Tab 1
THE FAKE DATE DILEMMA
By Erin R (@erinluvsxbooks on Pinterest)
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my book or the chapters currently written. I have a lot of ideas for this book (and maybe some sequels?) and I’m really excited to write it and I hope you all really enjoy it.
It is semi-inspired (okay, a lot inspired) by Lynn Painter, especially the love interest Will, who’s inspired by Wes Bennett. The main character, Matilda, is (loosely) inspired by myself though so I do hope you like her or at least enjoy reading about her.
I am not a professional writer, so if there are some mistakes, things that aren’t realistic, or things you dislike, please do not dwell on it or comment and say that this is the most awful thing you’ve ever read (even if it’s true). (I am open to feedback though.)
Thank you and happy reading!
P.S. All characters and the town are mine and created by me, so please do not copy.
PLAYLIST (INSPIRED BY THE CHARACTERS/COUPLE/MENTIONED IN THE BOOK (MORE IN PLAYLIST ATTACHED)):
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/083cxhug7KwPi2TP8CLgBB?si=qXBe3tIXSNSoAKs5ZwIn8Q
Linger - The Cranberries Every Breath You Take - The Police
Risk - Gracie Abrams
John Wayne - Cigarettes After Sex
Perfect Girl - The Cure
All About You - McFly
The Only Exception - Paramore
Everything Has Changed (feat. Ed Sheeran) (Taylor’s Version) - Taylor Swift
No I’m not in love - Tate Mcrae
Glitch - Taylor Swift
Back to the Old House - The Smiths
Say Don’t Go - Taylor Swift
12 to 12 - sombr
Feel The Rush - Asha Banks
Matilda
I read a lot.
By ‘a lot’ I do not mean the average three or four books a month. I mean that I can hash out at least twelve books a month while still attending school full-time and working part-time at my job at my local bookstore.
By ‘a lot’ I mean that my bedroom could almost classify as a library. (You need 1000 books to classify as a library. I have just over 600.)
By ‘a lot’ I mean that I’ve on average spent over £2000 on books alone. And that is not even including the cost of bookmarks, book sleeves and book lights.
So ‘a lot’ just about covers my obsession with both books and reading.
I read a myriad of genres too. You name it, I’ve read it.
Fantasy, romance, mystery, dystopian. Sci-fi, thriller, horror. Women’s fiction, memoirs. Fiction, non-fiction. You get the point.
You’re probably wondering why this is all important to anything, but if you give me a moment, you’ll see why.
As you may have guessed already, none of this reading particularly helps my popularity. I have two friends that I’ve had since I was twelve-years-old, one of whom hates me, and the other that moved away last year to Australia.
Although, I suppose it doesn’t particularly scream approachable when you’ve got your nose in a book, headphones blasting Taylor Swift with your hood up.
So, just so we’re clear, I have an almost-library (yes I am aware a 400 book difference is not ‘almost’ but please just roll with it) I’ve read about 300 books in the entire 17 years I have been alive, and have the total of two friends, one that loathes me, and the other that lives on the other side of the world.
So why, pray tell, on god’s green earth is the most popular girl in my year, Stacy Wheeler, talking to me about lash extensions?
Lash extensions.
Do I sound like the type of person who is interested in Stacy Wheeler’s eyelashes? Because let me tell you I have as much interest in her eyelashes as I do to stab myself in the eye with a pencil.
This isn’t the first time she’d done this either.
A few weeks ago, she just randomly started to talk to me about homework and now before each lesson she comes in with a new topic to talk about. And I’m not going to tell her to stop am I? That’s just plain rude.
Fortunately, my English teacher, Mr Yates, then comes in and tells everyone to stop talking.
“Especially you Stacy and Matilda,” he says, pointing at us. I feel my cheeks flame, but Stacy simply rolls her eyes before turning back to me. “Anyway, before we got rudely interrupted, I was thinking of getting them done during Christmas break,” she says whilst picking at her cuticles. “I feel like that’s a good time to do it, I mean-”
“Stacy,” my teacher warns. She rolls her eyes, before turning back around to face the front.
Thank Christ.
Now, before you start, I have nothing against Stacy Wheeler or eyelash extensions. Eyelash extensions, as long as you get a reasonable length, and don't block your vision, look great and save you time in the mornings.
Plus, you don’t poke yourself in the eye with a mascara wand.
Yes it happened.
No, I don’t want to talk about it.
And Stacy herself isn’t so bad either. She’s actually quite sweet to be honest. I lent her a pen once and she actually gave it back.
So she’s a decent person, and isn’t a pen thief - both positives in my book.
I just have something against people, who have never spoken to me before, talking to me like we have known each other since primary school.
Am I perhaps being a little anti-social? Probably. But that is something that we will brush past.
As if sensing my foul mood, Will chooses this exact moment to enter the classroom.
“Mr North, how nice of you to join us,” Mr Yates greets.
“Sir,” he says, handing him a note. Mr Yates frowns before giving him a nod and returning to the lesson.
Will smirks once he sees me and slouches down in the seat beside me.
As I begin to focus on the lesson, he pokes me in the ribs. I smack his hand away. I will not be distracted another day by William North.
He pokes me again.
“Stop that,” I hiss, turning to face him.
Will is, for all intents and purposes, very attractive.
Brown messy, curly hair falls down easily over his brow, giving him the lazy appearance he is best known for. Deep chocolate brown eyes glint with mischief and his slightly crooked nose is covered in freckles. His stature is tall and his shoulders are broad, and, although I have never seen it, I’m sure the sight of him shirtless isn't entirely unappealing.
Unfortunately, all that attractiveness really goes to waste because of how ridiculously annoying he is.
“I’m not doing anything,” he shrugs.
“Yes you are.”
“What exactly am I doing?”
“You’re being irritating.”
“Well that’s not anything new, is it?”
No it isn’t, I think.
I huff in annoyance, before turning back to the teacher. He continues to poke me but I’m stubborn and refuse to let him know he’s winning.
The rest of the lesson passes by in a bore. When I decided to do English for A-Level I really misinterpreted how boring it would be.
Once the day is finally over, I head over to my locker to collect some books.
That is before Will found me.
“Hey, wait up,” he yells.
I roll my eyes, “You’re like 2 feet away. You don’t have to yell.”
“Hey, wait up,” he stage-whispers. I roll my eyes again. “You know if you keep doing that, your eyes are going to get stuck in the back of your head,” he informs me.
“I’ll consult a doctor,” I comment dryly. I open my locker, grabbing the book I am reading at the moment; The Reappearance of Rachel Price and Beach Read. Both rereads.
“Got enough books there?” Will asks, whilst leaning against the lockers next to mine.
“I do, actually,” I reply. “What do you want anyway?”
“Well I haven’t had my daily dose of annoying you yet.”
Will, aka the bane of my existence, decided to start annoying me a little over two years ago when I yelled at him for messing around during a science lesson.
In my defence, Vivi had just left for Australia and I had stayed up all night crying. Plus, you just shouldn’t mess around in a science classroom. It’s dangerous.
Ever since then, he decided to get his revenge on me for humiliating him (I yelled very loudly) by becoming the most aggravating human being on the planet.
“I really think you have,” I sigh, exasperated. He grins at my annoyance.
“I wanted to give you your pen back. From yesterday,” he said, holding the pen out toward me. As soon as I reach for it, he holds it up over his head. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Say thank you,” he says.
“You want me to say thank you for returning my pen?” I question, folding my arms over my chest. He nods solemnly.
“You didn’t even say thank you when I gave you it!”
He shrugs. I sigh.
“Thank you, oh holy one, for returning my pen,” I say sarcastically. He grins at me before moving the pen within my reach. I snatch it out of his grip and stuff it in my bag.
I turn to leave and almost jump out of my skin at the sight of Stacy behind me. She smiles warmly at me. I look back to where Will was standing behind me, wearing a look of equal confusion on his face.
“Uh, hi, Stacy,” I attempt.
“Hi, Matilda. I wanted to ask you a question.” I nod for her to continue. “I was wondering whether you wanted to come to my party next week.”
I frown at her. “Party?”
She nods, like it was a regular thing for her, or anyone for that matter, to invite me to a party.
“Why?” I blurt out.
She frowns now. “‘Why?’” she asks, before giving me a confused smile. “Because I want to invite you?” she offers. I blink in confusion.
“Anyway,” she continues on, “give me a heads up if you’d like to come. Oh, I’ll need your number.” She lifts her bag off her shoulder, and begins to search for her phone.
I look back to where Will is standing, watching the whole ordeal with a look of amusement on his face. I scowl.
I look back to Stacy, where she’s holding her phone out to me. I reluctantly take it from her, type in my phone number, and hand it back to her.
“Great!” She smiles. “Just let me know before Monday, because I need to do a head count. I’m not allowed more than 50 people at my house,” she adds. I nod numbly. She waves goodbye to me and Will.
“That was really weird,” Will comments.
“I know, right?” I let out a laugh.
“I meant you.”
“Me?”
“You acted like her inviting you was the most insane thing in the world.”
“It is!” I screech. “I’ve known her since Year 7 and she has never invited me to a party. In fact nobody has.”
“That may be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says.
“It’s just the truth,” I shrug. I turn to leave. He, aggravatingly, follows me.
“So?” he asks.
“‘So’ what?”
He rolls his eyes. “Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. I’m busy so probably not.”
“Busy?”
“Yes. Do you not know what the word busy is? I’m sure we can find a dictionary around here somewhere.”
He ignores my snark. “What harm is it going to do if you attend?”
“I could die.”
“Yes, because I heard birthday parties are a prime spot for murder.”
“They’re a prime spot for spiking drinks.”
He furrows his eyebrows, searching for a response. I take advantage of his silence.
“Which, you never know, could lead to murder.”
He snorts. “What person in our year is going to murder someone?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know anyone.”
“Well I do,” he tells me, placing his hand over his heart. “And I can tell you, with absolute confidence, that nobody is going to murder you. At Stacy’s party or anywhere else.”
“Well I don’t know anyone there, so it will just be me in a corner trying to avoid drunk boys falling on top of me.”
“You know me,” he said.
We have reached the exit now and I’m determined to get rid of him before I go home. I stop once we are at the bottom of the concrete steps. The chilly autumn air breezes through my hair.
“Why do you care if I go?” I question.
“I don’t.”
“Well it feels like you do.”
“Well I don’t.”
I frown at him. “Is this some sort of elaborate prank that Stacy has set up?”
His brows knit together. “What? No!”
“Then why have you followed me all around the school trying to convince me?”
“Oh my god you are so paranoid,” he laughs, running his hand through his thick hair.
“I’m not paranoid, I’m just prepared for the worst.”
“Fine. Don’t go,” he says suddenly.
“What?” I ask, startled.
He shrugs. “Don’t go.”
“What is this, reverse psychology?”
“No, I’m just tired of arguing with you.”
“Well… good,” I say.
“It is good,” he says, a stupid grin on his face.
“Glad we both agree.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
I still haven’t learned to drive, for two reasons:
1) I only live 10 minutes away so there isn’t any point in learning. I mean that’s just destroying our planet.
2) I’m absolutely terrified of learning to drive.
I did one lesson with my mother and I almost crashed the car into a lamp post. After that, I decided, for everyone’s safety, I would hold off on learning until I actually had to.
“Mum, I’m home!” I yell once I open the front door. I walk into the kitchen where she is sitting with her glasses on, staring at her laptop.
“Hi, hon,” she says, her eyes still focused on her screen.
I open the fridge and take out a can of Pepsi and grab a biscuit from the cupboard before sitting down next to her. “What’s up?” I ask her. Her kind brown eyes came to rest on my face. “Oh, nothing. There’s just this big presentation at work tomorrow and it’s just a whole thing,” she said, waving her hands idly. I nod.
“How was school?” she asks.
I shrug before saying, “It was school.”
“Good. So, I was thinking for movie night tonight,” she starts, “The Proposal and Bridget Jones’ Diary.”
I shake my head. “It’s way too early for Christmas movies. But The Proposal’s a good shout.”
She gasps, holding a hand over her heart in mock hurt. “It’s never too early for Christmas movies. I can’t believe I’ve taught you otherwise!”
“It’s the start of November,” I defend.
“Exactly my point.”
I roll my eyes. She grins.
“Fine, what else do you propose?” she asks me. I ponder for a few moments before finally settling on, “The Proposal and Uptown Girls.”
“Sold,” my mother says.
“Good. Now I need to go do homework so I’m not rushing to get it done on Monday.”
I climb the stairs and enter my room.
To say I loved my room was an understatement.
Four tall bookshelves line the wall opposite my bed, separated by a desk with my laptop, pens, notebooks and even more books. My bedsheets are white with small blue flowers printed on them.
But my favourite feature of my room?
The bay window.
The seat was light pink, and a huge fluffy blanket was folded on one side.
It had the perfect view of my back garden, which was covered in red, orange, and yellow leaves making it the perfect cozy fall reading nook.
Every time I walk into my room, I picture Phoebe Bridgers singing “There’s no place like my room."
I change into a pair of pink sweatpants and my ‘Therapists hate them’ shirt which has Gracie Abrams and Taylor Swift on.
I unpack my bag and place it by my door and begin my English homework.
Thirty minutes later, I get a FaceTime call. I smile when I see who the caller is.
“Serious dilemma,” Vivi begins.
Genevive ‘Vivi’ Zhou was fortunately my best friend. Unfortunately, she lives on the other side of the world.
We met in our first year at secondary school (along with Liv, but we don’t talk about her) during our first IT class when Vivi broke her computer and I tried to help. (Emphasis on tried)
We’ve pretty much spoken everyday since. Nothing could ruin our friendship. Not even 9,514 miles of land.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I’ve fallen in love,” she tells me whilst beginning to paint her nails a dark red.
“How exactly is that a dilemma?”
“Name one time I’ve fallen in love and it's been a good thing,” she challenges.
I frown. She had me there. Although she did fall in love about three times a week, so it was difficult to remember.
“Exactly,” she says.
“Okay, well what’s different about him?” I ask her, hoping she has found someone with the chances of making her happy.
“He’s blonde.”
“I said what’s different.”
She thinks for a moment before finally settling on, “He reads.”
I raise an eyebrow. That is new. “What does he read?”
“Books.”
“Yes, I guessed that. I meant genre.”
“Oh, I’m not sure. Is it important?”
I gasp. She giggles. “Of course it’s important! What if he’s reading, Peppa Pig or something?”
She frowns and continues to coat her nails in dark red polish. “Are there Peppa Pig books?”
“Yes, there are. A woman came in the other day at the bookstore to buy one for her kid.”
“How do you know it wasn’t for her?” she asks.
I shrug. “I don’t. I’m just assuming.”
“It could’ve been a nephew or niece or something.”
“I suppose. Anyway we’re getting off topic: What else is different about him?”
“His name, probably?”
“‘Probably’? What do you mean ‘probably’?”
“Well I actually haven’t met him or spoken to him yet.”
I mentally facepalm myself. It is also not a new thing that she tends to fall in love with someone before she actually speaks to someone. I suppose I can’t judge on that one.
“Talk to him tomorrow, and then give me details,” I instruct her.
“Yes, mother.”
“Why are you up at this time anyway, isn’t it 3am there?”
Vivi shrugs. “I’m not tired.”
“Anyway, what’s been going on with you?”
“Nothing much. I was invited to Stacy’s birthday party, but that’s about-”
I’m cut off by the sound of Vivi falling out of her chair. She curses.
“You okay?” I ask, half concerned and half confused.
“I’m fine,” she comes back on screen. “Just please tell me that you said yes.”
I frown. She knows I didn’t say yes because she knows me. “I said I’d let her know.”
Vivi closes her eyes. “But you’re going to say yes?”
“I’m busy, Vee.”
She inhales sharply. “Did you just tell me that you are going to turn down Stacy Wheeler’s birthday party invitation? The one I have been dying to go to since I heard she had a chocolate fountain?”
“Uhm… yes?”
“WHAT THE HELL?” she screams.
I startle. She takes a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, but what the hell, Tilda?”
“I don’t like parties.”
“You’ve been to about three.”
“And I only enjoyed one of them. Which was yours.”
“You have to go! Please, I need to live vicariously through you. I need all the details. I need to know what a chocolate fountain tastes like, Tilda!”
I frown. I am lucky to be invited, I suppose. I was telling the truth to Will; I’ve never been formally invited to a party that wasn’t Vivi’s and the other two were open invites.
And if I do decide to go, I could finally make Vee happy and see what it’s like.
God, I can’t believe I’m considering this.
I’ll hate it. I know I will.
But it’ll make Vivi happy, I tell myself.
I sigh. “Fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I’ll go,” I say.
She squeals. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!! You’re my best friend in the whole world, you know that?”
“I better be.”
I hear yelling from off the screen.
“Oh, shit. I woke my parents!” Vivi hisses. We say our goodbyes and I finish my homework before getting called down to dinner.
I sit next to my mother on the sofa in peace as The Proposal plays on the television in the background. As I do that, panic begins to set in.
A party? Really? Now this may not seem like a huge deal to any of you, but to me it is. I have not been to a real social event since Vivi left. So on average, 547.5 days. So you can see why I’m panicking; I’m not acclimatised to it.
I don’t think I even have the proper clothes for a party. Actually, I don’t even know what you would wear to a party.
I’m sure Pinterest will have some ideas.
But even if it does, I have zero idea what you do at a party. Dancing is definitely off the table unless I want to lead the rest of the party to bleach their eyes.
I sigh and realise my only option.
Well not my only option, seeing as I could just not attend. But I already told Vee I would and I can’t back out now.
I pick up my phone resting on the side table beside me. And text him.
I’m going to regret this.
Me: i kind of need your help. I hit send. God I was so going to regret this.
Will responds almost immediately. Will: what exactly with?
Matilda
Texting Will last night was definitely a mistake.
Now, you’re probably wondering why on earth I messaged Will for my predicament, and to answer your question I have zero idea.
I could’ve turned to Stacy or Liv or anyone else that has been to a birthday party in the past 4 years.
I could’ve gone on Reddit or Pinterest.
I could’ve looked in my closet for something remotely acceptable to wear. (Okay I actually did try that one after I messaged Will. But I have zero idea what to wear to parties and all the outfits on Pinterest were either jeans and a very highly cropped top or a skirt that shows half your ass - both of which I assumed weren’t acceptable or very comfortable to be in for 2 hours.)
But no, I, very stupidly, turned to Will.
The golden boy.
The nuisance.
The relentless mocker.
A slight lapse in judgement there, I admit. But, he very selflessly offered to take me shopping today so maybe it won’t be so bad.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Maplewood is a small town. It has the basics of course; a bank, a few restaurants, a supermarket, two grocery stores, a bar, a chapel (or a church. I’m not really sure what the difference is), a gas station, a bar, a shopping centre, two primary schools (one private, one public), a secondary school (with a sixth form), a mechanic, and a park. That’s it. Anything you needed that they didn’t sell in a supermarket then you had to travel a few miles outside of town to get it.
The park is where I’m headed now. It’s quite beautiful, I think to myself. Especially in the midst of autumn; the contrasting colours, from dark, crimson red to amber yellow. The leaves crunch under my feet as I make my way over to the outdoor basketball court.
Will is dribbling a ball on the gravel and his friend (I’m not sure of his name. It’s Joseph or James or something. It definitely begins with J.) is trying to grab (tackle? I’m not really sure. I don’t know basketball terms.) it from him.
I sit down on a bench about 20 feet or so away from them and take out a book from my bag and begin to read.
I look up every so often to see if Will has noticed me, and if he has, he gives no notice of it.
Twenty minutes later, I am still reading and sitting and he still hasn’t noticed me. I decide to finally approach him.
A little advice for all of you, if someone is bouncing and throwing a very hard ball, do not approach them. There is a chance you will end up with that ball thrown at your face.
Which is exactly what happened to me.
I yelp and quickly dodge out of the way and watch as it rolls across the grass.
I curse. “What the fuck?” I scream.
“Shit, sorry,” Will’s friend (Jason???) approaches me, Will following suit. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I huff at Will’s friend before turning to him. “You were supposed to meet me 15 minutes ago.”
Will shrugs. “You were only over there. Besides, we wanted to finish our game.”
“You know her?” his friend asks.
“Jace, this is Matilda. Matilda, this is Jace.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, tone impatient.
“Same here,” Jace says with a nod.
I turn to face Will again. “You said to meet here at half 11. It is now ten to 12. I got up early on a Saturday for this.”
“You’re the one who asked for my help. And if you want my help then you’re going to have to learn to be patient.”
“And if you’re going to tell me to get up early, then you’re going to have to deal with me being punctual.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Are you guys dating?” Jace asks from beside us.
Me and Will blink at him before both bursting into fits of laughter.
“You’re too funny, lad,” Will says, struggling to get the words out.
“Us? Dating?” I cackle.
Jace frowns at our hysteria. Will and I compose ourselves and both apologise.
“Sorry,” Will says, out of breath from laughter, but still smiling all the while, “It’s just that us dating would be a bloodbath.”
“It really would be,” I agree.
Jace narrows his eyes at both of us before nodding. “Alright then. I’ll head off then, shall I?” he asks, more to me than Will. We both nod and we watch Jace walk to his car.
Will walks over to the other side of the court where a hoodie, a water bottle and a gym bag is resting. He wipes some sweat off his forehead and takes a swig of the water.
