talking absolute shit despite knowing I wouldn't partake in most of the literal crimes I bitched about in the heat of the moment. Murder? Arson? Armed robbery? Yeah, sure it was fun to talk like that. But that was all it was. Shit talking.

Knowing myself, I wouldn't make it in prison, especially if I went in for something as cliché as arson. I'd have no real rep to hide behind, and I wasn't naïve enough to just assume I wouldn't get shanked, regardless of how likeable I could come across when I tried really fucking hard. Maybe if I was emotionally prepared and had some kind of currency to trade for protection, but my options were already slim as it was and the only options left felt... grim. Morbid, really.

So, yeah, I was just spewing nonsense whenever I threatened to set Shawn's office ablaze. It was never meant to be anything more than that, lest I actually have to endure the consequences of my own reckless actions.

Mason, though? That giant idiot was not joking about beating Shawn up.

"So, both?" he retorted, perking up at the thought. And I shut it down, obviously, which only resulted in him flashing me that one expression he reserved specifically for moments where he was disappointed in my life choices, allowing his brows to furrow deeply as he openly judged me. "Wow. You're just going to let him step all over you?"

I chuckled to myself at the foolish notion of defiance, unable to fully wrap my mind around the absurdity of potentially jumping an attorney. But then I realized that, quite unfortunately, Mason wasn't laughing along. Not even a chuckle. Oh boy.

"Uhm, I don't think so," I finally supplied, releasing a stale, awkward laugh. "Wow. Sometimes I forget how petty you can be when something pisses you off."

"I prefer the term selectively confrontational," Mason countered, and he didn't seem to have any intentions of backing down.

"That doesn't help," I expressed through a wince, though I couldn't say it hadn't come in handy when we were younger; while I was certainly the more outgoing and social of the two, that didn't necessarily mean I was great at calling people out on their shit. Not unless there were multiple exit routes within my line of vision, anyways.

And so, that had inevitably led to a lot of trouble situations throughout the years, ranging from disagreements to full-blown scrap fights.

Thought, not by me.

While I was prone to avoiding confrontation, Mason seriously didn't mind getting his hands dirty; this, somehow, resulted in him consistently taking over whenever shit got a bit too real. I could still recall the countless of times he'd landed himself in trouble due to picking a fight with some jerk who'd bothered someone in our friend group, the punishments ranging from detentions to suspensions.