"I think that went quite well," Mason says on the drive home.

Well?

I just spent three extremely long hours in tense silence, punctuated with me and Mason's mother glaring daggers at each other. The only person who really spoke at dinner was Mr Hayworth, who spent the whole time talking about his favourite subject; himself. If you would call that 'well', then I guess you could say that it went really well.

I however, think it was an absolute disaster.

After the showdown that happened between me and Mrs Hayworth in the bathroom, I wanted nothing more than to ask Mason to take me home. But then, I realised that if I left, she would win. And after what she said about my parents, there was no way I was going to let that happen. I was determined to sit through that seven course meal and enjoy every single bite of it, no matter how uncomfortable the rest of the dinner guests made me.

Although now, I do regret it slightly as my tummy protests from being way too full.

"It could have gone better," I say tentatively. I haven't told him about what his mother said to me yet. Mason clearly didn't pick up on the tension. Although, I'm struggling to see how that's possible; it was so thick, it almost suffocated me.

"And it could have gone worse. The very definition of well!" He smiles, releasing a hand from the steering wheel and placing it on my leg.

That's really not the definition of well.

But I don't say anything, letting him think that the night had gone alright. I am almost one hundred per cent sure that he will be getting a phone call from one of his parents in the near future, telling him to end our relationship.

But until then, I will let him be happy thinking everything went okay.

For me, the only good thing that came out of this awful night is that it gave me some insight into Mason's upbringing. Meeting his parents properly has really put his actions into perspective. It's no wonder that he is the way he is after being brought up by them.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I barely register that Mason has started slowing down. He pulls up outside my apartment and shifts his car into park. "Thanks for this Di, it really meant a lot to me."

"You're welcome."

"Maybe next time we do dinner with your parents?"

"Uh yeah sure," I manage. Given how much my parents dislike him, it's not likely. I guess that's one thing Mason and I definitely have in common; his parents clearly dislike me as well.

"I'll see you soon?" I reach out to grab the door handle, but he unbuckles his seat belt and pulls me to him, placing his lips on mine.

It feels different from our previous kisses. For some reason, it feels more intense. There's an urgency behind his lips that I can't quite place, and the way his hands tug on my waist as though he can't get close enough takes my breath away. I find myself returning it full force, pouring the pent up emotions from the evening into it. My arms wrap around his neck, my fingers tangling in the curls at the base of it.

The gearstick digs uncomfortably into my over-full stomach and Mason's elbow slams hard against the dashboard, but neither of us seems to care. Mason's lips taste of red wine and bad decisions, and I allow myself to get lost in the feel of them and the way my skin burns under his touch. Suddenly, the night we've just been through almost feels worth it.

"Can I come inside?" Mason asks breathlessly as he pulls away.

I freeze, trapped like a deer in headlights. A large part of me wants to say yes, but an even bigger part of me is saying it's far too soon. We've only just rekindled our romance, and while that was undoubtedly the best kiss I have ever had, that doesn't mean I'm ready to take our relationship to the next level.

Mason and I have been here before. It was a mistake then, it would be one now.

"Mason," I start, trying to think of the best way to say it. He seems to hear the hesitation in my voice; his jaw clenches and he faces the steering wheel again, clicking his seat belt back into place.

"Fine," he mutters, anger pulsating off of him. When I don't make a move to get out the car he looks at me pointedly and says, "it's late anyway."

"Mason, I'm sorry." I plead.

"It's fine, Di," he tells me. But I can see that it's anything but fine. He had clearly hoped that I would sleep with him and is now acting like a child that didn't get what they wanted.

"I will speak to you soon?" I ask, hating the desperation in my voice. I can't help it; the whole scene is just so reminiscent of what happened back then that it shakes me to my core.

He finally looks back at me, and I swear I see his eyes soften for a moment, before anger flashes through them. He grabs hold of the gear stick and gives me a small nod. "Yeah."

I take that monosyllabic response as my cue to leave. I have barely closed the door to the car when he speeds away, tyres squealing on the tar. Clutching my bag and what's left of my dignity, I catch the elevator, hoping that Alexa is home. But when I open the front door, all the lights are off and the apartment is eerily quiet, so either she's sleeping or she's gone out somewhere.

I take a much needed shower, letting the hot water ease away the tension in my shoulders. I need to shave my legs as they are starting to feel like sandpaper, but to be honest, I can't be bothered to do it tonight.

As I get ready for bed, my thoughts drift, inevitably, to my relationship with Mason.