“We need to go back to my house first,” he tells me. I frown.
“Why?”
“Because I stink and I doubt you want to spend all day with me smelling of sweat.”
“Then why didn’t you just pick me up at my house?”
“I assumed you didn’t want to tell me your address.”
“I wouldn’t have,” I admit. “But if you’d told me the situation I would’ve probably told you.”
“Well I know that for next time then, don’t I?”
I hum in agreement and we both walk over to his car (a Mercedes, if you were wondering).
“Oh, I forgot to ask. You didn’t drive did you?” Will asks as we exit the park’s car park.
“Definitely not.”
He raises an eyebrow and says, “Elaborate.”
“Well my mum took me out for a practice session just over a year ago, just before my 17th birthday because, y’know that’s when you can learn to drive. Anyway, I was on Branchwood Lane, you know that really narrow road just off the motorway which leads to Marley’s Farm? And a cat came out of literally nowhere and I almost crashed into a lamp post and then me and my mother ended up in a hedge and we called the AA company and they came to pull us out and we had to pay Marley for his hedge damages,” I finish breathlessly.
I turn to look at Will where he’s smiling.
He has dimples.
Will lets out a laugh. I frown at him.
On what grounds is that story funny? I could’ve killed my mother, myself or worse - the cat! I mean talk about asshole-ery.
He laughs again, and again until he’s convulsing with laughter.
“It’s not funny!” I scold but I suppress a smile. He may be an asshole but he’s a goddamn beautiful one at that.
He shakes his head, calming down from his fit, but chuckling all the same. He glances at me, trying to focus still on the road. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just-” He laughs again and tilts his head slightly back in laughter.
“I could’ve died, it’s not funny.” I say, but I’m laughing too now.
Not because of the story, but just because of the absurdity of the situation.
If you had told me last week that the world was going to be taken over by the creatures from A Quiet Place I would probably be more likely to believe that over me sitting in Will North, the man who I have declared the most irritating human on planet Earth, car.
He wipes tears out of his eyes as we turn the corner, and shakes his head again. “His hedge damages. Christ, why is that so funny?” he asks. I giggle softly.
Who knew I would end up laughing in Will North’s car on a random Saturday?
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
If you take a left outside of the grocery store, the good one, not the bad one that only sells apples and peaches, past the indoor swimming pool that’s been closed for construction for almost four years, past the huge maple tree (hence the town’s name), just past the bank but not so far that you reach the new McDonalds that opened two months ago. Then, turn in the narrow road between the bank and the bad grocery store, drive for around a minute before taking two sharp rights which leads to a dual carriageway, drive down there for about 60 yards before taking the road off, take the immediate left and then turn left again (you’ll think you’re going the wrong way, but Will’s house is in a very random location) which will lead you down another narrow road, turn right past the sheep field, and take another 4 rights before you finally reach Will’s house.
The house itself is nice. It has three floors and it’s made of white planks and has dark navy shutters framing the window. It has a vintage-y farmhouse look and the wrap around porch ties it all together.
Of course, this could be inspired by the fact that Will actually does live on a farm.
I hear a sheep bleat in the near distance and stare up at the house before me.
“You live on a farm,” I state.
“I do?” he asks sarcastically.
“Don’t be snarky. You never told me you lived on a farm.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Why is that something you need to know?”
I shrug. “It isn’t. I just expected you to tell me that we were driving 30 minutes out of town. And then I would say ‘Why?’ and you would say ‘I live on a farm’ and then I would say ‘Wow that’s so cool’. Or something to that effect,” I tell him.
He nods. “Think about talking to me a lot?”
“No. And even if I did I wouldn’t tell you as your ego is already the size of the Sahara Desert.”
He puts his hand over his heart in mock hurt. I giggle despite myself.
“How dare you! My ego is the size of a small lake at best.”
“Is that so?” I ask, smiling.
“Yes, it is, and I find it insulting that you would think otherwise.”
I hum softly in response before turning to look at the rest of the surroundings. I can see pink and yellow tulips are set up at the front window in a clear vase, and more are set up in a flower bed at the front of the house. I spot a sheep pen just up the hill.
“Do they have names?” I ask, turning to Will who’s still facing me.
He blinks dazedly. “What?”
“The sheep,” I clarify.
“Oh, right. Yeah they do.”
I nod but he stays silent. “And?”
“And what?”
I roll my eyes. “What are their names?”
“Oh. Ron, Harry, Hermione and Luna.”
I smile. “Are you a Harry Potter fan?” I tease.
“Are you even a British citizen if you don’t like Harry Potter?”
“That’s true,” I agree. “What other animals do you have?”
“Cows, horses and we used to have pigs but my mum took them in the divorce. A very odd thing to take in a divorce if you ask me, but whatever.”
His parents got divorced just over a year ago and everybody heard about it. That’s the thing with small towns; hard to keep anything a secret. I always hoped that he had some sort of support. Sure, he’s one of the most popular kids in school, but a lot of the time, the group doesn’t even like each other and out of all of them, Will is my favourite, even if he is an annoying twat.
I frown at him. It’s obvious the words hurt him; the divorce hurts him, but he’s trying to not let it affect him.
“Sorry. About your parents. That sucks,” I say.
He shrugs. “No problem. I better get inside now. I won’t be long. You can take a look around if you’d like,” he says before climbing out the car and walking hurriedly towards his front door.
Note to self: do not mention divorce.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
After 10 minutes of waiting, I decide to take Will up on his offer to look around. Of course, it’s hard to tell if he actually meant the offer, seeing he was distracted, but I’ve run out of mobile data and there’s nothing much else to do.
I go around the side of the house and see a stable. It’s a small building made of deep mahogany. I decide that this is probably the best I can do that has some interest in it and walk inside. I see two horses, one a beautiful black and one an ethereal white. I study them both before walking over to the black horse. The sign on the pillar beside her reads ‘Juliet’. I smile at her and reach my palm out a few centimeters away from her nose (snout?). (Another note to self: research what a horse’s nose is called). She snorts softly before leaning into my hand gently. I smile once again and reach out another hand to stroke her.
“Excuse me?”
I gasp and quickly turn towards the voice behind me.
A man is standing there wearing a rather confused expression but is smiling in a way that said I-don’t-mean-to-be-rude-but-who-the-hell-are-you? He’s Will’s dad; that much is obvious.
He has the same dark, kind brown eyes and the same slightly curly hair, although his is grey and his hairline is receding.
What is also obvious is that he has tried to make himself look as much of a stereotypical farmer as possible. He is wearing a dark red flannel shirt, a pair of worn jeans and some work boots.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Will just said to explore and I was getting bored just sitting there on my own so I just-”
“That’s alright,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say again. “I really didn’t mean to intrude.”
He smiles at me and says, “Are you Will’s friend?”
It’s my turn to look confused. I mean sure, I know him but friends wasn’t really the right term to describe Will's relationship towards me. More of a daily annoyance, really.
“Uh- Did he say that?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes, I suppose I am.”
The man nods. “Would you like to come in? I’ll make tea.”
“That’s really okay, I’ll just go wait in the…”
I trail off because he’s already gone. I sigh. Fan-fucking-tastic.
You may have guessed this, but I’m not very good with people. Or conversation. Or crowds. Or anything to do with people, really.
You see, horses are fine. Horses don’t talk back or make very awkward small talk that leads to awkward laughter and awkward silence. All things I very much dislike.
“Do you think I can make a run for it?” I ask Juliet. She gives a very unconvincing neigh and I sigh.
I’ll take that as a no.
I follow Will’s dad inside the side door of the house which leads to a kitchen– a very nice one, if I say so myself.
The counters and cabinets are all stained a dark brown with marble countertops. A breakfast bar sits in the centre with wooden stools sat in front of it. Carnations sit in a vase at the centre of it.
I take a seat in one of the stools as the high-pitched squealing of the kettle dies down. Will’s father sets a mug with a teabag in it in front of me and pours the boiling water. I thank him and he nods in a not-a-problem manner before he returns the kettle to its home.
We share an awkward smile as awkward silence consumes us. Just for your information, this is exactly why I avoid human contact as much as possible.
“So, Mr North-”
“Call me Scott,” he insists.
I chuckle awkwardly. “So, Scott, how are your…farming endeavours… going?” I internally scream. How are your farming endeavours going? What. The. Actual. Fuck?
In what universe, brain, is that a good thing to ask someone, especially a farmer and especially when you have no idea about farming yourself?
Scott simply chuckles and I feel like grabbing my mug of boiling tea and pouring it over my head, because I’m pretty sure that would probably be less painful than the insufferable embarrassment I’m facing currently.
“They’re good,” he says. I nod because I’m not entirely sure I trust my mouth to not embarrass me again. We sit in silence for the next few minutes, only filled by the slurping of our tea. Thankfully, Will then comes down the stairs.
“Alright dad, I’m just gonna head to–” Will trails off as he spots me. I blink at him wide-eyed, trying to signal for help. He doesn’t seem to get the message and frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I blurt.
He nods. “Convincing.”
I mentally facepalm and decide I’d very much like to throw my half full mug at him but decide that is probably inappropriate seeing as:
1. It will probably burn him.
And more importantly: 2. It’s someone else’s mug and if I throw it, it will most likely break.
“Well we better go then, shall we?” Will asks me.
I nod and look towards Will’s dad. “Thank you for the tea, Mr Nor–Scott,” I correct myself. He smiles. “Not a problem, Matilda.”
I offer him a slight smile and follow Will out to the foyer. He grabs his black coat from the coat rack beside the door. He then walks across and opens a closet door and pulls out a dark green coat, similar to his. I recognise it as one of his. He holds it out to me and I blink at him.
Will chuckles softly. “It’s cold out,” he says before pushing it into my hand and walking over to the front door, opening it and going to his car parked out in the driveway. The chilly, late autumn breeze reaches me from here and I hastily tug on the coat.
Once I am in the car, the heat is blasting from the air vents and the heated seat setting is turned on, Will turns to me.
“What was that about?”
I frown. “What was what about?”
“You looked at me like my dad just told you that Taylor Swift died.”
I bark out a laugh despite myself. “I was signalling you to help me!”
“Well that’s not what it looked like,” he tells me.
“Well that’s what it was,” I respond.
“Okay, fine then what did you need help from?”
“I needed help from the awkward, deadly, suffering silence after I asked your father about his farming endeavours!”
“His farming endeavours?” Will asks while smirking.
“Yes, his farming endeavours.”
I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment, reliving the moment. I mean seriously what was I thinking? I mean what the fuck is a farming endeavour?
As if sensing my thoughts Will asks, “What’s a farming endeavour?”
“Jesus, I don’t know!”
He frowns and nods. “Are you blushing?”
His voice is laced with teasing and I bury my face in my hands.
“No, I’m not. Just drive.”
I can practically hear him smirking. “Are you sure you’re not? Because–”
“Just drive!” I yell, although muffled by my hands. This is quite possibly the most pointless argument I’ve ever had.
I hear him let out a repressed laugh before he starts the engine and drives toward the mall.
Will
I’m not entirely sure what I was thinking when I offered to help Matilda.
Maybe it was the worry of the day wearing on me. Maybe it was because of my very obvious lack of judgement that pops up practically every day.
Or maybe it was because she was the one talking to me for a change.
I’ve been obsessed with Matilda Weston for about 2 years now.
In all honesty, I don’t particularly remember why my crush started. I just remember noticing her in school one day and my brain said “Hey, that girl looks pretty. Let’s develop a ridiculous, unrequited crush on her.”
Because it is ridiculous, for many reasons.
So if you put them all together it really does spell ridiculous. It might well be Ben in Descendants ridiculous. That’s how ridiculous it is.
Moving on from my crush and the most times ridiculous has been used within two paragraphs ever, the drive over to the mall was as frustratingly silent as the drive to my house, and I’m glad to be driving into the car park.
The shopping centre is a fairly big building in Maplewood terms. It has 2 floors, and its walls are surrounded with huge windows which are mostly covered with advertisements.
I look towards Matilda where her vibrant blue eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly agape as she stares at the building before her, and it’s so incredibly hilarious and Matilda that I have to smother a laugh.
My suppression clearly didn’t work because her eyes come to rest on my face.
God she’s so pretty.
Her brown hair is free and curly, rather than her straightened hair I usually see her in and the freckles that cover her face are muted today, either by foundation or lack of sunshine. Her lips are stained a dark pink and her bright blue eyes are framed with long, blackened eyelashes.
“What exactly is so funny, William?” she asks, her eyes now narrowed.
I smile; I can’t help it when I’m around her. “Your face. And my full name isn’t William,” I add.
“What about my face amuses you, Wilson?”
“Well it’s more of your facial expressions,” I explain. “I mean you were looking at the shopping centre like it’s the most daunting thing in the world. It’s a mall, Matilda, not a corpse on the sidewalk.”
Her mouth twitches slightly; an almost smile and I feel like I’ve won something. “I don’t like shopping,” she says, turning back to face the building as if it has morally offended her.
“Don’t all girls like shopping?”
“That’s very stereotypical of you, Wilbur. And a bit sexist.”
I frown. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that all girls I’ve met like shopping.”
Matilda nods, understanding. “I suppose it’s not shopping itself, it’s just crowds. I don’t like people very much.”
“Why I’m shocked.”
She does smile now, but I can tell she’s still nervous.
“We can go to Waterstones first, if you want? Before the clothes things,” I try to soothe. I’m determined to make her as comfortable as possible.
She offers me a small smile. “That’s okay. Best to get it out of the way.”
“Okay, well we could go to Costa or Starbucks before?”
She scrunches her nose in disgust. “I hate coffee.”
I laugh. “Well, I don't, and I have a feeling I’m going to need today.”
Her mouth gapes open, offended. “I’m not that bad!” she defends.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “I’m not!” she repeats, laughing slightly.
I hum softly, unlock the car and climb out. The sound of the side door open follows.
“I’m not,” Matilda says seriously.
“Come on, we’re already late,” I call from behind me.
“Will!” she yells.
I definitely shouldn’t have poked the bear, but she isn’t nervous anymore.
Crisis averted.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
We enter Starbucks 10 minutes later with Matilda still scolding me. I’m undeniably regretting my decision to rile her up, but on the bright side, she has forgotten all about her social anxiety. Look at the positives, my friends.
I tell her to take a seat by the window while I order, and, after some protest, she conforms.
I get to the front of the queue and smile at the barista. “Could I have a latte please? And a…” I pause and look at the menu. “Peach iced tea, please.”
The woman nods, and types it into the screen in front of her. “Anything else, sir?”
I look at the bakery case, next to the till. “Two cinnamon swirls,” I tell her.
She nods, I pay and grab the bag of cinnamon swirls. A few minutes later, my name is called and I grab the drinks before walking over to Matilda.
I take the seat beside her and set the iced tea down on the table in front of her. She frowns at me.
“Something wrong?” I ask, worried I got the wrong flavor. I see her drinking them all the time when she’s working.
“How did you know I like iced tea?” she questions.
I shrug casually. “I know everything.”
“That’s very egotistical of you, Wilhelm.”
“Haven’t we already talked about my ego today, Weston?”
A shadow of a smile crosses her face. “Seriously, how did you know?”
I shift slightly in my seat. I can’t say that I see her drinking them all the time without sounding like a stalker or revealing my crush.
Although I doubt her mind would ever even think of someone having a crush on her, sadly.
“I’m just an extraordinary guesser,” I opt for.
“Says Mr. I’m-Not-Egotistical.”
I grin at her. “Oh, I got you a cinnamon swirl. Thought it’d make you less grumpy.”
“Ooh,” she says, taking a bite into it. “And I’m not grumpy,” she adds, her mouth full.
“You’ve scolded me about three times within a two hour period,” I say.
“Well don’t make me get up early and then dawdle for an hour and a half.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, taking a bite of my cinnamon swirl.
We finish our food and drinks in peace, both of us staring out the window in comfortable silence.
I think about what exactly led to this moment. Not shopping together, that was because of my foolish tendencies. But what inspired her to go to Stacy’s party.
Yesterday, she looked like she’d rather see a book ripped apart than attend a gathering with more than five people at it.
And then, lo and behold, two hours later, she’s talking to me about what’s socially acceptable to wear to a party, whatever ‘socially acceptable’ means.
I’m not a believer in fate, never really have been. Sure, I believe that ‘everything-happens-for-a-reason’ bullshit, but fate itself I think is a stupid idea. In my mind, the universe doesn’t care about anyone enough to dictate
their life, and how it ends. You live, you make decisions, shit happens, and then you die. It’s as simple as that.
So I’m not gonna sit here and tell you that Matilda is sitting here next to me because we were ‘meant to find each other’ or ‘meant to go through all the hating-each-other bullshit to become the ‘bestest of friends’’. That’s not the way my mind works.
But I do believe something had happened within those two hours we were apart to make her change her mind, a friend or her mum or someone she cares about enough to do what they say and attend somewhere that she clearly still doesn't want to go to.
And then, all I can think about is how I wished she cared about me like that. Or I had someone who would do that for me.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of Matilda’s laugh.
God she’s got a great laugh.
I blink dazedly at her. “What?”
“You’ve got icing on your cheek,” she says around her giggles.
“Oh,” I say, frowning. “Where?” I ask, swiping at my left cheek.
“No,” she says. “Here,” she wipes the icing off with her thumb.
My shoulders tense, a thousand alarm signals going off in my head.
She’s touching you, Will. Do not, I repeat, do not do anything stupid.
“We should go,” I blurt out, leaping up from my seat.
She frowns, confused by my behaviour. “Uh- yeah, sure,” she says, getting up from her stool.
Nice going, asshat.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
We enter H&M an hour, three stores and a migraine later.
An hour because she’s very unwilling to buy things out of her comfort zone, aka anything that isn’t jeans, a top and some converses.
Three stores because I thought looking at other stores might help broaden her interests a little.
And a migraine because of the incessant arguing we’ve been doing.
“We’re never going to find anything!” Matilda complains.
I sigh. I always try and think of the positives, but so far this trip truly has been hell.
“Look, you asked for my help, assumably because you think you don’t know how to dress for a party–”
“Correction: I don’t know how to dress for a party,” she cuts in.
“–but in order for me to do that,” I continue emphatically as if she hasn’t said anything, “you have to be willing to look and buy something that you wouldn’t usually wear.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to buy something that a) I’m never going to wear again, and b) I have to wear and be comfortable in for two hours.”
“Okay, but think of it this way,” I say, wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulders. “You’re only going to be in the dress or skirt or whatever for two, three hours max. And then you never have to attend another party or wear it ever again. Like you said yesterday, it will probably just be you in a corner trying to avoid drunk boys falling on top of you. So, if you really think about it, it doesn’t matter what you wear.”
Her blue eyes stare into mine as she bites her cheek, pondering this for a few moments.
“You make a good point, Wilbert,” she says.
I grin. “Why, thank you. Now are you going to pick something or can we go home?”
“I’ll pick something,” she decides. “But I don’t want anything that barely covers my ass or something so low cut that half my tit is out.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Right, good. Let’s get to shopping then.”
She nods and I motion for her to lead the way.
We ride the escalator up a floor. She begins to walk over to a rack but I stop her. She blinks down at my hand enveloping her wrist. “What?”
“You have proven that you cannot be trusted in picking out your own clothes,” I tell her.
“But–” she starts.
“No. I will collect some options and you will go stand over there,” I interrupt, pointing to the H&M Home section. She pouts, but she does what I say.
I walk over to the selection of dresses and pick a few that I think she might like, or at least find ‘socially acceptable’. Still not entirely sure what that means.
Twenty minutes later, I call her over with four dresses and two pairs of shoes in hand. She walks over, looking doubtful.
“I’ll be right out here if you need me,” I tell her, as she walks over to the dressing room curtain.
I’m not sure I’ve ever realised this before, but Matilda is quite possibly the most indecisive person I’ve ever met.
The first one she didn’t like - thought it was too tight and ‘strangly’ which I don’t think is a word but I couldn’t be bothered to argue with her on it.
The second one she liked. It was a black check dress but she thought it was too casual for Stacy’s party.
The third one she also liked but thought it was too long and too low cut.
She emerges from the dressing room curtain wearing the fourth dress.
I feel my throat dry and I swallow.
Now, I’m not usually one to toot my own horn, but damn did I have good taste. Both with Matilda and the dress.
It was both short and low cut–both of the things she said she didn’t want but she looked so fucking good that I was going to convince her to buy it whether she wanted it or not. It was a plain white dress, nothing too out there which I remember thinking she’d like. The skirt was ruffled and it had a make-shift corset.
I notice she’s also wearing a pair of white heels. I look up to where her face is plastered with discomfort.
“What do you think?” she asks, an anxious edge to her tone.
I clear my throat. “You look good. Like really good.” She hums softly. “What do you think?” I ask her.
“The shoes are uncomfortable,” she says, gnawing at her bottom lip.
“Beauty is pain, Weston.”
“It’s easy to judge when you’ve never felt it.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Except for the shoes, what else don’t you like?”
“It’s a bit tight around here,” she says, gesturing to her midriff. “But I suppose I’m not going to be in it long. Am I?”
I feel a smile tug at my lips. “So..?” I ask hopefully.
She stares at herself in the mirror. “I’ll get it. But I’m leaving the shoes.”
