The Dear Wattpad Project (Mavin)

15

Dear Wattpad,

                Holy motherfuck. There is no way in hell that Gavin Free is a real, tangible presence in our world. He must be a part of my imagination, because there is no such thing as perfection and the only way to describe him is “perfection.” I think I forgot how to breathe.

                So, yes, to answer your question, we did go shopping. And it was fucking insane.

                The first instance when I realized that Gavin cannot actually exist was when we were getting out of my car to go into the notorious sporting goods store, Dick’s Sporting Goods. Of course, I made a huge deal out of how they named their store after a dick and Gavin and I laughed for a minute before heading towards the store. We were just walking in the parking lot when Gavin, the Gavin, took my hand.

                My world stopped.

                I started sputtering and I could hardly keep up with his rhythm of walking because he had surprised me so much. I mean, I held his hand last time, but this was different. Last time, I was the one grabbing his hand, so I knew what was going to happen. I had planned that shit out. And Gavin had the audacity to just… Take my hand without thought?

                I just shook it off and resumed our pace to the automatic doors.

                The second instance he gave me evidence that he can’t be real was when an irritable teenage boy noticed us picking through the tent aisle, our fingers still entwined. Now, you have to notice that I was still feeling a little high from Gavin making the first move, so I didn’t notice at first that the kid was making weird looks at us. He had a backwards hat on to hide his inevitable buzz-cut that read “#SWAG,” and that was about all I needed to know that he wasn’t worth the attention.

                However, as I was explaining to Gavin that a smaller tent would be more cost-efficient (heheheh), the kid made himself really obvious by clearing his throat from the other end of the row. He was putting on a show of observing one of the more expensive tents, but kept glancing and glaring at us. I noted that he was particularly interested in our joined hands.

 It might have occurred to you in the time you have invested on our YouTube channel that I’m famed for being a bit of a bad guy when it comes to temper control, being Mr. Rage Quit and all. This case was no exception, thought I was trying to control myself for the sake of Gavin and the fact that we just might get kicked out of the store if I blew a fuse over the worthless bastard.

And then, I watched as the kid’s lips read the word, “Faggots.”

I quickly discarded Gavin’s hand and charged up to the little bitch. I stopped when there was only about a foot of distance between us, and his short height added by a maybe-fourteen age caused him to shrink down. I was extremely tempted to lift him up by his shirt collar, but I managed to contain myself as I spat, “What the fuck did you say, bitch? Wanna repeat that more clearly?”

His eyes widened.  His “#SWAG” hat and noticeably sagged jeans managed to piss me off even more as I repeated, “What the fuck did you say?” I was trying to keep my voice down at a level of “bubbling rage” to avoid being thrown out of the store, but if it came down to it, when the fuck was I going to go to this store again anyways? Besides, the asshole needed to be taught a lesson.

The lips that had so much to say before were now quivering. His pupils were dilated with fear, and I had to fight back a smirk as a shadow loomed over me and the kid managed to look even more terrified than before. He was whimpering at something over my shoulder.