Being with him feels like when I was little and would play on the swings in the park near my childhood home. One minute you're soaring so high it feels like your toes could skim the clouds. The next you're racing back to earth at a speed you don't feel quite ready for.

I guess I just have to hope that I don't fall off.

"My parents aren't home," Mason said as he pulled me inside his huge house, his fingers laced in mine.

To be honest, the thought of us being alone together inside their mansion, made me feel really uncomfortable, despite the fact that we had been in the same situation before. Something about that night felt monumental. Almost as though I knew what would happen.

He led me through into the kitchen. It was my least favourite room in his house; filled with white marble counters and all black appliances. It was stylish, modern and beautiful, but it lacked the warmth that mine had always had. "Do you want anything to drink?"

My throat was so dry, I could barely croak out a, "yes please."

He poured us each a glass of water from the tap, handing one to me. I drank it as though my life depended on it, but when I was finished I still felt like my mouth was full of cotton. I couldn't understand why I was so nervous; my entire face felt flushed and every fibre of my body seemed to tingle as Mason took a step towards me and grabbed the empty glass out of my hand.

At that point I had been dating Mason for about ten months, and I was completely infatuated by him. To me, every single thing he did was amazing, I hung onto every word he said as though it was air and I needed to breathe.

To me, he was the very definition of perfection, and he was mine.

He placed our glasses on the counter and laced his fingers through mine again. Stepping out of the kitchen and into the hallway, he led me up the stairs and into his room. I had been in there several times before then, but this time was different. I could feel it even then.

As always, it was immaculate; the bed with the maroon checked bedspread was made. His mahogany desk was free of clutter and there was not one piece of clothing that littered the floor. The first time I saw it, it had surprised me. It was a direct contrast from his constantly messy car. When I mentioned this to Mason, he had sheepishly admitted that they had someone who came in every day to clean.

His was the only room in the whole house that had any kind of personal touches; photos of friends were pinned to a cork board, and framed pictures of his family sat proudly on his desk. But, even after ten months, there wasn't a single trace of me in there. My walls were covered with Mason, from every photo I had of him, right down to notes he had slipped me in class. I should have taken that as a sign; it was like he was determined to hide me.

"Make yourself comfortable." He gestured towards the bed, waving a hand almost dismissively at me. I took a few tentative steps, but he didn't even wait for me to get there before he started kissing me, walking me back towards it.

We landed on his duvet with him on top of me, his lips still attached to mine. I could feel his hand sliding up my shirt, along my waist, lighting my skin on fire. When it hit the underwire of my bra, I pushed him off me.

"Mason, wait, stop," I urged, trying to catch my breath.

He looked at me, his eyebrows raised, his nose wrinkled in confusion. "What?"

"It's just," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I don't think I'm ready."

"Why not? We've been together for ages, Di, it's time." He paused as though he had only just considered something, realisation crossing his features. "Are you a virgin?"

He said it as though it was the worst insult he could think of and I shrank into myself. But honestly, what did he expect? He knew that he was my first proper boyfriend. He was my first kiss, even though I had never admitted that to him.

I had no doubt in my mind that Mason was more experienced then I was. I knew I wasn't his first girlfriend, or his first kiss. And even though we had never discussed it, I also knew that he had slept with girls before, I just wasn't sure how many.

He sighed in exasperation, clearly wondering why he was wasting his time with me, and moved away, sitting on the edge of his bed. I reached out to touch his shoulder and he shook me off, his rejection stung more than I would have thought.

After a long and tense silence, he finally turned back to me. "You know we don't have to do this anymore."

I almost sagged with relief until I caught onto the last word; it made the entire meaning of his sentence change. "What do you mean?"

"This," he gestured between the two of us, "this relationship."

Panic rose in my throat, rising from my belly like bile. "What? No Mason, please!"

He just shrugged, like he had already made a decision that cost him nothing. But for me, it would mean I would lose everything, and so I leaned over to him, and placed my lips on his. At first, it seemed like he was about to pull away, so I deepened the kiss, silently pleading for him to reciprocate. Finally, after a few awful moments where I felt like he might push me away, he returned it. As I felt his hands slide under my shirt, I didn't protest.

When he pulled away from me to slowly place a trail of kisses along my neck, I whispered, "I love you." It was the first time I had said it to him, and I meant it with all my heart. I had hoped that by finally letting it out in the open, by doing something I wasn't quite ready for, I could show him just how much I cared.

It was only afterwards, as he rolled off me, coated in sweat and placing a soft kiss on my forehead, that I realised, he hadn't said it back.