We walk out of the dressing room, dress in hand.
She looks fairly happy with her decision, although I can tell the thought of going to Stacy’s party is daunting her.
“We have everything we need now, right?” I ask her.
She nods. “Yeah. Although I still want to go to Waterstones after.”
I groan. She laughs. “You offered!” she argues.
“Well that was before I realised how indecisive you were.”
“I’m not indecisive. About most things…” she mutters at the end.
“Fine, we can go but you’re limited to only ten minutes. I mean it, Tilda. I don’t want to be…” I trail off when I realise she’s no longer beside me. I frown. “Matilda?” I look back. Matilda’s standing behind me with a frown on her lips and her brow creased, staring at something.
“Matilda?” I ask, walking next to her. “Everything okay?”
She blinks at me, phasing back into reality. She swallows. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Let’s just go,” she says, glancing over my shoulder quickly. I follow her gaze. A red-headed girl is standing next to a tall blonde boy, looking far too close to be just friends.
“Is that your ex and Liv?” I ask.
“Mhm.”
“Isn’t that against girl code, or something?”
Her eyes flit toward me for a moment before resting her eyes back on them. “I don’t know. I suppose,” she says, but she doesn’t sound angry. She just sounds sad and confused. I’m not sure how her and her ex broke up, all I heard was that he had broken up with her. The idiot.
Now, I don’t know a lot, but I knew that I wanted to stop her face from looking like that.
I tug at a curl that’s fallen loose from her ponytail she tied her hair into earlier. She smacks my hand away and her eyes come to rest on my face again. She looks irritated, but I’d rather her be annoyed than sad. “How about we pay for this and then we can go to Waterstones? I’ll let you stay for twenty whole minutes,” I say, trying to cheer her up.
Her eyes glimmer with something similar to hope. “Really?” she asks quietly.
“Mhm. But no dawdling, because I really have to get back.”
“I never dawdle,” she says, walking over to the escalator. “You’re the dawdler in this relationship.”
“That’s not true, you’re just incredibly impatient.”
“How about we agree to disagree?” Matilda proposes.
“How about we agree that you’re impatient and I dawdle?” I compromise.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
We’re walking to the car after half an hour spent in Waterstones (I’m a huge softie, I know.) when we hear Liv call us.
Matilda jumps before her shoulders tense.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re very jumpy?” I ask Matilda.
“I’m not that jumpy. So, no they haven’t,” she says simply.
“You are. You’re like a little bunny rabbit. I feel like I should feed you carrots.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “Stop that.”
“Hop hop,” I say. “Sniffle sniffle.”
“‘Sniffle sniffle?” she asks around a laugh.
“Yeah their noses do that twitchy thing.”
“That’s not a sniffle.”
“Well you weren’t looking at me so if I twitched my nose you wouldn’t have seen it.”
“So, you went for a sniffle?”
“What other noises do rabbits make?” I question.
“They honk sometimes,” she informs me.
“Honk?”
“Yes, I read it online. They do it when they’re happy.”
“Okay, well, honk honk, then.”
“Shh,” she hisses as Liv approaches, but she’s smiling all the same.
Liv is, objectively speaking, very beautiful. Her wavy red hair is long and shiny, her skin is always perfectly clear and her eyes are a pale blue.
A smile graces her face as she reaches us.
“I thought I saw you earlier,” Liv says, “but then I remembered that you hated shopping so I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But it is you!”
Matilda smiles at her; nothing but a simple tug of her lips. It’s clear she’s not as happy to see Liv as Liv is to see her.
As if appearing out of nowhere, Matilda’s ex (I don’t remember his name. It’s Jerry or something.) appears behind Liv, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and I decide I’d very much like to punch him.
I glance towards Matilda where she’s frowning at the arm now placed over her friend’s shoulders. She looks like she’s about to burst into tears and I have to look away. I can’t stand her looking so upset.
“So, how did your shopping trip go?” I ask.
“Urgh, a nightmare! Shopping dates are the worst,” Jerry (?) groans. I see Liv tense and anger flicks in her eyes as soon as he mentions the word ‘date’. She glares at him. But then the anger is gone, and all that’s left in her eyes is adoration.
How odd.
Matilda’s shoulders sink and glances between them once again.
“Tell me about it,” I say around a (fake) laugh, grabbing Matilda’s hand. She blinks down at our fingers now intertwined before blinking up at me.
I have no idea either, honey.
Matilda frowns and I give her a look that says Play along, Weston.
A blatantly obvious fake smile plasters over her face. “Am I really that bad?” she asks around a fake laugh.
I look towards Liv where she’s wearing a look of confusion.
I have no doubt Matilda has probably told her all sorts of stories, and has expressed her hatred toward me.
“So, what were you shopping for?” Jerry (??) asks, wearing a look of equal confusion on his face.
“Oh, well, Jerry, we were shopping for Stacy’s party for next week,” I tell him.
“Uh, it’s Jamie, actually,” he says, shifting uncomfortably.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, not the least bit sorry at all.
Liv ignores the awkward encounter. “You’re going to Stacy’s party? Why?” she asks Matilda. (Well, I say ‘asks’. More like ‘interrogates’.)
“Because I was invited..?” Matilda says around a small laugh.
Liv raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly not believing a word she says. Matilda shifts on her feet. “Vivi asked me to,” she admits quietly, staring at her shoes.
Liv rolls her eyes. “You shouldn’t be such a people pleaser all the time, Tilds.”
Matilda’s mouth presses together in a thin line and her cheeks flame from embarrassment.
“We should get going,” I interrupt. “I’ve got practice today.”
“Okay. Well, good to see you two. Nice to see you, Matilda,” Jamie says.
“Yeah, see ya later, Jerry,” I say, climbing into my car.
“Uh- It’s Ja-”
He’s cut off by the sound of the car door slamming.
Annoying bastard.
Matilda’s already sat in the passenger seat, glaring at me.
“That’s not a good look,” I say, trying to soften her up a bit, knowing I’m in for a lecture.
“Why would you do that?” she yells. Called it.
I sigh. I’m aware it was a stupid thing to do. But she looked too sad, and both Liv and Jamie were looking at her like she was the loneliest being on the Earth. And I really didn’t appreciate Liv’s people pleaser comment. Talk about embarrassing your friend.
“I wanted to help,” I say.
“How is them thinking us dating helping me?” she demands.
It’s helping you not seem pathetic, I think. But I can’t say that, that wouldn’t help her anger.
“They’re not going to say anything.”
“Have you met Liv? She’s the biggest gossip ever!” she says incredulously. “I like being invisible, Will. And people thinking I’m dating you is going to make the invisibility cloak disappear.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” I admit. “You just looked so…”
“‘So’ what?”
“Sad,” I mumble.
Her gaze softens slightly. “I don’t need you to take care of me, Will. I can take care of myself.”
“I know.”
“So unless I ask for your help, like today, then just don’t do anything. I’m grateful you tried to help, I am, but I’ve coped with looking pathetic since I was little, Will. I can handle it.”
I want to question why people think she’s pathetic. Why people think she’s sad. But I’ve already pushed my boundaries with her today.
“Okay,” I say.
“Good,” she says.
I start the car, but before I take off, I look towards her. “For the record, I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
“Well thank you, that’s very nice of you to say,” she says curtly.
I nod, and there’s nothing more to be said. We drive to her house in comfortable silence.
Will
I’m woken up by the feeling of something being thrown at my head.
I groan into my mattress. The person wacks me once again, with what I now realise is my pillow. “Ow!” I yell and turn to look at my assaulter.
Stacy is standing there, pillow raised over her shoulder about to smack me again. I snatch it out of her hands.
“What are you doing?” I ask incredulously.
“What am I doing?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest while pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me. You’re not supposed to have nails for school but I think teachers have given up arguing with her.
“Yes, what are you, Stacy Wheeler, doing in my house at–” I pause and look at the digital clock on my bedside table “--10:24 in the morning?”
“We’re supposed to go out today,” she tells me. “You forgot. And we’ve been waiting outside for 24 minutes.”
“We?”
As if by summoning him, Jace walks in, a mug in hand. “You’re finally up! Here’s some tea.” I take a sip from the mug and immediately spit it out.
Jace has a habit of adding what I assume is half a bag of sugar to his tea.
“Too sweet?” he asks, scrunching his nose.
“Yeah,” I choke out. He laughs.
Stacy’s head swivels toward him, ceasing his laughter.
Jace also has a habit of doing whatever Stacy wants him to do. They’re not dating, but they both seem to have a habit of staring at each other a few moments too long.
“We shouldn’t condone this sort of behavior, Jace. He’s pushed back our entire schedule,” she scolds him.
I snort. “What ‘schedule’?”
“I have a school committee meeting at 3, so now we will only have two hours to do everything within a three-hour period squashed into a two-hour period. All because of you,” she finishes, pointing her finger at me.
“Jesus Christ, you and Matilda should be hired for the time police, I swear to God,” I say, running my hand through my hair.
“Matilda?” she asks, brightening immediately.
I’m not entirely sure what sparked her curiosity with Matilda, all I know is that she finds her ‘absurdly interesting’. Her words, not mine.
Which I can agree on.
The thing is with Stacy, she means well, but she can often come across a tad… overbearing.
She doesn’t mean it of course, she’s very nice (when she’s not chucking pillows at my head) and, while annoying at times, she’s the only girl that doesn’t try and crawl on top of me every time she sees me (except for Matilda. I’m pretty sure you’d have to put a love potion in her iced tea for her to crawl on top of me in a non-murderous way.).
“What were you doing with Matilda?” she asks.
“None of your business.”
She sticks her tongue out at me.
“How’d you guys get in here anyway?” I ask them, trying to distract them from my day yesterday with Matilda.
She asked me to keep whatever “date” we had yesterday a secret and, while insulting, I was going to oblige her wishes.
“We came down the chimney,” Stacy deadpans.
“Funny.”
“We came through the front door, lad,” Jace interrupts. “How else?”
I shrug. Nobody knows that my dad’s been seeing someone else and that they were supposed to go for breakfast this morning. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, seeing as my mum still has contacts in town and the gossip would definitely travel to her somehow.
And then she’d show up at our door, seething with rage, and screaming about how he could do that to her.
It wouldn’t matter that she was cheating on my dad for months before they divorced. It wouldn’t matter that my dad told her he never wanted to see her again. It wouldn’t matter to her that she hadn’t seen or talked to me in almost a year.
Wonderful woman, my mother.
“I’ll get ready now,” I say, distracting myself from my thoughts.
“Wait, no,” Stacy says. “When did you see Matilda? Is she coming to my party?”
“Yeah, she’s coming to your party,” I say. “Now, Miss-Our-Schedule-Is-Ruined, I need to shower, I’ll meet you outside.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Twenty minutes later, I’m hastily tugging on a hoodie while being pulled by the ear by Stacy.
Apparently, I ‘took too long’ even though she takes ten times longer than I do when she showers. I’m pretty sure she’s just getting revenge on me for not
telling her about Matilda.
I climb into the back of the car after Stacy insists on sitting in the front.
“You’re very moody today,” I comment.
“I’m not moody!” she snaps.
I raise an eyebrow and look towards Jace, who’s looking out the window, very obviously trying to avoid Stacy’s gaze.
Ah.
“Alright, what happened?” I ask.
Jace and Stacy “accidentally kiss” a lot of the time. Which then follows with weeks and weeks of awkward silence because Jace is firmly against relationships. I’ve told him several times to stop messing with her feelings, which I do think he’s tried to enforce. But Stacy’s determined to not let whatever attraction towards him affect their friendship.
“Nothing,” they both say in unison.
“Well, clearly something happened. Stacy’s been trying to kill me all morning, and, Jace, you look like you’d rather remove your eyeballs than look at her. Now tell me what happened,” I say.
“I might be able to help,” I offer, after several moments of silence.
Stacy sighs. “I’m not gonna tell you what happened because it’s none of your business,” she mocks. “But I am sorry I’ve been snappy with you. It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Jace mumbles, although I’m unsure whether he’s apologising to me or Stace.
“That’s okay. Now, what’s on our schedule?”
Stacy glares at me and huffs in annoyance. It’s a shame Matilda isn’t fond of her because her and Stacy would be a friendship made in heaven.
“Well, Liv wanted to get her nails done, but I have to go too now because you made my nail break,” she says, staring at me accusingly.
“Don’t hit me with a pillow then,” I shrug her off. She hmphs softly. “What else are we doing?”
Jace shrugs as we exit my house’s driveway. “Probably just gonna go to the park again. But Stace said she and Liv wanted to do some shopping at some point but I don’t know whether that’s still happening. Stace?”
Stacy checks her phone. “Uh, no, Liv said she went yesterday instead.”
Jace frowns. “Do you still want to go?”
“I wasn’t really bothered. I can go another time anyway,” she says with a shrug. Me and Jace can both tell she is bothered, but we don’t push it.
Honestly, what is it with Liv and her power over people?
I mean she’s scary but she’s not run-for-the-woods, cancelling-plans scary.
I’ll have some words with her later.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
We arrive at Liv’s house 20 minutes later.
I think you can already tell I’m not keen on her. It’s not just because of her bossiness. I can handle bossiness. Both Matilda and Stacy are proof of this.
I have an issue with her controlling everyone around her. And for as long as I’ve known her, she’s always been like that. With everyone.
Well, not everyone, but that’s a story for another time.
Liv opens the door and pauses for a moment, her eyes landing on me. Her lips purse.
Believe me, the feeling is mutual, Liv.
She climbs in beside me. “William,” she greets.
I want to tell her my full name isn’t William, but I decide she isn’t important enough to have that information.
“Olivia.” I return the greeting. She purses her lips again before opening her mouth, probably to inform me that her full name isn’t Olivia.
Stacy, however, interrupts. “Hey, Liv? Do you still want to get your nails done? Mine broke,” she finishes with another accusatory glare at me.
“Uh…” She throws a glance over toward me. I cock an eyebrow at her, a silent threat.
“Yeah, sure,” she says, shifting slightly in her seat.
I nod.
Good.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
We arrive at the park another 20 minutes later.
I climb out of the car, immediately walking over to the basketball court where our other friends are waiting.
“There he is!” Mason yells, clapping me on the back.
“Yeah, sorry I’m late guys. I slept in,” I say, giving them a sheepish smile.
I hear Liv scoff from behind me. I turn my head to look at her, raising an eyebrow.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, offering me a sickly sweet smile.
I turn to face her and cross my arms over my chest. “Well, it must have meant something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have done it.”
“It just seems very typical of you.”
“Typical?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You barely even know me. How do you know what’s typical of me?”
She shrugs carelessly, picking at her cuticles, feigning innocence. “Just from things that I’ve heard from people. Other people,” she clarifies, looking around at the crowd of friends watching our argument.
“Matilda?”
She hums.
“You haven’t talked to her in a month. She could’ve changed her mind,” I say.
It’s pushing it that I think she could have changed her mind in one outing, especially after our final conversation in the car but I’m desperate to prove Liv wrong. I’m not usually one to pick arguments, and if it was anyone else, I’d ignore them, probably make a joke of some kind and get on with my day. But this is Liv, and she’s pushed me, and my friends, one step too far and I’ve had enough.
Liv’s face turns bright red, outraged. “I’ve been busy!” she snaps.
I scoff. “Yeah, ‘busy.’”
“How dare you! I-”
“Who’s up for a friendly game of basketball?” Jace yells, interrupting. Probably before Liv lunges at me.
There’s soft murmurs of agreement.
“Sure,” I say, still glaring at Liv.
Her eyes narrow, glaring back.
“Come on, Liv. Let’s go get our nails done while they’re playing,” Stacy says, throwing me an anxious look. She places a hand on Liv’s arm. Liv’s jaw ticks but nods, following her.
I watch them leave the park before turning back around to face the lads from my basketball team. All of them are looking at me warily.
I roll my eyes. “She’s rude as fuck, alright?”
“You didn’t have to go at her like that though,” Jace points out.
“I don’t care, I’ve had enough of her!” I yell. I sigh, wiping a hand over my face in frustration. “Look, can we just- Can we just play basketball?”
Jace frowns at me. “Yeah, sure, lad.”
He immediately starts calling out teams, dividing us into teams of three.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
We finish 50 minutes later, sweat dripping from our foreheads.
I’m uncapping my bottle of water when I see Liv and Stacy approaching and fight the urge to roll my eyes.
I’m not in the mood to deal with her right now.
Sensing my discomfort, Jace wraps a sweaty arm around my shoulder. “Come on, let’s sit down,” he says, leading me over to a bench.
I sit down, taking several gulps of my water. I turn towards Jace who’s already staring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You know what. What was that earlier?”
“I don’t know. I just…” I shake my head, taking another swig of my water.
Because the truth is I don’t know. I hardly ever get that angry and I never ever outwardly express it.
But while I was yelling at her, all I kept seeing was Matilda’s face when she saw Jamie and Liv at that store. How sad she looked. How betrayed she looked.
“Will,” Jace says from beside me.
“I don’t know! She just…She treats everyone like shit all the time and I just think that someone needs to call her out on it.”
“Who does she treat like shit? Because if it’s Stacy then I don’t think she really cares to be honest, lad.”
“It’s not Stace,” I say quietly.
“Then who?”
“Matilda.”
He frowns. “Matilda?”
“Yes! And it just bothers me alright?”
“You like her,” he says.
“Wha-Who?” I ask, trying to act like I don’t know who he’s talking about.
When in doubt, deny.
“Matilda.”
I let out a fake laugh. “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Deny.
He narrows his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You don’t?”
“No.”
Deny, deny, deny.
“You do realise you’re blushing, right?”
“Oh, damn it.”
He laughs, tilting his head back. He shakes his head, his blonde hair falling over his forehead. “Just so you know, even if you weren’t blushing, I would’ve known anyway. You’re a terrible liar.”
“Am not. And don’t you dare tell anyone,” I warn.
“Relax, I won’t. Honestly, I was confused when the dating rumours came up, especially the way you reacted yesterday-”
“Wait what?” I ask.
He blinks. “You haven’t heard?”
“Oh, God,” I say, putting my head in my hands. “Hang on, who told you?” I say, immediately picking up my head and looking at him.
Jace hesitates. “Uh-”
“It was Liv wasn’t it?”
“Yes..?”
“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I groan into my hands.
“Hey, look, it's fine. We’ll sort it out.”
“No, you don’t get it. She warned me this was gonna happen,”
“Matilda?” he asks anxiously.
“Yeah. I opened my big mouth yesterday and blabbed about how we were dating so Liv and her new boyfriend wouldn’t think she was pathetic. And now…”
“Wait, Liv has a new boyfriend?” he asks, confused.
“Everything’s gone wrong, and… Jesus Christ she’s never gonna speak to me again.”
“Do you want me to tell everyone that it isn’t true? You know, before it gets to her?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s my mess to fix.”
Jace nods. Shouts come from the basketball court, calling him over.
“Uh, do you want to come with? Or do you wanna just sit here feeling sorry for yourself?”
“The second option, please.”
He claps me on the back, before walking back over to our awaiting friends.
I take another swig of water, clearing my head, trying to think of a good plan.
If I try to stop it, people will probably just turn the rumour into that we’re secretly dating, which wouldn’t help the situation.
I’ll tell her beforehand, I think. That way she isn’t blindsided if people ask or if she hears people talking about it. Then, she can tell people that it isn’t true.
Job’s a good'un.
I’m not entirely looking forward to that conversation with Matilda. I have a feeling it’s going to contain a lot of yelling, smacks and throwing of things.
But I can’t think of a better plan that isn’t going to conspire a new rumour.
Happy with my new plan, I begin to make my way over to the basketball court.
I’ll just tell her, and everything will be fine.
What could go wrong?
Matilda
“Hey, so quick question: is Holidate considered a Christmas movie?” my mum asks as I just slip into my dress.
“Mother! Knock first!” I scold and turn to face her.
She gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry. But answer the question.”
I face the mirror again, zoning out and wondering whether I have enough time to back out of the party without seeming rude. Maybe I could tell Will I’m sick or something. Or that I’m on my period. That’ll work. It’s a well-known fact that men get uncomfortable when you talk about your menstrual cycle.
As if he can sense my thoughts, a message from Will pops up on my phone screen.
Will: I’m on my way to get you so don’t dare back out now.
I gnaw at my lip, my mind still whirring and thinking up more excuses to get out of this. Maybe I could-
My mother clicks a finger in front of my face. I blink.
“You okay, hon?” she asks, frowning.
I swallow. “Yeah, fine. Just anxious.”
“Are you sure you want to go? I know Genevive asked you to but I’m sure she’ll understand. And then we can stay here and bake brownies and watch Holidate together,” she says, giving me a hopeful smile.
When I told my mother that I was going to a party, she didn’t look all too pleased. Yes, mothers are supposed to support their children doing social things, especially if they're a social pariah like me. But when your child has social anxiety, who often throws up in situations that make her anxious, I suppose if you’re not there to help them, it can be worrying for them.
I offer her what I hope is an encouraging smile before saying, “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” she says quietly, tucking her long, curly blonde hair behind her ears and taking a seat on my bed. “Is there alcohol at this party?”
“Uh, probably,” I say, fiddling to put my earrings in. “I’m not going to have any, though,” I add. She nods.
My phone dings again.
Will: everything’s gonna be fine, you know that?
