Chapter 3: Breaking the Golden Net

A chill ran through me. Mason’s father cheated when he was very young. So Mason is especially insecure in relationships. Back then, I always thought that for people like us, it’s hard to find someone sincere. And since we both come from single-parent families, sharing the same misfortune, I was always more tolerant of him.

I remembered the first time Mason told me about his dad—how he’d sat on our porch, cigarette smoke curling in the air, the old wooden boards creaking beneath us, his voice low and shaky. I’d promised myself I’d never hurt him the way his father had. But now, I wondered if my patience had only enabled his fears to grow unchecked. Sometimes shared pain bonds people, but sometimes it just deepens the cracks.

At first, I just had to report my whereabouts when going out. Later, if there were LGBTQ people at a gathering, I had to report it. Then he started checking my Messenger, my Venmo, all my social apps. He was suspicious of everyone I interacted with, men or women. Then he would grab any little issue and blow it up. A good buddy sends a hug emoji, and he accuses him of having ulterior motives. When visiting a female client, if she buys me a coffee, he asks: "Why did she only buy for you and not for others?"

I remembered sitting at brunch at IHOP with friends, picking at my pancakes while Mason’s eyes tracked every joke, every smile I shared with someone else. I’d stopped hugging people goodbye, stopped accepting coffee from coworkers, just to avoid another interrogation. But it never seemed to be enough.

Again and again, I told myself, he just cares about me too much, is too insecure. But now I don’t know how to give him security anymore. He knows all my social app passwords. But that’s not enough—he wants me to report my location in real time. Now, he’s even checking my dashcam. His love is like a beautiful net woven with golden threads. On the surface, it’s gorgeous and delicate, but it grows tighter and tighter until it’s suffocating. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, afraid to make a wrong move. So I decided to tear this net apart and let myself breathe. After all, the foundation of a relationship should be happiness, not pain.

I stared at the ceiling of my hotel room, the glow from the TV—CNN playing in the background—flickering across the walls. I realized I didn’t even know what my own boundaries were anymore. I wanted to feel safe, not trapped. I wanted love to feel like coming home, not like being on trial.

I took three days off, moved into a new place, bought new furniture at IKEA, and started a new life. On my first day back at work, I ran into Mason. He’s an employee of one of our company’s major suppliers, responsible for coordinating with our project team. Every few days, we’d have work-related contact. When he made things difficult for our project team’s intern for the third time, I finally couldn’t help but call him.

I ran my hand through my hair, frustration building as I dialed his number. The office buzzed around me—phones ringing, the coffee machine gurgling in the corner. I could hear the intern in the next cubicle, nervously tapping his pen against the desk. I took a deep breath, determined to keep things professional.

"This form has used this format for years. Why are you suddenly demanding a big change?"

My tone was firmer than usual, but I kept it level. I glanced at the intern, who gave me a grateful, if slightly panicked, look, fiddling with his badge and clutching a coffee cup like a lifeline.

Mason coldly asked on the phone, "Oh, standing up for your new man already? Getting all flustered because everyone’s calling you Dylan?"

His words dripped with sarcasm, and I could almost picture the smirk on his face. I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to snap back. My fingers drummed anxiously on the desk.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "Mason, be reasonable. He’s just a kid who hasn’t even graduated—of course he calls everyone by their first name. Besides, he’s straight and has a girlfriend."

I tried to keep my voice steady, but my patience was wearing thin. I could hear the intern shifting nervously behind me, probably wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

Mason said, "Yeah, he’s straight. How could he possibly be interested in a gay guy like you? No matter how much you simp for him, it’s useless."

His words stung, more than I cared to admit. I clenched my jaw, feeling the anger simmer just below the surface. My hand curled into a fist on the desk.

Mason’s words were too harsh, so I couldn’t help getting angry too. "Right, of course he wouldn’t be interested in me, so don’t imagine there’s anything between us." I hung up the phone with a snap, the sound loud in the busy office.

The satisfying click of the receiver was quickly replaced by a wave of guilt. I glanced at the intern, who looked like he wanted to disappear into his chair. I gave him a reassuring smile, hoping to ease his nerves.

The intern asked nervously, "Dylan, did I cause you trouble? Maybe we should just change the form like he said. If not, I can work overtime today."