A smile tugs softly at my lips.
Me: for someone who hates me, you do seem to care a whole lot about my wellbeing
Will: you wish, weston
Will: oh shit
I frown. what?
almost crashed the car. gotta go.
I shake my head and repress a laugh. My mum peeks over my shoulder. “Since when did you two become such good friends?”
“We’re not,” I say, grabbing two necklaces from my jewellery box and holding them up to show her.
“That one,” she says, pointing. “And you are. You’ve been messaging all week. And you hung out last weekend.”
“That was for the party. We’ll probably stop talking after tonight,” I say with a shrug, but feel a tug at my chest, almost wishing it isn’t true.
I won’t deny I had fun on Saturday, even though seeing Jamie and Liv ruined it slightly. I shake my head, freeing thoughts of Jamie, not letting myself or my mood get worse than it already is.
She hums softly. “Oh, and since you didn’t answer, I am watching Holidate,” she says, moving to leave the room.
“It’s a Christmas movie, mother!”
She shrugs and leaves the room. Only Annabel Weston could watch a Christmas movie at the start of November.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it!” I yell down the stairs, quickly grabbing my red converses and Stacy’s present before bounding down the stairs.
The sound of voices fills the hallway and I turn into the foyer to see Will standing there, all kind eyes and dimples.
I blink at the sight of him. Because, dear God, did he look good.
His dark hair is tousled effortlessly on top of his head, as if he hadn’t probably spent half an hour styling it. He isn’t wearing anything too dressy, just a simple pair of jeans and a white baggy t-shirt, and maybe it’s the fact that the sleeves were pulling slightly against his biceps but it somehow made him look a thousand times better.
A clearing of a throat. “Matilda?” my mum asks. I blink and feel my face flush.
I’d been staring.
If Will had noticed I’d been staring, his face made no notice of it. His head is tilted to the side, as if he finds me as fascinating as an animal at the zoo.
“You look nice,” he says, his voice slightly raspy.
“Oh, thank you. Uh, you look nice too,” I say, looking down at my feet, trying to hide the redness of my cheeks. I busy myself with pulling my shoes on, an insufferable silence filling the room.
I hate silence.
“You should get a jacket too. It’s chilly,” Will says.
“You always say it’s chilly,” I retort.
“Because it’s November! Not wearing a jacket is like watching Christmas movies at this time.”
I give my mum a pointed look. “Told you so.”
She rolls her eyes. “How are you, Will?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he says, turning away from my gaze and offering her his most charming smile.
“Good. Now, I just want to know if you’re drinking at the party. Matilda says she’s not but I don’t want a drunk boy driving her home.”
“What if a drunk girl drove me home?” I question, a surge of protectiveness ramming through my body. I’m not sure why, it’s not like she’s targeting Will specifically, and she makes a good point. But I know Will enough to know he wouldn’t drive someone home while he was intoxicated, and I’m irritated at the thought someone would suggest otherwise.
“Then I’d let them off with a slap on the wrist,” she deadpans. I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean, Tilds.”
“I’m not going to be drinking,” Will interrupts, staring at us both oddly.
Annabel nods. “Okay. Have her back by twelve please.”
He offers her a nod, before turning to me. “Come on, let’s go. We’re late.”
“She said there was no arrival time,” I remind him, but hurry out of the house anyway.
“Come on.”
We climb into his car. “What was that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“What was what?” he asks, his head turned to back out of my driveway.
“Why are you in such a rush?”
“I thought you’d want to get there early,” he says with a casual shrug. But I know better and feel a smug smile tug at my lips.
“Will…are you scared of my mum?” I tease.
He scoffs. “As if.”
“Don’t lie,” I say, poking him in the cheek.
“She was interrogating me!” he defends shrilly. “I’m going to be intimidated, sure, but scared?” He scoffs again.
“So if I told you I didn’t bring a jacket, what would you say?”
He frowns, glances toward me, before rolling his eyes. “I literally reminded you 30 seconds before we left. How did you forget?”
“I have a very short attention span.”
“Or the memory of a goldfish.”
“You have the face of a goldfish,” I snap, even though it isn’t true; he actually has a very nice face.
He gasps theatrically. I stifle a giggle. “Take that back!”
“You take your comment back!”
“I’ll have you know that I have a very nice face. I get tons of compliments on it.”
“And I’ll have you know that I actually have a very good memory. Like, for example, I remember when your birthday is from when you said it to the class a whole 5 years ago.”
A silence falls over us, and I’m worried I’ve said something wrong. Was he actually insulted?
I swallow. “You know–I didn’t mean it. It was just–”
“You actually remember my birthday?” he asks quietly.
I blink at him, but his eyes are laser-focused on the road as if he’s never found concrete more interesting in his life.
“March 17th,” I confirm.
He nods silently. “And do you remember other people’s, or just mine?”
“I mean, I remember Stacy’s, but that’s only because she was talking about it a few weeks ago. And because it’s today.”
He chuckles softly. “Right.”
“I mean, I don’t know why I bothered to remember because I doubt you know mi-”
“December 27th,” he interrupts.
I blink. Twice. “Oh. You do.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Weston. I only remember because you were complaining to your friend about how it’s two days after Christmas so everyone always forgets it.”
“Well, don’t flatter yourself. I already told you; I have an excellent memory.”
“But a short attention span.”
“Yes.”
“You already said that.”
“I know I already said that, I said I’d already said that!”
“And the award for the most times said has been used in a sentence goes to.”
“Oh, shut up!” I say, smacking him on the arm, laughing.
He chuckles, his dimples on full display. “Alright, calm down, I’m driving here.”
I smack him one more time and he turns to give me a mock-stern glare. I snort.
“Keep your eyes on the road, dork,” I say, reaching over to swivel his head to face the road.
“You should’ve kept your eyes on your coat, Weston.”
“That is not the same thing!”
“Yes it is!”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“That sentence doesn’t even make any sense!”
And we argue like that all the way to Stacy’s house, and while we do, I realise that I’ve never had so much fun arguing in my whole life.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
I shouldn’t have come. I really, really shouldn’t have come.
Those are the words on repeat in my brain as I stare up at the massive house before me.
Like Liv, Stacy lives in one of the houses on the rich part of town. A couple of years back, there was a big field of land that just sat there. The town council thought it would be fun to hold some events there–like Christmas fairs or fundraisers, things like that. Everyone thought it was a great idea, until one of those big building companies bought it.
I wasn’t overly bothered about the change, I probably wouldn’t have attended any of the fairs and I only would’ve attended the fundraisers if it was for a charity, but a bunch of people fought on it. It was helpless though, as you may have already guessed.
So now, while other houses in Maplewood are standard English homes (Will’s disincluded), there is now a big patch of Maplewood with modern, glistening,
too-white homes.
I won’t lie, it’s a bit of an atmosphere-killer.
“You okay?” Will’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
I take some deep breaths, feeling my head get light-headed. “I’m fine.” I say those words so often I think they might be wired into my brain chemistry. I think I’m hoping that if I say them enough they’ll become true.
Will isn’t fooled though. “It’ll be fine. I’ll take you home whenever you want.”
“That is way more than fifty people, Will,” I tell him anxiously. There’s no point in hiding it–he can see right through me anyway.
“I know. She may have…over-indulged on the invitations. But it’ll be fine,” he adds quickly.
I chew at the inside of my lip. I nod.
“You promise?” I whisper.
“I promise,” he says solemnly.
I take another deep breath. “Okay.”
He grins and tugs on a strand of my hair. “Let’s go then, Weston.” I nod, beginning to climb out the car. “Don’t forget her present,” he says.
I roll my eyes. Bossy bastard.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
After waiting in the queue to get in for about ten minutes and being asked by the bouncer (yeah, the bouncer) what our names are, we finally step into the house.
And we’re immediately attacked by Stacy.
I barely have one foot in the door when she leaps at us. “Matilda!” she yells.
I yelp and clutch Will’s arm. “Oh, hi,” I say, offering her a shaky smile.
She doesn’t seem to notice my reaction, or if she has she’s too polite to say so.
“Erm, here’s your present,” I say, letting go of Will’s arm. I look up at him, a smirk planted across his face. I kick him in the ankle.
“Ow,” he hisses.
“Happy birthday,” I tell Stacy.
She smiles. “Thank you. And thank you,” she adds, holding up the present. I offer her a half-smile.
“Oh, here’s your present, Stace,” Will says, pulling a small box out of his pocket. Did he get her jewellery? That’s really gonna make my candle and the mini Jellycat I got her look shit.
She smiles at him. “Thanks, Will. I’ll just go put these on the present table. Drinks are in the kitchen, by the way.”
“Oh, and,” she says, grabbing my arm when I move to follow Will, “we can talk later, yeah?”
I’m not sure how to answer that, so I just nod. I blink as she takes off towards another pair of unsuspecting visitors. “What does she want to talk to me about?” I swivel around to look at Will, keeping my voice low.
He gives a lazy shrug as we start to make our way to what I assume is the kitchen. “Life? Laughter? Love?”
“Don’t be cute,” I snap at him.
“I can’t not be cute. I mean look at this face,” he says, waving his hand around his face and posing.
It would be funny if I wasn’t freaking out. “Seriously, what does she want to talk about?”
He swallows. “Well, it might be about–”
“Will!” yells a voice from behind me. I jump.
“See. Told you you were jumpy.”
“Shut up,” I hiss.
A boy, presumably the same boy that yelled his name, clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re finally here,” he says. “What took you so long?”
“I had to pick up Matilda first,” Will says, moving from under the boy’s arm and next to me.
“Who?” the boy asks, chuckling. Will’s jaw clenches and his fingers flex in and out of a fist.
“Me,” I say quickly, giving Will a confused, cautionary glance.
“Oh, sorry,” the boy says, giving me a sheepish smile. I don’t think the boy is sorry at all. “I’m Kieran.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Anyway, Will, you ready for the game next week?” Kieran asks, all thoughts of me forgotten.
Will shifts on his feet slightly, the only thing to suggest he’s uncomfortable. I doubt Kieran notices.
“Yeah. Been practicing everyday,” he says, his famous easy smile slipping into place.
“Good. ‘Cause we need you, you know?” Kieran begins to ramble about a bunch of basketball things I don’t understand. The only thing I’m focusing on is Will’s smile getting wider and wider and faker and faker. And I’m not sure what to do, I just know I have to put a stop to it.
“Periods,” I blurt.
Both Will’s and Kieran’s heads swivel toward me. I mentally face-palm.
“What?” Kieran asks.
“I’m–I’m on my period,” I say, rambling now. Oh God, kill me now. “So I need to go to the kitchen.”
“Why?” Will says, his eyes narrowed
“Because I have cramps. And food helps cramps. So, excuse us,” I say, grabbing Will’s forearm, and offering Kieran a faux-embarrassed smile. He practically leaps out of the way as if I’ve got some infectious disease.
I roll my eyes. Men.
We make our way through the crowd of the kitchen and come to a stop in front of the drinks table. I grab a can of lemonade.
“What was that?” Will asks, his eyebrow raised.
“I was saving you,” I inform.
“Saving me?”
“Yes, you looked uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “And I wasn’t.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You weren’t?”
“No, I was fine.”
I tilt my head at him. Maybe we aren’t so different after all.
“But thanks, anyway,” he adds. I shrug.
Conversations and awkwardness over, I finally have time to settle into the busyness of the party. Well, I say ‘settle’, more like internally panic.
I’m suddenly very aware of the amount of people around us, so close that if I move even one inch my body will be pressed against theirs.
My heart begins to thump loudly in my chest and the voices around me distort into muffled sounds. Dizziness takes over my body and it feels like my throat is closing, even though I know it’s not. I’ve been through this so many times that even my brain can’t fool me anymore.
My chest grows tight, and my nails dig into my palms, trying to calm myself, trying to shock my system into not panicking. It doesn’t work. I’ve been having panic attacks since I was thirteen years old–nothing stops them, nothing helps.
I should not have come, I should not have come, I should not have come.
I could make a run for the exit, although that’s doubtful, thanks to my blurred vision.
“Hey.” It’s Will’s voice. It’s a faraway sound.
And then suddenly both of his hands on the sides of my face and his face comes into focus. I feel my chest loosen at the sight. “Come back to me, Tilds.”
I blink at him. “I need some water,” are the only words I can say to him. He nods firmly. I reach out to grab a stool from behind me and begin to count to ten. With each number, I take a deep breath and exhale on the next. With each breath, my vision returns and my heart calms.
Will returns to me a couple of minutes later, holding a glass of water and a plate of picnic food. I thank him but he just blinks in horror.
“It was a panic attack. It’s fine. I’m fine. I get them all the time,” I tell him. He just blinks. I offer him a shaky smile.
“How often do you get them?” he asks, taking a seat on the stool beside me.
I look around the room, careful to make sure no-one’s listening.
I’m not embarrassed of my anxiety—I’ve never seen the point in it. I can’t change it, and I have to live with it so what’s the point in being embarrassed?
But I’m not going to go around screaming about it either.
Lucky for me, everyone’s involved in their conversations or dancing and I’ve never been more thankful to be invisible.
“It depends where I am or how familiar I am with the space around me. If I’m in a place that’s overwhelming–like here–then I’m more prone to get them. But I can get them at home as well, as they can come out of nowhere sometimes,” I inform him.
He nods, fear still written all over his face. “I’m not gonna lie, you scared the shit out of me.” He forces a chuckle. “You got all hot and sweaty and you were really pale, like you were gonna throw up or something. And you were clawing and touching your throat, like you were choking. But you weren’t.”
“It’s just a symptom of the attack. Everything’s fine.” I grab his hand and squeeze it. “I promise.”
“Okay,” he whispers, his voice hoarse as he blinks down at my hand enveloped round his. I offer him my best encouraging smile.
“Hey, Matilda,” says a voice from beside me. A voice I know too well. A voice I’d memorised and carved into the back of my brain.
Jamie is standing there, his blonde hair tousled and beautiful. He’s smiling at me with his signature wonky smile and his head is tilted slightly that made him look all too endearing.
“Hi,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as breathless as I think it does. But I can’t help it because he’s so damn beautiful that I could cry.
“How are you? How are you both?” he asks, glancing at Will next to me. I quickly drop his hand and fold both of my hands in my lap.
“We’re alright,” Will says, although his voice is slightly clipped, like it was at the mall the other day. “You?”
“Can’t complain,” Jamie chuckles lightly.
I smile. “So, what have you been doing? Like, what’s new?” I ask him. For some reason, I’ve always felt comfortable around him. Even before we started dating, I’d always felt safe around him. I’m not sure why. Maybe his face. He’s got very kind eyes.
Will has kind eyes too, I realise.
“Ah, well you know David? His girlfriend broke up with him. On his birthday.”
“You’re kidding! The one he said he was going to marry?” I ask, my eyes wide.
He laughs. “The very same. And also–”
“Hey, Tilds?” I look behind me, where Will’s standing. I forgot he was there. “I’m gonna go catch up with some friends, okay? You gonna be ok?”
I nod, and turn back to Jamie, who’s looking between us curiously. I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea.
Will leaves silently, going off into the direction of the terrifying crowd. Watching
him leaving is a bittersweet feeling.
“Sorry, what were you going to say?” I ask, turning back towards Jamie.
He’s frowning, though and I worry I’ve said something wrong.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“So, it’s true?” he says, raising an eyebrow.
It’s my turn to frown. “Is what true?”
“About you and Will,” he says. I blink. I’ve never been more confused in my entire life. (Well, that’s not actually true. The only time I’ve been confused as this was when I learnt algebra in Year 7, but it’s really not the same thing.)
I mean, he’s not implying that me and Will are…?
“When I saw you two at the mall on Saturday, I thought it was crazy. I mean, you’ve never expressed any interest in him. In fact, you hated him. It's just weird, y’know? But then the rumours started circling about, and that confirmed it.” I simply nod in response. I was going to murder Wilfrick North.
Because there was no way he didn’t know about this. He was one of, if not the most popular boy in school. And he should’ve told me. Who hears a rumour about that and doesn’t tell the other person involved? An asshole, that’s who.
“Will you excuse me a sec?” I ask, offering Jamie the politest smile I can muster.
“Uh, yeah, sure. See you around.”
I climb down from the stool, take a deep breath before squeezing through the crowd.
And immediately regret it.
The strong smell of sweat and alcohol fills my nose and bodies crash into one another as they dance around. Pairs of people are pushed up against walls, tongues down each other's throats. I fight the urge to gag.
You know those party scenes in movies that don’t actually happen, but as a child you think they do and you really want to go to it, but in reality it’s disgusting? It’s exactly like that.
I force and shove my way back through the crowd to the kitchen and search for someone, anyone who can help me. And that’s when I spot Liv and Jamie, on top of the kitchen island making out.
Oh god, I think I’m gonna throw up.
Now, I’m not usually one to drink. I mean the very sound of it sounds horrific. Drinking a horrible tasting substance just to throw up for hours after? I mean, come on.
But I’m angry and anxious and all-round nauseous, so I do something I told my mother I wouldn’t do.
I walk over to the bar, grab a beer bottle, and drink.
Will
An hour has passed since I’d last seen Matilda and I’m getting worried.
I’d only disappeared because a) her staring at him felt like my heart was being ripped out. And b) so I could do some super-secret research on panic attacks.
I’ve already been to the drinks table, but she wasn’t there, and I checked all the corners to see if she was being literal when she said she was just going to be sitting in the corner all night, but to no avail.
So, I then start asking around but was met with several shaking heads (and a couple of “Who’s Matilda?”’s which did make me want to throttle someone slightly because how could you not notice her?).
So, I’ve now resorted to my only option: Liv.
It’s obviously no secret that I’m not a fan of her, and asking her for help goes against everything I believe in. (And I also think she’s going to yell at me for losing her.)
It’s for a good cause, I tell myself as I approach her.
“Well, look who’s here,” Liv greets me, flashing me a razor-sharp smile.
“Have you seen Matilda?” I ask. I don’t have time for pleasantries.
She frowns and looks around the room, as if I haven't done that already. “You can’t find her?”
“I left for like 45 minutes to talk to Stace and Jace and that, but then I returned, and I couldn’t find her,” I explain.
“Well, you shouldn’t have left her!” she snaps. I run a hand over my face, frustrated.
“Yes, I’m becoming aware of that. But that was not my question. I asked if you’d seen Matilda in the recent present.”
Liv rolls her eyes. “No, I haven’t but Jamie’s here, let’s ask him.”
Jamie appears behind her, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulders and my desire to throttle someone is back.
“What’s going on, babe?” I almost gag at the nickname.
“I can’t find Matilda,” I interrupt, my patience wearing thin.
“Oh, I think I saw her go upstairs about an hour ago. Pretty sure she was drunk. I’d check the bathrooms.”
“Drunk?” Liv and I both say in unison because there is no way in hell that Matilda would drink alcohol, for three reasons:
Something must have happened then, because I know, and presumably Liv, as well, knows damn well that Matilda would not drink without reason.
“Are you sure? Maybe she was just having a panic attack?” Liv says, glancing at me.
“A what?” Jamie asks.
My jaw clenches. “I’ll go look for her. I’ll text you once I’ve found her,” I add quickly at the sight of Liv’s face.
I may not be keen on her, but it’s clear she cares about Matilda, even if she doesn’t have the best way of showing it.
I take off through the crowd, climb up the stairs and am met with a new obstacle: finding which room she’s in.
I’ve been to Stacy’s house plenty of times–but not enough to figure out the maze of rooms.
After searching the rooms for about ten minutes, I stumble upon a small bathroom and a very, very drunk Matilda. She’s sitting on the marble floor, retching into the toilet. Her hair, once perfect and straightened, is messy and tangled and tied into a knot on the back of her head.
Shit shit shit.
I walk over to the towel rack and grab a flannel, before running it under some cold water. I sit beside her on the cold floor.
She blinks at me. “Hi,” her voice is quiet and hoarse.
“Hey,” I offer her a small smile and press the flannel against her forehead. She leans into it before gagging again and vomiting into the toilet, narrowly avoiding me.
“I was silly,” she mumbles.
I chuckle softly. “Yeah, you were. What happened to not drinking?”
She leans against the wall taking the flannel with her.
“I saw Jamie and Liv making out in the kitchen,” she admits, a sad smile plastered on her face.
“Well that could lead anyone to throw up.”
She laughs and I feel like I’ve won something.
“So, you saw Jamie and Liv kissing? Is that all?” I ask, trying to determine the
cause of her self-destruction.
She shakes her head drunkenly. “No. Jamie told me that there were–that there were rumours of us dating, and then I-I wanted to kill you, but the-the crowd was stressful a-and loud and–” she shakes her head again firmly. “I didn’t like it. And then I saw Liv and Jamie kissing.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. Well, thank you for explaining, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the rumours, but I gotta get you home now.”
I stand up and grab her arm and wrap it around my shoulders. She stumbles slightly as she stands.
“How much did you even drink?” I ask, as she continues to stagger down the hallway.
“I’m not sure. I think three?”
“Three what?”
“Beers.”
I come to a stop when we reach the stairs. “Hang on, you only had three beers?”
She nods. “I didn’t really eat though before. And I’ve never drank alcohol before.”
“Well, it’s clear you're a lightweight. Now we’re at the stairs now, so can you try a little harder to stay up? I don’t want you falling.”
She immediately jolts upright and tries to steady her steps, while still clinging on to me. I would be freaking out right now if it weren’t for the fact that she’s intoxicated.
We reach the bottom of the staircase five minutes later and are welcomed with the sight of Liv and Jamie arguing.
“How do you not know what a panic attack is?” Liv screams at him. “You dated for four months!”
“Babe–”
“Don’t call me that!” she yells at the top of her lungs.
I glance around at the crowd of people watching the argument, some recording, some laughing and some just looking confused.
Great, I think to myself, the crowd is definitely going to help Matilda with her anxiety.
I glance towards Matilda where she looks like she’s about to burst into tears.
Operation Get-Matilda-Out Activated.
“Okay, we’re gonna have to separate if we’re going to get out of this crowd. Hold onto my hand and I’ll get us through, yeah?” I whisper into her ear.
She blinks up at me before nodding silently. I clasp her hand in mine tightly before making my way through the sea of people.
The pungent smell of alcohol makes its way through my nose and I’m immediately hit with regret. Not for me–for Matilda.
Because of course she wouldn’t enjoy this stupid party.
She sits alone every morning before school on a bench, her headphones blasting and a book in her lap, she eats lunch in the school library, and I haven’t seen her initiate conversation with anyone at school in about six months. And even worse, when someone does talk to her she looks surprised.
So, in what world would she ever want to come to a party?
As much as I hate to admit it, Liv was right. Matilda shouldn’t be such a pushover, especially if it’s going to lead her to drink her head off.
I’m yanked out of my thoughts when the crowd starts to move–I’m unsure where to. I feel Matilda’s hand start to slip out my grip, and I’m worried I’m going to lose her. Worried she’s going to fall over and get trampled.
But then, Matilda’s hand tightens around mine and I can barely breathe. Although, that could be to do with the fact that I’m being smothered by a million people right now.
With one last tug on her arm, I’m free of the crowd and so is she.
I look down at her, where she looks pale again, and I’m scared she’s going to throw up, or that she’s having another panic attack. (I’ve done a lot of research on panic attacks now, but I didn’t search up what to do when you have one when you’re drunk. I make a mental note to do that when I get home.)
“You okay?” I ask her, pushing back some of the hair that sticks to her forehead.
She blinks up at me. “I feel sick,” she mumbles, gripping onto my arm again.
“Oh, uhh,” I look around, knowing there isn’t actually a way for her to stop throwing up. “Let’s get you outside, yeah? Better to throw up out there than in here.” She nods in agreement and staggers out the front door.
I’m only just getting Matilda into the car when Liv appears. I slam the door where Matilda sits in the passenger seat. I’m not sure what Liv’s going to say, but if it’s something about Jamie I’m not sure Matilda will want to hear it.
“Is she okay?” Liv asks quietly, her eyes slightly red.
I nod. “Yeah. She’s drunk, and she feels sick. But she’s better than what she was earlier. Everything okay with you?” I ask her.
She offers me a small smile, but it’s not mocking or cruel. It’s kind. “Just fine, yeah. Text me when you drop her back. Please,” she adds.
“Sure thing,” I say, frowning. She walks back off into the house without so much as a goodbye or a glance behind her and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
We arrive at Matilda’s house with her still looking incredibly pale. She hasn’t thrown up again yet, but I’m assuming she will soon, given the fact that she gagged several times before we got here.
I climb out of my side of the car and walk over to hers.
“Okay, we’re here. Come on,” I say. She seems to have gotten sleepier on the ride over which makes her a lot heavier. I pick her up as ungracefully as a drunk giraffe.
“No,” she moans as we get to the front door.
“What?” I frown.
“I don’t want to go home,” she says into my shoulder.
“Why not?”
“My mum’s gonna yell at me. And I don’t like it when people yell.”
“She’s not going to yell at you.” I won’t let her.
“You promise?” she murmurs.
I shift her so she can look at me. I cradle her face in my hands before whispering, “I promise.”
She opens her mouth to say something but the door opens before she can.
Matilda’s mum stands there, blinking at both of us. “Oh, uhm,” she looks behind her. “I heard voices.”
I nod and shift my position so I’m facing her and no longer holding her daughter’s face. I’ve already made enough trouble with the dating rumours, I don’t want to add her mother to the list as well. “Uhh, there’s not really an easy way to say this, but Matilda is a tad…drunk.”
She narrows her eyes on her daughter before gasping and grabbing Matilda’s arm. “What were you thinking?” she demands.
Matilda looks at me wide-eyed as if to say, You lied.
I throw her an apologetic look. “It’s my fault, Miss Weston. I left her to catch up with my friends and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” And I mean it.
Matilda’s mum straightens. “Well, thank you for admitting that, but it’s not your fault,” she gives Matilda a stern look. “Thank you for bringing her home, William.”
“His full name’s not William,” Matilda slurs and stumbles again. I grab her arm to hold her upright.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” her mum says, frowning. She looks sincere.
“It’s really not a–” Matilda falls again and I steady her, “--big deal,” I say, offering her a smile.
Miss Weston nods. “Well, thank you again for bringing her–”
She’s cut off by her phone ringing. She glances at the caller ID discreetly, but not discreetly enough that I can’t see the name ‘Tony’ pop up.
“Oh, it’s work,” she says. I cock an eyebrow. “It’s really important. I hope you don’t mind, but could you just get her settled? I’ve been waiting for this call all day and I just–”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. I know she’s lying, but I can’t particularly leave Matilda on her own. Not again.
She thanks me before running off to her home office.
“Okay, come on,” I say to Matilda, keeping my voice as soft as possible. “Now, I’m gonna take you to the bathroom, just in case you throw up again and I’m gonna get you some food, to soak up the alcohol a little. Can you tell me where the bathroom is?” I ask her.
She points a finger upstairs. “Of course it is,” I mutter.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
“Uh, no, it’s fine. Can you wrap your hands around my neck?” She does as I say and I lift her legs up to carry her. Her body is warm against mine and I fight every urge in my body to not freak out.
Because I’m holding Matilda Weston in my arms. I’m holding her and she’s not pulling away.
We reach the top of the stairs a few moments later and she points to a door on the left side of the staircase. I follow it and step inside. It’s spacier than I would’ve imagined. It’s got a double sink, one clean and one messy, and both a shower and a bath.
I grab the pink bath mat that’s hanging on the radiator and place it in front of the toilet. Not the place that I would ideally place her, but she can’t stand up on her own so the sink’s out and I doubt she wants her room smelling like vomit for the next week.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” I say into her hair.
She nods. “Okay,” she whispers.
It barely takes me three minutes to grab a plate, find the bread, spread butter on it and begin my walk back up the stairs.
“Matilda’s not going to want you here.”
I stop short in front of her mum’s office. Her voice is hushed, as she talks on the phone to whoever the hell Tony is.
“Tony, please don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she whispers.
I shake my head. I shouldn’t be listening to this. But I don’t walk away. Because even though I know I shouldn’t be listening to this and I know it isn’t any of my business, whoever the man she’s talking to is someone Matilda would be uncomfortable with. I don’t want her to be blindsided.
I hear her footsteps approach the door and I quickly scatter up the stairs.
“Hey, everything okay?” I ask Matilda as I walk into the bathroom and try not to look guilty.
She nods from her place on the floor and takes the slice of bread I’m holding for her.
“Let’s get you up,” I say, grabbing an arm and placing her on the ledge of the bath.
“Thank you,” she mumbles as she stuffs the bread in her mouth. I smile and shrug.
It takes her less than 20 seconds to eat the bread and I wonder if maybe I should’ve gotten her some McDonald’s on the way home or something. I should’ve asked if she was hungry.
Matilda stands and then immediately falls over her own two feet. I catch her.
“Alright, Bambi, let’s get you to your room,” I say, once again wrapping her arm around my shoulders.
“Don’t call me Bambi,” she says sleepily.
“Bambi,” I tease.
“Is there any woodland animal that you’re not going to call me?”
I grin in response.
“Here’s my room,” she points to the door closest to me.
I push the door open and my heart cracks open. Because being here, in Matilda’s room, feels so oddly personal.
Because of course she would have a bay window with a million blankets and pillows pushed onto it. Of course she would have four bookshelves that reach to her ceiling and are almost entirely devoid of space. Of course she would have teddies piled onto her bedspread. Of course everything in her room was perfectly neat and organised.
Of course, because she’s Matilda.
But I don’t say any of that. Of course I don’t.
“Nice teddies,” I say instead and I want to slam my head into a wall.
“Thanks,” she says, seeming to miss the teasing in my tone. She lays down on the ocean of teddies on top of her bed. “We’ve got loads. We thought since my dad left that we could make the house nice and girly, y’know. We were originally going to paint the entire house pink.”
I nod and shift uncomfortably on my feet. She’d never told me where her dad was. I don’t think she’s ever told anyone.
“When–Uh, when did your dad leave?” I ask. I’m careful to make my tone seem too accusing.
“When I was,” she pauses to think, “five. I thought he would come back for a long time. Until I was nine and then realised that’s not the way the world works.”
I can’t help but picture five-year-old Matilda with her curly hair and pigtails, waiting for her dad to return. Wait for him to pick her up from school. Waiting for him to come back from the door and twirl her around and watch her favourite cartoons with her and I’m suddenly glad that my parents got divorced when I was older, when I understood that life wasn’t all sunshines and rainbows.
“What’s this one called?” I ask, grabbing a bear from beneath her, trying to distract my mind. She squints her eyes, even though I’m only about a metre away from her.
“Bart,” she replies and I fight the urge to snigger. “It’s short for Bartholomew. Don’t laugh, he came with that name! Besides, I think it suits him,” she says indignantly and snatching him from my grip.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I say as I crouch down to meet her at eye-level.
She stares at me for several moments, her eyes incredibly solemn. “I want to tell you a secret. Come here a sec,” she says, beckoning me closer. I do as I’m told. She places a hand on the back of my neck and places her lips beside my ear. I swear my heart stops. “I don’t think I hate you anymore,” she whispers.
I swallow. “No?” I ask, my voice too hoarse for my liking.
She shakes her head vigorously. “I mean, I still think you’re a twat. But you’re a nice one.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “A nice twat?”
“Mhm,” she says, her eyes closed, sleep taking over her body but also nodding sincerely.
“Can I get that in writing?”
“Fuck off,” she whispers burying her face into her pillow.
I smile. How I wish Sober Matilda was as honest to me as Drunk Matilda.
Five minutes later, her breathing steadies and her chest is rising and falling evenly. I just stare at her sleeping form. She’s still so beautiful–even when she’s sweaty and drunk.
I sweep back her hair that’s sticking to her head and press a gentle kiss against her forehead. I then grab Bart who has fallen out of her arms onto the floor and place him next to her and pat his head. “Take care of her, okay?” I tell him. He doesn’t move–of course he doesn’t he’s a goddamn teddy bear. I really am losing my mind over this girl.
I grab the tin bin and place it in front of her, just in case she throws up again.
I’m pondering whether to take her makeup off when I hear someone clear their throat. I glance up and see Matilda’s mother leaning against the doorway staring at us both suspiciously.
“Oh– Hi, Miss Weston–”
“You can call me Annabel.”
“Oh, okay. I was just gonna leave,” I say. She nods, walking further into the room and taking a seat at the end of her daughter’s bed.
“I was wondering, uh…How does Matilda organise her books?” I ask, pointing to the bookshelf, replacing her position against the doorway.
I know I shouldn’t pry, but I want to know every single thing about Matilda Weston that she would let me get a hold of.
“Author, series, genre, colour,” she says easily. “In order of importance. Although she says that if it is part of a series then putting them all together is more important than organising them by author.”
“Ah,” I say. “Makes sense.”
She nods, still wearing that strange smile on her face. I’m not usually one for paranoia but it does feel very much like I’m about to get murdered right now.
“What exactly is going on between you and Matilda?” she asks.
Or that I’m about to get interrogated.
“Nothing,” I say honestly. She narrows her eyes at me. “Seriously, nothing.”
“Okay…it just seems that you’re hanging out a lot. And before last week, she never even mentioned you.”
Wow, ouch.
“We’re just friends,” I say with a shrug and try to avoid the stinging in my chest.
She frowns. “Really?”
“Yes. Ask her, I’m pretty sure she’d throw up at the thought of it,” I say, avoiding the impulse to roll my eyes.
“Okay, fine, I’ll leave it. But if I find out you’re lying to me–”
“I know, I know. But I’m not,” I say, running a hand down my face. I don’t know why I thought she would talk about me. I mean, I don’t talk about her, not ever. But it stings that she’s never even thought to mention me to her own mother.
She tilts her head at me. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah, fine. Just need to get home.”
“Okay. I’d offer to drive you, but,” she gestures to Matilda.
“I get it. I’ll see you around, Miss We–Annabel,” I say, offering a smile. Time to get the hell out of this interrogation room.
“Oh, and Will,” I pause and turn around to look at her where she’s looking at Matilda who’s still curled up on top of her bed, sleeping soundly, “please don’t let me shy you away from Matilda. I think you’re a nice boy and I know, I know, you’re not dating but she–” Annabel cuts herself off before she turns to look at me and offers me a sad smile. “She doesn’t have many friends. And I think you’d be a good friend to her.”
I smile and the stinging pain in my chest eases slightly. “Thanks. If it makes you feel any better I wasn’t gonna let your interrogation scare me off anyway. I was just gonna avoid your house.”
She laughs. “Alright, now I’ve delayed you long enough, go,” she says, waving her hand toward me, shooing me away.
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
As I drive home I try not to think about Matilda and her room.
I try not to think about her and her perfectly organised bookshelves.
I try not to think about how sad she looked when she was telling me about her dad.
I try not to think about her telling me she doesn’t hate me anymore.
I try not to think about her.
I fail miserably.
Matilda
I’m woken up by the sound of the front door slamming shut and a pounding headache.
I’m immediately hit with the regret of what I did last night. I mean drinking, really? Embarrassing for me.
And then I’m hit with even more embarrassment when I remember Will.
Will cleaning me up after vomiting in Stacy’s bathroom. Will holding my hand through the crowd. Will carrying me up the stairs. Will listening to me blab about my dumb dad.
Oh, God, how was I ever going to face him again?
Because I do want to see him again. Despite the teasing and the jokes and his idiocy, I’ve developed some sort of camaraderie with him. But I don’t know how I would ever speak to him again without bursting into piles of flames.
I groan and, in spite of my ear-splitting headache, I force myself to open my eyes and sit up. And then immediately hurl into the bin next to me.
I sigh and lean my head back against my headboard. I hear my bedroom door creak open.
“I’m sorry, mum,” I whisper.
She takes a seat next to me and reaches out to grab my hand. She squeezes it. “That’s alright, hon. Oh, you got some vomit on Bart,” she says, grabbing him out from under my arm. I don’t remember putting him there.
“I’m sorry, Bart,” I say. My voice is rough and harsh from throwing up and the taste of it sticks to my tongue. It’s ironically making me want to vomit again.
“I’ll wash him in a min. Should probably wash that dress as well. And your bedsheets,” my mum says, offering me a gentle smile.
I look down at the dress I’m still wearing. It’s covered in vomit and stinks of sweat and I’m not sure I want to know what my face looks like.
“Thanks,” I say, offering her the best smile I can. “Did you go out earlier?”
“Yeah, I was getting you some breakfast. You should probably shower first though,” she advises, looking me up and down. I hum in agreement and force myself to sit up. I stretch and roll back my shoulders and my muscles groan in response. I should probably have a bath.
I gasp, realising something. “My job at the bookstor-”
“I already called Mrs Rafferty. She says she knows hangovers are a bitch.”
I force out a laugh. “Yeah, I think I agree with her.”
“Okay. Now go have a shower or bath. And clean your face because that makeup’s been on your face all night,” she instructs.
I simply offer her a quiet ‘okay’ before walking off to the bathroom.
I’m hit with new fuzzy memories as I step foot inside.
Will whispering into my hair. Will bringing me food. Will treating me with so much respect and gentleness that I wonder how I ever did hate him.
I’m at least glad he doesn’t know I don’t hate him–I don’t think I could handle the mocking. At least I kept some shred of dignity.
I shake my head free from the thoughts and shut the door before turning the bath faucets on.
I walk back to my room and grab my wash bag. My mum has already left and my bedsheets have been removed. I’m about to tug my dress off when my phone begins to ring.
I grab it from my bedside table and see the Caller ID. It’s Vivi.
A normal human might be angry at Vivi for ‘forcing them to go’. But I’m not. Because it’s not her fault I’m a pushover. I mean, I apologise to inanimate objects for god’s sake; how could I ever say no to anyone, least of all my best friend, who, despite all my and her flaws, has stuck by me through the entire seven years we’ve been in the same school? I just can’t.
I click the answer button and I’m greeted with Vivi’s smiling face. I try to smile back.
I obviously fail to be convincing because she winces and says, “What’s up with you?”
“Uh, nothing. I’m just a tiny bit hungover right now,” I say.
“What?!” she yells.
“Okay, not helping, Vee,” I scold and massage my temples.
“Sorry. But what? You? Hungover? I refuse to believe it.”
“Well, believe it. After several sweaty crowds, finding out that me and Will are apparently dating and seeing Jamie’s tongue down Liv’s throat, I picked up a beer. And then two more after that. So, hello, Hangover.”
“You and who are dating?” Vivi asks, because of course she would zero in on the one detail about my utterly barren love life.
“Will North, apparent-”
I’m cut off with the sound of her clattering out of her chair and swearing colourfully.
“Okay, you’ve got to stop doing that,” I say. “You’ve fallen out of your chair twice in just over a week.”
“You and Will North are dating?” She ignores my previous comment.
“What? No, of course not! There was just this rumour going around that we were because of that whole mall debacle.”
“Huh,” she says, narrowing her eyes like she does when she’s thinking of some sort of plan. And her plans are never good.
I don’t have the time to ask what she’s thinking as I hear my mother’s voice carrying down the hallway telling me the bath’s full.
“I’ve got to go. Tell me what the hell you’re thinking later.”
“Sure. Next time you see me I’ll have a whole presentation ready.”
I roll my eyes and give her my goodbyes before going off to have a bath and wondering what the hell Vivi’s plan is.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Once I’m clean and have done my skincare routine, I sit down at my desk, ready to call Vivi back. But I decide to put my makeup on and check my notifications first. So I connect my headphones and click on my morning playlist. ‘Linger’ by The Cranberries starts to play.
I open my phone and almost squeal when I spot a notification from Jamie.
I know I shouldn’t be into him still. We’d broken up six months ago and he was now dating one of my supposed best friends. But I was, goddamnit.
Because whether it was his dazzling blue eyes or his unbelievably soft hair or the way he smiled, there was something about him.
I open the notification and see his message. Jamie: Hey, you okay? You were pretty messed up last night
I smile and resist another squeal.
For the record, I’m not delusional, it’s just that I haven’t received a message from him since we’ve broken up.
Me: Yeah, I’m okay. Just have a headache.
He responds less than five minutes later
Jamie: 😅
Jamie: Glad to hear. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.
Me: Bye
He doesn’t respond.
I’m then about to call Vee back when my phone pings.
Will: hope you’re not dead, weston
I roll my eyes. He was going to make it so much easier to not ignore him if he talks to me like that.
Me: back at you
Will: I wasn’t the one drunk out of my mind last night
Me: I wasn’t ‘drunk out of my mind’. I was tipsy
Will: if you were tipsy then I’m the easter bunny
I stifle a smile. Me: fuck off, north
Will: gladly
I feel a strange kind of loss when I see him go offline. Which is insane. Maybe I really am on my period.
I free my mind of the thoughts. I wasn’t going to focus on my weird, out-of-whack feelings for Will North. I need to focus on whatever Vivi was planning, because if my instincts are right (which they usually are when it comes to Vivi) then it’s going to need my full attention.
I remove and disconnect my headphones and am about to click the FaceTime button when I see she’s sent me a Zoom link.
Me: ???
Vivi: just click on it
I roll my eyes and do as she says.
As soon as I join, I see on the screen a whole ass presentation. The first slide reads ‘Matilda Weston’s Guide to Fake Dating’ in big pink swirly letters. Vivi obviously clicks something because then a bunch of kiss marks and love hearts come on the screen. Loud music starts to play from inside her bedroom and I see on her camera her dancing very enthusiastically as if she’s at a rave or something.
“Okay, first of all,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose, “when did you have time to do all of this? Second of all, is it really necessary? And what do you mean fake-dating?”
“What?” she yells and walks over to her stereo to turn the music off. I’ve pointed out several times that she could just stream music on her phone of which she told me I had no taste. She sits back down at her desk and says, very out-of-breath, “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said ‘what do you mean fake-dating?’”
“Oh, right. Before I answer that, I’m going to need you to take an oath–”
“An oath? That is the most ridicu-”
“--an oath,” she continues as if I haven’t said anything, “to swear that you won’t interrupt or talk until after I’ve finished this presentation. Now, put your hand over your heart and say the words ‘I, Matilda Weston, the most judgiest woman on the planet, will not interrupt Genevive Zhou when she is giving her most amazing presentation that she has been saving for three years–”
“Three years!”
“--for her bestest friend in the universe.’”
I groan and rest my face in my hands before placing my hand over my heart. This is by far the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.
I repeat the oath back to her, although leaving out the ‘judgiest woman on the planet’ bit out, which is extremely untrue.
Vivi shrugs. “Good enough, I suppose.
“Now,” she switches to the next slide, “let’s get on with it.”
I’m going to save your brain cells with this one so here’s the basic gist of it:
She wants me to fake date Will North in order to get Jamie’s attention because she knows I’m over-the-top, want-to-slit-my-own-throat in love with him.
Which is, of course, a terrible idea. Not only is it not going to work, but it goes against all of my morals and fine, my pride.
I’m not an arrogant person. In fact, I’m very far from it. But there is a certain amount of patheticness that I will not stoop to and this is one of them.
And not only is it pathetic, it’s petty. One of my best friends (or ex-best friends. I’m not really sure what Liv and I’s relationship is.) is seeing him. She may be able to live with herself while dating my ex but I can’t. I couldn’t. Could I?
“Look, I appreciate all this effort you put into it to get me a boyfriend. I– Really I am. But what about Liv?”
Vivi’s smile drops. Me and her hardly ever talk about Liv, seeing as they had a big fight the day they left. I took Vivi’s side, and Liv hasn’t talked to either of us ever since. It’s not like I haven’t tried to apologise for both of us, but Liv’s anger is relentless.
“I get what you’re saying,” she says, “but I was talking with Aubrey, who was talking to David, who used to go out with Liv’s new friend Liana who talked to another of Liv’s friends, Andie who talked to Liv last week and she said that Liv said that her and Jamie aren’t serious and ‘she’s just looking for a bit of fun.’”
I blink rapidly, trying to wrap my head around the names that have just been thrown at me. “Hang on, go back a step; who’s Aubrey?”
“Mason’s cousin.”
“Mason as in your ex?”
“Yes.”
“And who’s David?”
“Aubrey’s brother.”
“Okay, wait. So David and Aubrey are siblings?”
“Correct.”
“And they’re Mason, your ex-boyfriend's cousins.”
“Yeah.”
“And Liana and David used to date.”
“Yeah. None of this is important,” she says, frowning.
“Well you can’t just throw a bunch of people at me and act like I know who they are.”
“It’s fine, whatever. So, what do you think?”
I sigh. “Petty and patheticness aside, how do you know Jamie will even care or notice me if I’m ‘dating’ Will?”
“Well, he showed you attention when you were at the mall.”
I give her a look that says I-love-you-but-that-is-the-most-delusional-and ridiculous-thing-I’ve-ever-heard. “That was because of Liv. And he said like three words to me.”
“Okay, I’ll admit, the plan is not totally foolproof. But has he shown you attention since then?”
I shrug casually. “He talked to me last night. And he messaged me this morning.”
Vivi squeals.
This may sound stupid, but I think another reason I like Jamie so much is because Vivi liked him. I always try to tell myself that I shouldn’t care what others think of me, but I do care. I care a lot. And I especially care for Vivi’s opinion. I know a lot of the time it just seems like she wants me to have a boyfriend, to have someone be there for me when she can’t, but I also know that if she thought someone wasn’t right for me, she would say something, and she never once said a bad word about Jamie.
“See, I told you! And if you’re still unsure, we can do a trial run. Like a month or something, and if it doesn’t work we can stop,” she offers.
I consider this for a moment. “Fine. But,” I say, louder to cover her delighted screams, “who’s to say that Will will even say yes? I mean he’s not the biggest fan of me.” Or Jamie, I add silently.
She frowns at that, clearly haven't even thought of the possibility that he might say no. “Good point. We could find someone else?” she suggests and I shake my head.
Because for reasons unknown, I feel comfortable around Will. Even before he took care of me or helped me, I felt like I could be myself around him.
And I hardly felt that around anyone.
And I don’t even know any other guys who could take Will’s place. I’m sure Vivi has guy friends who would offer or could be an option but I wouldn’t feel comfortable around them, let alone feel comfortable faking a relationship.
“I’ll just ask Will and if he says no we’ll abandon the plan,” I say. She nods in agreement.
Now to figure out how the hell I’m going to ask him.
Matilda
After taking a 45 minute bus ride and another 10 minute walk, I’d finally arrived at Will’s house.
Which is where I am standing now, in my lucky pink cable knit sweater, a box of blueberry muffins in my hands and desperately trying not to throw up. I’m not sure whether it’s a symptom of the event or the hangover.
As for the muffins, I thought bribery would be the best tactic for getting him to agree.
I tighten my fingers around the tupperware box and reach for the doorbell. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous, because I don’t even want to do this thing. Sure, it would be nice to get my boyfriend back, but it doesn’t matter.
I press down on the button.
It doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter.
The door opens and Will stands there. Shirtless.
His skin is taut and tanned and I feel blood rush to my cheeks. I smack my hands over my eyes and swivel so I’m facing away from the door. Away from his very, very muscled abdomen.
“Put on a shirt!” I screech.
The sound of his deep, sexy laugh (Can a laugh be sexy? I’m not sure.) has my toes curling and I feel my face flush with heat. I’m not sure I want to turn around to face him again.
I hear his footsteps retreat before he returns and says, “This any better?”
I don’t want to turn around. Everything in my body is screaming at me to run. That this is a horrible idea and I should make a run for it while I still can.
But instead I turn around.
Will is leaning against the door frame in a black compression shirt, a pair of grey joggers and a smirk on his handsome face. God, I hate how attractive he is.
“Yes,” I say, my voice shaking. His smirk grows. “Yes, it’s much better.”
He nods, his eyes glinting with mischief. I sweep at my cheeks as if that’s going to somehow make the scarlet in my cheeks disappear.
“Can I, um–Can I come in?” I ask.
He cocks an eyebrow and rests his head against the door jamb. “Depends. What’s in the box?”
“Oh.” I chuckle slightly. “Blueberry muffins.”
“Then be my guest,” he says.
I wipe my feet on the mat and take a look around the foyer. I can still see the remnants of his mother living here.
The faded wallpaper is white with swirly pink and yellow flowers decorating it and the vase in the centre of the table is empty, as if nobody has bothered to move it.
I wonder if Will misses his mother. I don’t remember much about her, other than the fact that she looked exactly like him. The same brown, wavy hair and hazel brown eyes. They were missing the kindness his has, though.
And suddenly, I want to ask him. I want to ask him whether he misses her. I want to ask him when he sees her. Does he enjoy seeing her? Does he ever see her?
But I remember how he acted the first time I came here. Him acting normal, and then switching off and running into the house.
It’s best not to, I tell myself.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to.
“Come in, I was just making some eggs. Do you want some?” he says over his shoulder as he walks into the kitchen.
I tug off my shoes before placing them on the shoe rack and walking into the kitchen. I look around the kitchen and am hit with white-hot embarrassment when I remember what happened here last time.
“Er, no…thank you. I don’t like eggs.”
He glances over his shoulder from where he is now standing by the stove, frowning. “You’re a very picky eater.”
“Sorry?”
“I said ‘you’re a picky eater.’ You don’t like coffee either.”
“It’s a very common thing to not like coffee, actually. And I have a bad experience with eggs,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“A bad experience?” he teases.
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
“Oh, well, once when I was ten, I was ill, so my mother made me some scrambled eggs, for y’know protein and all that, but I was so ill that as soon as I put it in my mouth I threw them all up so that ruined eggs for me forever.” I pause. “I also can’t stand the smell.”
Will chuckles as he serves the eggs up onto a plate where a full English breakfast lies. “It’s just as well, I don’t have any eggs left anyway. Do you want anything else?” he asks, sitting down across from me at the long dining table.
I snatch a piece of bacon from his plate and his jaw drops open.
“Thanks,” I say, giggling and taking a bite into it.
“Rude!” he says. I laugh. “How dare you! I needed that. I’ve just come back from the gym.”
“Well, it’s good that I’ve stolen your bacon, then, it’ll keep you in shape,” I joke but my thoughts are plagued by the thoughts of Will at the gym. The thought of Will shirtless–
No, stop thinking about his chest, Matilda.
Focus. You need to focus.
“Are you calling me fat, Weston?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because I think you know I’m anything but,” he says with a knowing glance. I blush. He smirks.
“Look, I didn’t come to talk to you about your abs.”
“No?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his wide chest.
I clear my throat, trying to free my head from the thoughts of his shirtless body. “No. I uhm, I need your help with something,” I say quietly, flattening my curls. I didn’t have time to do any of my hair care this morning so now I’m left with frizzy hair.
I finally glance up at his face where he’s caught between looking shocked and wanting to tease me.
He opens his mouth to say something but smacks it closed. He does this for what feels like three hours until he finally stutters out, “O-okay. Um, with-with what?”
“It’s sort of…complicated,” I say.
“You haven’t murdered someone, have you?”
“What? No!”
“Okay, just checking. It was sort of heading in that direction.”
“Why would I come to you if I wanted to bury a body? In fact, if I had murdered someone, I would bury the body myself. Alone.”
“Okay, hang on. So, you haven’t murdered anyone?”
“Of course not!” I scream.
“Yet you somehow have a whole plan for when you do murder someone. That’s weird. And terrifying,” he comments.
“It’s not weird, I just read a lot of Holly Jackson books! We’re getting off track!” I snap.
“I’m sorry. Please continue,” he says, gesturing.
“Thank you. Um. It’s kind of hard to explain. But we need to fake-date,” I say. His eyebrows shoot up.
“Okay, hang on,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair and sitting up from his chair.
“Okay, look. I need to explain, okay? But to do that you can’t interrupt me
so you just need to listen.”
Will opens his mouth to say something before shutting it and giving me a nod.
I take a deep breath and I explain. I explain my complicated feelings for Jamie. I explain Vivi’s plan and the deadline that comes with it.
And throughout it all he stays eerily silent, frowning and nodding in certain places and occasionally taking a bite of his breakfast.
I once again find myself thinking how I ever hated him. Because he could attack me, he could tease me, he could make ridiculous jokes about my feelings but he doesn’t and I feel like I could hug him.
“So,” I say, taking a deep breath. “What do you think? Please don’t feel pressured. It’s just a thing that my friend, Genevive, came up with after she saw how sad I was about Liv and him dating. Well, technically she came up with it like three years ago–”
“Matilda,” Will interrupts.
“I’m not exactly sure why. I mean, I didn’t even have a crush on anyone three years ago and even if I did–”
“Matilda.”
“--I was far too level-headed back then than I am now. Which is really weird seeing as–”
“Oh my god, would you shut up?” he asks, cutting off my rambling. I blink at him and start to play with the ends of my hair.
He rests his head in his hands before saying, “I’ll do it.”
I blink. Twice.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m pushing back my chair and throwing my arms around him.
The soft scent of his woodsy cologne and sweat fills my senses and I bury my face further into his chest. His body tenses slightly before his arms slowly wrap around my body.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I know it’s stupid. I know this whole plan is stupid and I’m stupid for going along with it but…” I trail off.
He tugs me closer for a moment before pulling me back and taking my face in his hands. I’m hit with the odd sense of deja vu.
“You’re not stupid, Matilda, and I don’t want to hear otherwise,” he says. His eyes are solemn and all I can do is blink and blink before giving him a quiet “okay.”
He nods once before pulling away from me and I miss the warmth of his body. “Okay, um,” he clears his throat, “what now?”
I frown. “Good question.”
Chapter 8
Will
When I open my front door, I expect to see the postman or an Amazon delivery driver, hell, I’m pretty sure I would’ve expected Gracie Abrams to show up at my door unannounced rather than Matilda.
I mean, showing up here is one thing but showing up unannounced is a whole separate thing entirely.
Something’s wrong.
Maybe I’m dreaming again.
Matilda blinks up at me several times before glancing down at my bare chest and blushing furiously. I can barely resist my smirk.
“Put on a shirt!” she screams, her voice high and shrill.
I laugh before grabbing my shirt out of my gym bag and tugging it on before returning to her. “This any better?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
She turns back around. “Yes,” she says, her voice breathy.
I take her unguarded state as an advantage to study her.
She looks prettier today, I think. Despite her frizzy curls that are free from their usual flat-ironed cage and her muddy jeans that she doesn’t seem to notice herself, there’s something about her that makes her look more alluring than usual. Is she wearing less makeup? I’m not sure, I’m not good with all that shit, but she looks fucking beautiful regardless.
“Yes, it’s much better,” she says, regaining her composure.
I nod, still smirking.
She’s blushing. She’s so pretty when she’s blushing.
“Can I, um–Can I come in?”
I tilt my head. “Depends. What’s in the box?”
“Oh,” Matilda laughs softly. “Blueberry muffins.”
“Then be my guest,” I say, moving away from the doorway.
She enters and wipes her feet on the mat before looking around the room carefully, as if there are monsters in the corners.
I’ve noticed that with her–how she’s always on high alert, looking around as if she’s running from something.
I continue to watch her, her mind completely absent from the room now.
Sunlight peeks in through the curtains, making her eyes look even brighter
than usual. Her eyes normally? Fucking gorgeous. But when the sun hits them, it’s a whole different thing.
Her mind is coming back into the room now, so I decide it’s best to look away as to, y’know, not look like a creep.
I clear my throat. “Come in, I was just making some eggs," I say over my shoulder as I walk back into the kitchen. “Do you want some?”
She follows me in a few moments later and says, “Er, no thank you. I don’t like eggs.”
I make a mental note of that. Eggs = Bad.
“You’re a very picky eater,” I comment casually. I don’t even mean to say it to be honest.
“Sorry?” she asks, frowning.
Damn it. “I said you’re a picky eater. You don’t like coffee either.”
“It’s a very common thing to not like coffee, actually,” she says defensively. “And I have a bad experience with eggs.”
I smile. She’s so serious all the time, it’s ridiculous. “A bad experience?”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
“Oh, well, once when I was ten, I was ill, so my mother made me some scrambled eggs, for y’know protein and all that, but I was so ill that as soon as I put it in my mouth I threw them all up so that ruined eggs for me forever.” She pauses for a moment and plays with her hair nervously. “I also can’t stand the smell.”
I chuckle and scrape the eggs onto my breakfast plate. I sit down across from here where she’s sitting nervously. I don’t know why she’s so nervous. It’s clear she’s here for a reason. I just can’t figure out what.
“It’s just as well,” I say, stabbing a sausage with my fork, “I don’t have any eggs left anyway. Can I get you anything else?” I ask before stuffing the sausage in my mouth.
Without warning, she grabs a piece of bacon from my plate and my sausage almost falls out of my mouth.
She takes a bite out of it. “Thanks,” she giggles.
“Rude!” I say, trying not to laugh or choke on my food. “How dare you! I need that, I’ve just came back from the gym.”
“Well it’s good I’ve stolen your bacon then, it’ll keep you in shape,” she says, taking another bite of bacon. Cheeky little shit.
“Are you calling me fat, Weston? Because I think you know I’m anything but.” I smirk at her and her giggles stop and her face flushes a deep scarlet.
Her face grows serious again and I almost laugh.
“Look, I didn’t come here to talk about your abs.”
“No?” I tease, leaning back in my chair. I can sense a serious conversation coming on and I’m intensely uncomfortable. So what do I do? I make myself look the complete opposite.
She clears her throat and swallows and flattens her hair. Another nervous habit of hers.
“No. I, um, I need your help with something,” she says quietly and I’m taken aback as I remember her words from a week ago.
Unless I ask for your help, like today, then just don’t do anything.
And, to be honest, I didn’t expect her to ever ask for anything ever again. I mean she’s got loads of other options. Her mother for one.
So why exactly does she need my help?
I open my mouth to say something, I’m not sure I even know what. I do this a few times and I’m very sure I look like a fish until I finally say, “O-okay. Um, with-with what?”
“It’s sort of…complicated,” she says.
“You haven’t murdered anyone, have you?”
Jokes, jokes, jokes.
Because the air around us is tense and thick, far too much for my liking.
Because it’s the only way to stop me from running away right now.
Because humour is my armour and wit is my sword.
I’m not sure what she’s going to ask, but I can feel that it’s not going to be any good.
“What? No!” she says, frowning and wide-eyed.
“Okay, just checking. It was sort of heading in that direction.”
“Why would I come to you if I wanted to bury a body? In fact, if I had murdered someone, I would bury the body myself. Alone.”
Okay, I won’t lie, it’s a tad insulting. I would be great at burying a body.
“Okay, hang on. So, you haven’t murdered anyone?”
“Of course not!”
“Yet you somehow have a whole plan for when you do murder someone. That’s weird. And terrifying,” I tell her.
“It’s not weird I just read a lot of Holly Jackson books! We’re getting off track!” she snaps.
“I’m sorry. Please continue,” I say, gesturing for her to continue.
“Thank you. Um. It’s kind of hard to explain. But we need to fake-date,” she says.
And just like that my heart falls out of my chest.
Because she said we need to fake-date.
Emphasis on fake.
What would that even include? I’m sure it’s none of the things I want to do with her.
“Okay, hang on,” I say, running a hand through my hair and pushing back from my seat. This news is too big to digest sitting down.
“Okay, look. I need to explain, okay? But to do that you can’t interrupt me so please just listen,” she says, her eyes are so big and pleading and scared. And all I want is to make her happy. All I want is to make that look on her face go away.
So, I, very stupidly, gesture for her to continue.
And she explains everything. She explains how her wacky friend Genevive, who I’m not exactly sure whether I like or not, came up with this plan. She explains her feelings for that mediocre asshole Jamie and I feel like I’ve been shot in the chest.
My heart is tumbling onto the kitchen floor and I’m dying, dying, dying and I feel like I’m floating, floating outside of my body and I’m nothing but a ghost.
Jokes can’t help me get out of this one. The rivalry I’ve invented so I could have a way to talk to her won’t survive this. I won’t survive this.
“So,” she finishes, “what do you think?” I open my mouth to say something. I’m not exactly sure what but apparently my mind has made a decision without consulting my mouth first. “Please don’t feel pressured,” she adds quickly. “It’s just a thing my friend, Genevive, came up with after she saw how sad I was about Liv and him dating. Well, technically she came up with it like three years ago–”
“Matilda,” I attempt.
“I’m not exactly sure why, I mean I didn’t even have a crush on anyone three years ago and even if I did–”
“Matilda,” I try again.
She continues to ramble on as if she hasn’t heard me. “--I was far too level-headed back then than I am now. Which is really weird seeing as–”
“Oh my god, would you shut up?” I almost snap. Matilda grows quiet and blinks up at me and I immediately want to cram the words back into my mouth.
I rest my head in my hands. God, I really don’t want to do this. But even if it means her ending up with another man (if you can even call him that), it’s a chance to spend time with her. It’s a chance to get to know her like I always dreamed of doing.
And I would be an idiot to let an opportunity like this pass.
“I’ll do it,” I say and am met with one, two beats of silence.
I hear the scraping of a chair and then feel Matilda’s arms wrap around my midriff. I tense.
The fumes of her vanilla shampoo find their way to my nostrils and I have to try very, very hard not to bury my face into her hair. Instead, I wrap my arms
around her body, returning her affection.
“Thank you,” Matilda whispers into my chest. “I know it’s stupid. I know this whole plan is stupid, and I’m stupid for going along with it but…”
Her voice is thick and heavy with the promise of tears and I squeeze her tighter to me before pulling her away to look at me. I cradle her face in my hands and all I want to do is kiss her. I want to press my lips against her cheeks and hear her laugh and see her smile.
But I can’t do any of that. Because she’s in love with someone else.
“You’re not stupid, Matilda,” I say solemnly, “and I don’t want to hear otherwise.”
She’s blink, blink, blinking back tears and it rips me apart to pull away from her.
I clear my throat, regaining my composure. “Okay, so, what now?”
Matilda
After twenty minutes of confusion and several messages to Vivi later, we’re about to head upstairs when the front door creaks open.
“Will! Alright, son?” Will’s dad asks as he strolls through the door. “Oh, good to see you again Matilda.”
I offer him a polite smile. “Nice to see you again, Mr N–Scott.”
“Everything okay, dad?” Will asks. He’s frowning at his father and tilting his head.
“Oh, yeah, everythin’’s fine. Got a bit of a headache–the restaurant was loud. You?” Scott asks, glancing towards me.
“Yeah,” Will replies breezily. “We were just gonna go upstairs.”
“Okay, well…keep the door open,” Scott says, giving me another glance.
I feel my face burn with heat and decide to stare at my shoes for the rest of this very odd conversation.
There’s a small silence before Will says, “We will.” And pushes me up the stairs.
“Oh, uhm, bye, Mr Nor–Scott,” I call over my shoulder.
We go up two flights of stairs before we reach Will’s room. I’m surprised to see it’s shockingly tidy.
Aside from the unmade bed and the messy bedside table, everything is in its own personalised areas.
The bedsheets are plain and black, as if he couldn’t be bothered with choosing anything and just picked the first thing he could find.
Maybe that’s what he’s doing with this whole fake-dating thing, I think. Maybe he’s just insanely bored and needs drama. I mean, he is basically just a very dramatic, kinder version of a teenage girl.
Maybe he’ll laugh about this situation with his friends. Maybe he’ll–
“Stop that,” he says. I blink at him where he is now flopped onto his unmade bed like a starfish.
“What?”
“I can see you overthinking. I’m not sure about what exactly but you’re probably wrong,” he says lazily.
“I’m never wrong,” I retort. He snorts in response.
A soft silence fills the room. Neither of us has attempted conversation after I asked him. I mean, I struggle making conversation with people daily. What do you even say to someone after you’ve asked them to be your fake-boyfriend?
“Your room isn’t how I imagined it.”
Probably not that, Matilda.
He cocks an eyebrow and I feel my face turning red again.
“Not that I’ve been imagining your bedroom,” I say quickly. Another eyebrow raise. “I just mean that, it’s clean. And you’re not particularly a clean person. Not that you're a messy person!” I add hurriedly.
Oh, God, please just stop talking, me.
“I just meant–”
“I know what you meant, Matilda,” he says. “Although, I do just want to say that if you wanted me to be your boyfriend, you could’ve just asked me.”
“What?”
“You really didn’t have to make up this whole ‘fake-dating’ thing as a ruse to get me to go out with you,” he says, before placing a hand over his heart. “I mean, I would’ve let you down easy.”
“Oh my God, you’re the most egotistical human I’ve ever met!” I laugh.
“I think we’ve been over the size of my ego before, Weston,” he says, giving me a knowing look.
I laugh and then he’s laughing, his head tilted back ever so slightly, dimples flashing once again.
I flop onto the bed next to him and I feel the mattress dip as he turns to face me.
I look around the room again, wanting to see it from a different perspective. I think about how this is how he wakes up everyday, and knowing that feels so weirdly personal. I don’t like it.
I turn to look at Will and notice his eyes studying my face, his gaze lingering on my lips for a second too long. I swallow. “What are you doing?” I breathe out.
He meets my gaze and I see a flicker of panic, just for a moment, before returning to his casual, don’t-give-two-fucks, I’m-going-to-tease-you-until- you-cry demeanour.
“Practising,” he replies, his voice slightly scratchy.
“Oh. Well you’re very good at acting.”
Will smiles softly, studying my face once again. “Thank you.”
His eyes flutter closed and he buries his face into his pillow sleepily.
I take the moment to examine his face. His sharp features softened by the sunlight. His relaxed body. His messy hair.
It’s odd, sleeping is. How the few hours of the day you allow yourself to truly be vulnerable, you don’t particularly look it.
You just look…soft. Gentle, almost.
And what’s even weirder, is the fact that two weeks ago I would never, ever have chosen those words to describe Will. That two weeks ago if you told me that I was in Will North’s bedroom, asking him to be my fake boyfriend and watching him fall asleep, I would’ve told you you were crazy.
My fingers itch to brush away the stray hair that’s fallen in front of his forehead. I’m about to when his eyes flutter back open and I’m caught mid-reach.
Will blinks at me a few times, either from sleepiness or shock, before his mouth parts to say something.
My phone begins to ring and we both jolt upright like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t have.
“Uhm, I’m gonna go and get some water,” Will says, clearing his throat.
“Okay,” I say, not looking at him.
He leaves the room and I take a deep breath.
Now is not the time for another mental breakdown, Matilda.
I reach for my phone in my bag and reject the call.
Me: I’ll call you on my laptop
Vivi responds with a thumbs up emoji.
I set up the laptop and am about to click the call button but I decide to look at myself in the mirror first.
I stand up and take a glance in my reflection before wincing slightly.
I didn’t have time to properly do my makeup this morning, and hangover-me looks rough.
My hair is even more frizzy and curly than I thought and I almost die of mortification right then and there. God, I can’t believe I allowed myself to go out in public like this.
I free my head of the thoughts before tying my hair up in a ponytail. Not great, but fixes the hair problem at least.
I take my seat on Will’s bed and finally click the call button.
It rings once, twice before Vivi finally picks up.
“Took you long enough!” she says. I roll my eyes.
“Sorry, I just took a look in a mirror, I look a mess,” I tell her, flattening my hair again.
“Yeah, you do. Sorry, that sounds bad, but it’s true. I really advise you not to get drunk again,” she says, giving me a pitying look.
“I agree,” says Will from the doorway. He returns to his place next to me and offers me a digestive biscuit. “It’s really not a good look for you, Weston.”
I snatch the biscuit from his grip and scowl at him. “Why do you need a digestive? You literally had a full English breakfast twenty minutes ago.”
“Minus one piece of bacon.”
I roll my eyes and open my mouth to retort, but am interrupted by Vivi’s voice. “Uhm, hello?!” she says waving her arms in front of the camera. “Am I invisible
to you two?”
“Sorry, Vee. This is Will. Will, this is Vivi,” I sigh and gesture to them both accordingly.
Vivi blinks at him a few times. “Nice to see you,” she says, staring and reaching for her phone on her desk.
Will nods in return. “You too.”
My phone pings from beside me.
Vivi: ohmydays when did he get so hot?
I glance up at her. Me: don’t be weird. that’s my fake boyfriend
Vivi: well, you don’t want him
Me: oh my gosh you’re not dating him
Vivi: why not?
Vivi: give me one good reason.
Me: because girls don’t date their friends fake boyfriends
Vee glances up at me and gives me a look that says ‘Oh-come-on!’
I shake my head firmly as if to say ‘Stop-that.-He’s-right-here.’
She rolls her eyes before giving me a look that says ‘Pretty-please?’
I shake my head again.
“Okay, I hate to get in the middle of what weird ass conversation you’re having with your eyes, which I assume is about me, but there’s things to discuss, so we should probably get on with it,” Will says, interrupting our silent conversation. He glances between us both nervously as if we’re plotting to murder him.
Vivi clears her throat. “You're right. Let’s get on with it.
“Now the first guide to fake dating is, of course, the launch,” she says, holding up a mood board covered in glitter and images of people holding hands.
“Do you just keep things like this lying around?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.
“Of course,” Vivi responds casually. “Now, this so-called ‘launch’ is obviously showing your relationship to the world. And by world, I of course mean Maplewood. This could vary between a small date at a coffee shop”--she points to an image on the piece of card she’s holding– “or, my personal favourite, going for a date at a bookstore,” she gestures to a different picture.
“That could be a good idea,” Will says. “It won’t look too out of character.”
“Exactly.”
“I see what you guys are saying,” I begin, “but we’ll need to go somewhere where people will actually see us y’know? And for that I suggest we go to–”
“Bree’s Bakery,” Will and Vivi say in unison.
Bree Monroe was, in the nicest way possible, the town’s gossip.
She’s like the town crier of Maplewood. So if there was anywhere we should go on our first ‘date’, it was there.
“Yes. Although, isn’t it closed on Sundays?” I ask, turning to Will. He lives closer to her than me, plus he’s more likely to know news than I am, anyway.
“Yeah, usually, but the big hockey game’s tomorrow and so she always keeps it open because her stepdaughter’s sort-of boyfriend is on the team,” he explains.
I frown. “‘Sort-of boyfriend’? What does that mean?”
“Well, they’re not exactly dating, but everyone knows they like each other. Except them, obviously. It’s complicated,” Will says.
I open my mouth to say something but Vivi interrupts me. “Okay, first of all, are you two going to interrupt and start a new conversation every time we go off topic?” She’s doing that wide-eyed thing where she’s trying to look scary, but just ends up looking like a cartoon lamb. Will and I stifle our laughs and murmur our apologies. “Good. As I was trying to say,” she continues, giving us a pointed glare, “we should do the launch soon, otherwise our opportunity’s gonna pass by.”
“Alright. What’s the second step?” Will asks.
“We’ll discuss the complications of that later. Focus on the step in front of you, not the rest of the staircase. Woah,” she says, staring off somewhere into the distance.
Will frowns. “What’s wrong?”
I smack him. “Never ask that question,” I hiss.
“Why no–”
“Wasn’t that totally inspirational?” Vivi says. I roll my eyes. “I’m gonna have posters made.”
“Surprised you haven’t already got some in your drawer,” I mumble. Will snorts. Vivi glares at me.
“Hilarious,” she says dryly.
“I’m just saying don’t go all instagram-girl about it and then cry when nobody gets what the hell you’re on about,” I say with a shrug.
“Wow, isn’t she so empathetic, Will?” Vivi asks, swinging her gaze on him.
Will blinks at the both of us, as if coming out of a trance. “Uh, sorry, what did you say?”
I tilt my head at him. He’s been acting weird ever since I asked him. Maybe he’s having second thoughts.
“Nevermind,” Vivi says, her eyes narrowing slightly at Will.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I suppose,” he says, his Adam's apple bobbing.
“Okay. Er, could you get me a glass of water, please? My throat is dry,” I say, throwing out the first excuse I can find.
I don’t want to force Will to do this if he doesn’t want to. I don’t think that would make him a very convincing fake boyfriend. But in order to ask him, I needed to talk to Vivi, and tell her not to get her hopes up.
No point in giving anyone false hope.
“Yeah, sur–”
“Can you get it yourself, Tilds? I want to talk to Will,” Vivi interrupts.
Will glances at me and I just shrug.
“Um, yeah. Sure,” I say before climbing off the bed and going downstairs.
Will
I watch Matilda retreat before I turn back to Vivi in the computer.
I vaguely remember her from our Science set, but in all honesty I only remember her because she was partnered with Matilda.
Leaning back on my bed, I ask, “So, what’s this about then?”
“You like Matilda.”
I start.
How in god’s name could she know that? I’d been subtle.
Except for the time, about a minute ago where I got so transfixed with staring at Matilda that I didn’t even hear the question. But I’d played it off alright. I think.
I fake snort. “I can assure you, I don’t.”
“And I can assure you, that I can tell when someone has a crush. One of the symptoms is googly eyes. And you totally googly-eyed Matilda. And don’t tell me that I’m seeing things!” she adds, when I open my mouth to lie.
I sigh and run a hand down my face. It probably won’t help my reputation with my crush’s best friend if I lie and patronise her in our very first meeting.
“If I…admit it, do you promise that you won’t tell her?” I say slowly.
“Yes! Yes, of course!” Vivi squeals.
“Okay. I do like her. But,” I say louder to muffle Vivi’s screams, “you have to seriously promise that you won’t tell her. I mean it, like do that whole spit in your hand and swear on the thing you love most because she absolutely cannot find out. I can’t stress that enough, Genevive.”
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I promise. I swear on my teddy bear’s life that I will not tell a soul about how you’re in love with my best friend,” she says, solemnly.
“In love is a bit far–”
I’m cut off by the sound of more delighted screeches from Vivi.
“What’s going on? Did another eagle get in your room?” Matilda asks as she walks back into the room, glass of water in hand.
“No.”
“Another?”
Vivi and I speak at the same time.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Matilda says, waving me off. “So, what is going on?”
“Her…crush texted her back,” I try.
“Yes. Yes he did,” Vivi points at me.
Matilda glances between us both curiously before he phone pings. She picks it up and reads the message. “I’ve gotta go. Mum messaged,” she tells me.
I nod. “Okay. You want me to drive you home?”
More squeals from Vivi. Dear God, she was never going to keep this secret.
Matilda gives her a judgy glance. “No. No, that’s alright. I’ll get the bus back.”
“Okay, well, bye, Vee,” I say, giving her a wave and clicking the ‘End Call’ button.
Yeah, I’m aware it’s a bit of a dick move but if I didn’t she was going to spill the beans. I’ve kept this secret for, for the most part, two years. And Vivi was not going to ruin it now. The only time Matilda should ever find out is if one of us is on our deathbeds. And by that time we’ll have gone our separate ways and everything will be perfect again.
Matilda will be happy with her wonderful, perfect husband Jamie and I’ll be in a care home wondering why no-one’s come to visit me in three weeks.
Absolutely fucking perfect.
Matilda turns towards me, eyes narrowing. I offer her my most charming smile and say, “Well, we should get going. Don’t want you to miss that bus.” I slam her laptop closed and hand it to her.
She takes it from me, her soft hands brushing mine for a moment and my stomach flips.
I really need to get a handle on myself.
“What was that?” she asks, her eyebrow raised.
I shrug, before grabbing her bag and holding it out for her. “Nothing. Just wanted her to get to sleep, you know. It’s probably like nine pm there, right?”
“It’s midnight.”
“Midnight?” I frown. “Well, that’s not good for her REM sleep. You should tell her that next time you talk to her,” I say over my shoulder as I walk down the stairs, desperate to get her out. I’m not exactly sure what getting her out of the house will do. In fact, the chances of her finding out about my crush on her are probably worse than if she stays here.
“Okay, stop,” she says, grabbing my arm as we reach the foyer. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something wrong?” I ask, giving her my most convincing frown.
“Just tell me what’s going on. What happened on that call that you’re so freaked out about?” Her eyes are kind and her voice is soft and I don’t think I can bear to look at her any longer.
“You’re not having second thoughts are you?” Her voice is quiet. My head shoots up to look at her anxious face.
“No! No…I’m not. It’s nothing. Everything’s fine,” I assure her, removing her hand from my bicep and squeezing it gently.
“I–Are you sure?” she asks. I think she can tell I’m lying but doesn’t want to push me.
Reason Number 347 why I’m in love with her.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. You sure I can’t give you a ride home?” I ask, changing the subject.
“No, no, that’s okay. The bus is fine,” she reassures me as she walks over to the front door.
I open it for her. “I can walk you to the bus stop..?” I offer. I don’t know why I’m trying to spend more time with her. Take the hint, Will.
Matilda hesitates for a moment, looking behind her before looking back at me. “No, I–No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine,” she stutters out.
“Promise?”
“Are you mocking my promises, Willoughby North?”
I smile and lean in closer, my nose almost brushing hers. Her lips are barely but a few inches from mine. It would be so easy to pull her in by the waist. So easy to tell her how beautiful she is. So easy to kiss her. So, so easy.
But I don’t do any of that. Instead I say, “I would never, Matilda Weston.”
She gasps and blinks up at me. God, she was so fucking beautiful. If only she knew it.
“I, er, I better go,” she says, her voice hoarse as she steps away from me. “I don’t want to be late.”
She doesn’t wait for my response before hurrying off down the driveway, climbing over the gate and leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in her wake.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I yell after her.
I shut the door and lean against it, frowning.
That was weird.
Will
I arrive at Matilda’s house three minutes early and I’m currently sitting in the car wondering how on earth I’m going to approach her.
I mean yesterday was weird and Friday was even weirder. And that moment when she left yesterday? Freaked me the fuck out.
Yesterday, everything was so fresh so now that I’ve had time to process, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not a good idea. At all.
I mean what even is a fake boyfriend? I don’t know anything about that shit. What does it even entail? Do we kiss? God, I really want to kiss her.
I’ve just gotta do it, I think. There’s no way out of this. She looked too upset yesterday when she thought I was backing out. So, I’ve just got to suck it up.
I run a hand through my hair and finally open the car door and approach her porch.
My fingers flex at my side as I ring the doorbell.
The door creaks open and there she is; my wonderful, perfect fake girlfriend.
Matilda’s hair is still free and curly, although less frizzy than yesterday. Her lips are stained the same dark pink as always and her cerulean blue eyes are lined with eyeliner.
Matilda blinks up at me and frowns. “What are you doing here?”
I frown back at her and reach for my phone and check the time. “What do you mean?” I ask when I confirm that I am here at the time we said. “I’m here for our date.”
She opens her mouth to speak before she slams it shut again, realising she can’t come up with an appropriate excuse.
“What’s up?” I ask, tilting my head at her.
Matilda swallows. “It’s just…You said the hockey team was going to be there?”
Oh. Oh. “Oh, yeah. Only like ten or so go to the bakery though,” I say, trying to ease her worries.
“Yeah, but you said that Bree only keeps it open because of her stepdaughter’s sort-of boyfriend, whatever that means, so, presumably her stepdaughter will be there, which makes it eleven,” she points out.
I don’t point out the fact that Lucie will probably be there also.
“It’ll be fine,” I reassure.
She chews at her lip. “I’m not used to being around a bunch of people. I don’t like going out,” she says, playing with her already frayed hoodie sleeve.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll sit in a booth, or by the window. Away from people,” I say.
She blinks up at me a few times before offering me a quiet, “Okay.”
“Matilda? Who’s at the door–Oh, hello, Will,” Matilda’s mother says as she appears behind her daughter.
They don’t look similar, I notice.
Annabel’s hair is curly and blonde, her eyes a deep brown and her skin tanned. Whereas Matilda’s hair is curly and chocolate brown, her eyes the most beautiful shade of blue and her skin is a shade or so paler than her mother’s.
She must have got most of her features from her dad.
I offer Annabel a disguised nervous smile. The last time I saw her I told her there was no way that we would ever date. And then she kind of threatened me when she thought I might be lying to her. And here I am now, taking her daughter on a date. Well, a fake date, but she doesn’t know that.
“Hi, Annabel,” I greet. “Me and Matilda were just going to go for breakfast. If you’re ready..?” I ask Matilda.
To be honest, I’m kind of hoping she is because I don’t really want to be left in another awkward silence with her mum.
“Uh…I’ll just change into a sweater. And get a hair tie,” she says.
“Grab a coat as well,” I add, even though I know she won’t. I have one in the car for her already, anyway.
Annabel clears her throat. “So, how are you, Will?”
“Fine. You?”
“Fine.”
I nod. Awkward silence settles between us and I desperately want to bash my head against the door jamb.
“So, you said you were going for breakfast?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“Oh, uh, Bree’s Bakery.”
She nods. “Good choice. Although, I thought it was closed on Sundays?”
“She keeps it open for the hockey team,” I tell her.
“Ah. Makes sense.”
I nod and press my lips together. God, this is the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had in my life.
Luckily, Matilda then comes back down the stairs wearing a cream and light blue sweater, her hair tied back into a clip and no coat in hand.
I can’t be bothered to bug her about it and simply offer her a smile.
Matilda tucks a stray hair behind her ear and walks through the doorway to stand beside me.
“So, we’ll be back in an…hour, would you say?” she asks, turning to me.
I nod. “Yeah, maybe less. Depends how busy it is, I suppose.”
“Okay, well, see you two later,” Annabel says, waving us off and closing the front door.
I grab Matilda’s arm and lead her towards my car. “You have to tell your mum we’re not really dating.”
“What? Why?” she asks, frowning.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Just because.”
“Okay, stop,” she says as we reach the car and blocks the door with her body. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
She arches an eyebrow and folds her arms over her chest. I flash her a charming smile and reach for the door she’s stood in front of.
“No, Will. Tell me,” she says seriously, pushing against my chest.
I sigh. “Okay, fine. Your mum, the other night, thought we were dating and I told her there was no way in hell, right? And then she sort of threatened me when she thought I was lying to her.”
She frowns. “Threatened you?”
“Yeah. Well, no, but you know what I mean. It was sort of like an implied threat that she’d yell at me.”
“Oh no, not yell at you!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I roll my eyes. “Hardy-ha.” She grins. “Your mother’s scary alright. Like she looks like she could give you Lorelai Gilmore-level insults.”
Her eyes twinkle with amusement but she represses her laugh. “Okay, fine. I’ll tell her. But for the record, she doesn’t even know anything yet anyway.”
“Key word: yet,” I say and reach for the car door she’s still blocking and open it for her.
She gives me a glare and climbs in the car.
“So, what exactly are we going to do on this ‘date?’” I ask, putting bunny ears around the word ‘date’.
“Oh, right,” she says, turning to me. “Well, I called Vivi last night and she said that we should like hold hands or something. Just something subtle.”
“Okay, makes sense. But, like, how?”
“What do you mean how?”
“I dunno. Shouldn’t we plan it?”
“Plan it?” she asks, genuinely sounding offended. My shrug is my only defence. “We can’t just plan it, Willard. It has to look natural.”
“Willard? You think my parents named me after a horror movie?”
She shrugs. “I’m just coming up with random words now. I didn’t even realise
it was an actual name.”
I snort.
“Okay, back to the whole ‘natural hand-holding thing’. How is it natural for us to hold hands?”
“You know what I mean,” she defends.
“No, actually, I don’t, that’s why I asked the question.”
She rolls her eyes. “Stop being snarky. I just meant that it can’t look forced otherwise it’s going to look fake. And we really need to sell this relationship.”
Yeah, so you can get back with your ex boyfriend and break my heart in the process, I think. Instead, I say: “Right, yeah.”
A silence settles in the small space of the car and I squeeze the steering wheel tighter.
A few minutes later Matilda whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being so uptight. I guess I’m just nervous,” she admits.
My shoulders relax. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine,” I tell her. I want to reach over and squeeze her hand but after yesterday, and after the conversation we’ve just had, I don’t want to freak her out.
Otherwise she might figure out my true feelings for herself.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡
We arrive at the bakery fifteen minutes later. Matilda is staring at the building with the same fear as she did when we went to the mall last week.
“Are you okay?” I ask. Her eyes flit toward me.
“Yeah,” she says shakily. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It’ll be fine,” she repeats, I think more to herself than me.
I tug on a stray curl that’s fallen in front of her face and she slaps my hand away. “I really hate it when you do that.”
I grin. “I know.”
Her mouth twitches slightly and she glares at me. “Just give me a sec,” she says. I nod, happy to conform.
She takes three deep breaths and I watch her as her chest rises and falls, rises and falls, rises and falls and all I want to do is reach into her brain and take away every bit of anxiety and pain she has ever felt and put it into a little aluminum box and lock it and put it into a locked room so it can never find her again.
But I can’t.
That’s the thing with anxiety: you can work and work and get better and better but it’ll always still be there, hovering beneath the surface.
“Okay. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. We can go in,” Matilda says, turning in her seat.
I study her face. “You sure?” She nods in response.
I jump out the car and slam my door behind me before quickly rushing over to her side and opening the door for her. She looks startled and blinks at me before saying, “I could’ve done it myself.”
“I know you could’ve but I wanted to do it for you,” I reply.
She opens her mouth to say something before slamming it shut again and climbing out of the car. “Thanks,” she mumbles after a few moments of silence.
“See, that wasn’t so hard now was it?” I tease and wrap and arm around her shoulders as we approach the bakery.
She glares at me. “Shut up.”
“You shut up,” I say as I reach for the door handle and push it open.
We’re greeted with a much larger crowd than I expected.
The queue winds around most of the tables except for the booths and the window seats and the cacophonous sound of people and voices ricochet off the walls.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
This is not good. This is not good at all.
Matilda looks like she’s seconds away from either bursting into tears or running out the door, both of which I don’t care for.
I remove my arm from around her shoulders before grabbing her hand and easing her through the crowd and to the bakery case. She doesn’t protest.
“Hey, Bree,” I say and ignore the shouts of angry customers behind me. Bree turns towards me, visible stress in her eyes and her customer service smile fixed into place.
“Hi, Will. I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait in line,” she says, looking genuine about her apology.
“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ask for like special favours and that, it’s just that Matilda here,” I say, dragging Matilda forward in front of me and tucking her into my body, protecting her, “isn’t very good with crowds, and I don’t want to just leave her while I wait in line. So, I was wondering, if maybe you could bring ours over as quickly as possible. And then we’ll eat and be gone,” I offer.
Bree glances between the two of us, her eyebrow arched in question. I smile hopefully at her.
“Okay, fine,” Bree says, giving in. “But only because I want to hear about whatever this is,” she adds, waving a finger between the two of us.
“That okay with you?” I ask into Matilda’s ear. She shivers and I fight a smirk.
“Um, yeah,” she says softly.
“Okay, what do you want?” I motion to the bakery case and the menu.
“Er, I–um–A strawberry cheesecake danish?” she stutters out.
“And I’ll have a…custard croissant. And a latte and a tea,” I add.
Bree nods. “Okay, that’s £15.46. Whenever you're ready.”
I ignore Matilda’s reach of her purse and pull my card out and pay for her.
Bree thanks us and I grab Matilda’s hand again and lead her back through the noise and crowd before arriving at a quieter table in the corner by the window.
I, regretfully, remove my hand from hers and sit down on a stool. She takes the seat across from me.
“I–How did you do that?” she asks.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“How did you just charm her into doing…all that?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. She blinks at me expectantly. “I dunno. I’m just charming, I suppose.”
“You suppose? You do realise you’re renowned for being charming, right?”
“No, I did not know that, actually.”
“Oh,” she says, blushing furiously. “Well you are.”
“I’m renowned for being charming or you think I’m charming?”
“Both.” She hesitates when she sees me smirking. “Wait. No. Oh, shut up.”
I laugh.
Our food arrives a couple of minutes later and we both happily eat, silence between us.
I feel custard stain my cheek and look around for a napkin.
“Relax, here,” Matilda says, wiping it away. I blink and blink at her and force myself not to freak out like I did last Friday.
She seems to read my mind and teases, “Are you going to run away like you did at Starbucks?”
I roll my eyes. “I did not run away. I just…saw a spider,” I lie.
“Much better,” she says, placing the napkin down on the table.
I scowl at her and she laughs.
“Hi, Will,” says a voice from beside us and we both jump.
Madison Fairchild, the stepdaughter of Bree, stands there smiling at me, her light brown hair falling in waves over her shoulders.
“Oh, uh, hi, Madi,” I say, offering her a smile. Matilda’s frowning and glancing between us two. “Uhm, this,” I stand up, and gesture to Madi, “this is Madison. Madison, this is Matilda. She’s my friend,” I finish, giving Madi that look that implies that you're dating a person without actually saying it.
Madi blinks a few times between us. “Oh. Ohh.”
I nod in response.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Madi says, beaming at her, practically bathing her with her sunshine-y-ness.
Matilda blinks at her before saying, “I–Likewise.”
Caleb then appears behind Madi and wraps his arms around five-foot Madi and pulls her against his ridiculously tall frame.
Matilda blinks at the two of them before looking at me and arching an eyebrow as if to ask Is this the sort-of boyfriend?
I nod in response.
Matilda tilts her head at Caleb before blurting, “How tall are you?” Her face turns pink.
Caleb studies her for a moment before giving her a flirtatious smirk which makes me very much want to smash my fist into his face.
“Why? You interested?” Caleb says, a smirk still playing on his lips.
Matilda frowns. “Not really.”
Me and Madi snort and Caleb’s smile drops.
“No offense,” Matilda adds quickly. “You’re just not really my type.”
I’m not sure how that’s true as Caleb is basically an exact replica of Jamie except his hair is lighter and he’s, y’know, not a dick.
“Fair enough,” Caleb says. “Anyway, we just wanted to say hello. We’ve not seen you for a while.”
I shrug. “I’ve been busy. With practice.”
“Yeah, same. We actually–”
“Anyway,” Madi interrupts, “we should get going. Sorry for interrupting,” she says, giving Caleb a look that says Stop intruding.
Caleb just frowns and continues frowning as Madi pulls him away back through the crowd.
I shake my head at them. Their situation isn’t that different from Jace and Stacy’s. They seem to hook up every time they get drunk and they’re all over each other all the time, and yet, nothing ever happens.
I sit back down across from Matilda who’s slurping her tea and looking out the window.
“You okay?”
She looks back at me and nods. “Yeah, fine. How do you know them?”
“Oh, uh, just from parties and that. Why?”
She shrugs and smiles. “Just wondering.”
“Okay. Uh, you all done? We should probably head back.”
She nods and says, “Yeah, I’m done.”
I nod and an uncomfortable silence settles in the air. “Okay…let’s go then,” I say, offering her a smile.
She stands and grabs my bicep as we make our way back through the crowd. It’s less busy than it was when we arrived, but more people are filing in now. Knowing that still doesn’t stop me from freaking out at the fact that she’s touching me.
I ease her back through the herd of people and finally pull the door open and push her gently through the doorway.
She mumbles her thanks and we head towards the car. When we’re in front of it, she grabs my arm again and stops me.
I don’t get a chance to say anything before she wraps her arms around my neck and tugs me down into a hug. I swallow and wrap my arms around her waist and the soft scent of her vanilla perfume embraces me.
“You okay?” I ask quietly into her ear.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For today. Thank you for helping me.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, pulling her closer and tracing soothing circles into her lower back.
“No, seriously. Thank you. Not many people would’ve done that for me. Or would’ve been able to do that for me. So, thank you, for using your charms for good.
I grin. “You think I’m charming?”
“Oh, shut up. You know you’re charming.”
I laugh and she pulls away from me and smacks my arm playfully. I shake my head as I lead her to the passenger side and open the door for her.
She narrows her eyes at me but climbs in and once again mutters her thanks.
This girl really is going to be the death of me.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡
We drove home in peaceful silence and we’re now sitting in her driveway just staring at her house.
I don’t want her to go. Now that we’ve spent more time together, I find myself missing her. Someone really needs to tell my heart to get a hold of itself because I can’t miss her. For as long as I’ve had a crush on her, I set myself rules, and Rule number 7 is never, ever miss her because that means you're screwed.
I lean my head back against the headrest and turn my head to look at Matilda. A strand of hair has fallen in front of her face as she stares at her house, only blinking occasionally. I want to reach over and tuck it behind her ear.
“Hey,” I say, my voice hoarse.
She turns to blink at me and smiles softly. God, does her smile kill me.
“Hi,” she says quietly.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she repeats, her lips tilting up.
I swallow and force myself not to stare at her lips. “You should probably head in.”
She nods but she doesn’t move. I repress a groan. I don’t want her to leave, but I know that if she doesn’t soon then I’m going to do something really stupid, like kiss her.
“Come on, I’ll walk you in,” I offer. Matilda nods and finally removes her seatbelt and opens the car door.
We walk up to her porch slowly, both clearly not wanting to say goodbye. I wonder whether she had as much fun as I did, although I doubt that’s true.
“So,” she says.
“So,” I echo.
“Thank you. For today,” she says, her voice more genuine than before.
“You’ve already said that.”
“I know. But I mean it.”
I nod and turn slightly to say goodbye. “Well, I’ve got to–”
I’m cut off by the feel of her hand on my arm and her lips pressing a kiss against my cheek.
I feel my face start to burn and my heart thudding in my chest. Stupid, traitorous hormones.
“Bye, Will,” she says, still not pulling away and I can feel her breath against my cheek.
She hesitates slightly before pulling away and walking into her house and shutting the door behind her.
I blink at the now closed door.
Holy fuck.
Matilda
I’m pulling on my Converses and am about to leave for school when there’s a knock at the door.
Who the hell could that be? I think to myself. It’s far too early for mail.
“I’ll get it!” I yell to my mother downstairs as I quickly tug my shoes on. I grab my red zip-up hoodie before scurrying down the stairs.
I open the door and find Will standing there. I blink.
God, why did he have to look so good? He’s wearing a dark green knitted jumper that fits loosely around him and makes me want to bury my face into his chest. His hair is ridiculously, beautifully and messily tousled and I really want to run my hands through it.
He’s leaning lazily against the wall, facing me and smiling. God, his smile.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He pushes himself off the wall and says, “I’m here to take you to school.”
I blink a few times at him. “But–I–What?” I sputter.
“I’m here to take you to school,” he repeats.
“Why?”
He frowns at that. “What do you mean ‘why’? Because you can’t drive, silly. And I don’t want my girlfriend walking to school. It’s dangerous out there.”
My stomach flips over when I hear him call me his girlfriend.
Go away, butterflies.
“I–Well, we didn’t plan it.”
“I didn’t realise I had to plan to pick you up.”
“You don’t,” I say. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“Okay,” he says. “Do you still want me to drive you?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, definitely,” I say quickly. He cocks an eyebrow and his lips tilt up in a small smirk.
“I just meant that I hate walking. And you came all the way out here. I mean, I know you were driving anyway but I just meant that it’s out of your way to school. I’m guessing. I don’t know what your route is to school–”
“Stop,” he says, smiling at me. I feel my face flush with heat. Why am I so goddamn flustered?
I immediately smack my mouth closed and blink at him. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on,” he says, inclining his head.
Yelling over my shoulder that I’m leaving, I walk out the doorway. Will rests his hand on my lower back and leads me to the car.
Stop getting butterflies, Matilda.
Jamie, you like Jamie, remember?
Will opens the passenger door for me and I hop inside, grateful to have a moment to myself. I need to get a hold of myself. I don’t like Will. I can’t like Will. That’s not what the plan was.
The other car door opens and Will sits down in the driver’s seat. He glances me over and frowns and I immediately look down to study my outfit. I mean, I’m not really the most fashionable individual, but I didn’t realise my choices were frown-worthy.
He reaches into the back and flings the green coat at me from the mall the other day. “You look fine,” he assures me. “It’s just cold today.”
I nod and tug the coat on before fastening my seatbelt. He gives me an approving nod before fastening his own and starting the car.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡
The drive to school is short and silent but I don’t mind.
We arrive with just enough time to put my books and grab some textbooks from my locker.
“Do you want me to walk you to your locker?” Will asks as we walk down the noisy halls.
I consider this for a moment before replying. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just see you in class later.”
I move to go down the hallway on the left but Will grabs my arm. He pulls me closer to him, not so much so I am pressed against him, but enough for the other people in the hallway to realise we’re more than friends.
“Hey. Do you want to eat lunch with me?” His deep brown eyes are studying my face and I have to stop myself from staring. I look around at a few of the eyes now watching us and shuffle a few steps closer to him. “Uhm. Maybe. Sure.”
Will nods glancing at my lips for a moment before taking a step away from me and I immediately miss his warmth. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I respond quietly. He nods and then walks down the hallway towards his group of friends waiting and pretending they weren’t staring. I blink after him and then remember my train of thought and walk down the hallway to my locker.
I stuff my current read in my locker and grab my English and History books and put them in my bag before slamming the locker shut. I’m about to grab my headphones out of my bag when I notice Stacy standing there. I bite back a yelp and offer her a tentative smile instead.
She grins widely at me. “Hi, Matilda.”
“Hi, Stacy,” I say.
“How are you?” she asks, grabbing my arm and leading me somewhere. I open my mouth to object but then decide she probably won’t stop anyway.
“I’m, uh, good. H-How are you?”
She smiles brightly at me. “I’m good. So, I was wondering what’s up with you and Will?”
I blink at her, unsure how to respond. “What do you mean?”
“You just looked very cozy, in the hallway there,” she says with a shrug.
“Oh. Well, we’ve been on a date. Just one. So, um, who knows?” I say.
“A date?” she squeals and finally stops a few feet away from my locker. “That’s so exciting! How was it? Did you kiss? Did you have fun? Are you going on another one? Can I help you get ready?” She bombards me with more questions and I can’t get a word in.
“We, uh,” I try, a little more loudly and she immediately goes quiet, “we didn’t kiss. But I had fun. I don’t know about him. And I–”
“I’m sure he had fun. You’re very fun.” I almost snort in her face. If she actually knew me, I’m sure she would change her mind.
“Uh, thank you…? And we might go on another date, but nothing’s decided yet,” I finish, shifting nervously on my feet and lying through my teeth.
“Oh, well you should definitely eat with us at lunch.”
I open my mouth to object but she interrupts me. “I insist!” she says emphatically.
“Well, I don’t know. I mean Will offered but he was probably just being nice–”
“That settles it then! You’re sitting with us.” I want to object but it doesn’t really seem to be getting anywhere. Speaking at all doesn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, actually.
“I–Okay?” She smiles in response and pulls me closer and wraps her arms around my middle. I tense and pat her awkwardly on her shoulders. Stacy pulls away, still beaming. “Okay. Well I’ll see you then. Or in class,” she chuckles slightly.
I nod and wave her goodbye silently.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡
By third period I’m hoping I can get out of lunch. I mean I don’t know anyone at that table. Apart from maybe Jace and the last time I saw him I yelled at him about him almost killing me. (Yes, I’m aware you cannot be killed by a basketball. At least, not at the speed he threw it.)
And, obviously, I know Stacy, but I’m not particularly looking forward to being snuck upon again.
And so, once class has been dismissed and the bell has rung, I speedily walk to my locker, careful to avoid any of the usual routes I know Stacy and Will take and staying away from all the cafeteria doors, and grab my latest read, Happy Place. I walk out the side hallway and am about to make my way to the library when I’m interrupted.
“Hey, Tilds!” yells a voice. I swing myself toward the voice, jumping. Damn Will, for pointing out my jumpiness.
My shoulders relax slightly when I see Mason behind me. “Oh, hi, Mason. How are you?”
“Just fine. You?”
“Fine.”
He nods. I study his face and giggle slightly. “Vivi’s fine.”
“Oh, is she? I’ve been wanting to ask but, it’s been so long and I…” Mason trails off.
“I get it. I can tell her to call you if you’d like?” I offer.
He presses his lips together, considering it, before shaking his head. “No. No, that’s alright. I don’t want her to call me if she doesn’t want to. I’m sure she’s busy,” he says, giving me a sad smile.
Him and Vivi dated for about six months before they broke it off because Vivi didn’t want to deal with long distance. I’d always been disappointed that they broke up. Mason was Vivi’s only boyfriend and the only boy she liked for longer than a week.
“Okay. So, are you still working at Starbucks?” If he won’t accept my pity phone call, I’ll at least try to make conversation.
“Yeah. The pay isn’t great, but I need the money for college.”
“Oh, right. You still gonna go to St George’s?”
He shrugs. “Don’t see why not. Oh, hey, Will,” he says, looking over my shoulder. I’m about to turn when I feel his arm wrap around my shoulder. My face heats at his proximity.
“Hi, Mason,” Will says, his voice slightly clipped.
“We were just talking about Vivi. His ex,” I say, giving him a look. I know he’s not really jealous, but I decide to inform him anyway.
His shoulders untense and he pulls me closer. I inhale the scent of his cologne and it immediately comforts me. I relax back into his body.
“So, are you coming to sit with us?” Will asks, his face dangerously close to mine. I swallow and nod.
“Good. I guess we’ll see you around Mason,” he says, smiling.
Mason nods and waves us goodbye.
Will stares after me and removes his arm from around my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I question, narrowing my eyes.
He shrugs. “You just seemed…tense. I dunno.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Are you fine?”
He blinks in surprise. “Uhm, yeah. Fine. Just came to find you.”
“Well…okay. I suppose we should go then,” I say, moving towards the direction of the cafeteria.
“You don’t have to, you know.”
I turn back to him, my eyebrows furrowing. He’s staring at his shoes when he says, “Stacy told me about your conversation. You sounded like you were sorta blindsided. I don’t want to pressure you.”
Moving to grab his wrist, I pull him closer to me. “Well, I want to. Let’s go.”
He doesn’t seem to believe me but he nods. I slip my hand into his and squeeze. He squeezes mine back.
Matilda
We arrive at the table still hand in hand and I’m too anxious to realise I’ve basically been shanghaied into coming. Perhaps a little dramatic, but have you ever met a teenage girl who isn’t a little dramatic?
“It’s gonna be fine,” Will says into my hair as we arrive at the cafeteria doors. I nod and give him the best smile I can muster before we approach.
He clears his throat and tugs me along behind him.
“Hey, guys,” Will says. A dozen eyes come to settle on us, one smiling, and the rest frowning. “This is Matilda,” he continues and brings me forward, “and she’ll be sitting with us today.”
I offer them a shaky smile and they smile back. It does nothing to help my anxious state.
A couple of his friends shuffle along seats, leaving two available next to Stacy. Over enthusiastic or not, I’d take her over strangers I barely know the names of.
Will leads me over and sets me down in the seat next to Stacy before placing himself down in the seat next to mine, his hand never leaving mine for a moment.
I stare down at his hands enveloping mine and reach a finger over to trace it gently. He inhales sharply. I look up at him. “Are you okay?”
He nods. “Mhm.”
Glancing up, I realise the majority of the table is staring at me. I blink and say, “Er…hi.”
All of their gazes swivel to Will and I blink. I can’t have fucked up already. I’ve said two words to them. Technically only one, as I don’t think ‘Er’ counts as a word.
Will raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“How did you two meet?”
“How long have you been going out?”
“Have you been on a date?”
“Have you kissed?”
Is nosiness a trait all popular people have, or just Will’s group? I’m unsure about the personalities of popular people, other than they’re usually dicks, and usually peak after secondary school.
Will’s group don’t seem like assholes, though, so that’s good.
Will squeezes my hand reassuringly before answering all their questions calmly, as if it’s a regular occurrence for him to be bombarded with questions about his love life.
That makes me think about other girls who might have been in this position. I mean, girls always seem to flock around him, and yet he never seems interested in them, at least, not romantically.
The thought of him with other girls makes me infuriatingly nauseous.
“Are you okay?” Will asks, interrupting my train of thought and my jealousy.
I blink dazedly up at him. “Yes. Yes, fine. Why?”
“You’re squeezing my hand very hard.”
“Oh.” I glance down at our still entangled hands, where my nails are digging into his knuckles. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“So, what are we talking about?” I ask. Apparently, that’s hilarious because it erupts a couple of giggles and laughter from the group. Confused, I frown.
“I was just telling them about your habit of daydreaming,” Will explains.
“I don’t daydream that often,” I defend.
“I’m betting that you’ve daydreamed at least six times today.”
“Well, your bet would be wrong.”
“Would it?” he asks, unconvinced and smirking.
“Yes,” I inform, “I’ve only daydreamed twice.”
Stacy and Jace snort beside me. Will glares at them.
“Anyway,” says a girl in front of me who I don’t know the name of, “how did this happen?” She doesn’t look entirely pleased by the entire thought of me and Will together, and her tone does nothing to argue my point. “I mean, last time I heard you hated him.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where did you get that from?”
The girl shrugs casually. “Just around. From Liv, mainly.”
“Liv?” Will asks. “What’s Liv been saying about us, Andrea?”
“Nothing. Just that it doesn’t seem like a real relationship to her.”
All the blood rushes from my face and I open my mouth to unconvincingly lie to her, but Will beats me to it. “Tell Liv it’s none of her fucking business.” His tone is sharp and blunt and it causes the girl, Andrea, to blink in surprise.
Yeah, right there with you, Andrea.
I’ve not seen this side of Will before. The way his jaw is set and his other hand is curled into a fist–he looks angry. I’ve never seen him angry.
I squeeze his hand reassuringly and tug him closer slightly. He turns to face me, his eyes softening, but his brow is still furrowed.
“It’s fine,” I say, giving him a hopefully reassuring smile.
His lips press together in a thin line and he studies my face for a few seconds before shaking his head and turning back to face Andrea.
She’s turned away from us, suddenly interested in wherever the girl two seats over from her got her nails done. (In all fairness, the girl’s nails do look really nice.)
Will shakes his head and then continues to play with his pot of school pasta with his fork.
I want to tug him away and ask what’s wrong, if I did something wrong, but am interrupted by Stacy’s voice.
“Hi, Matilda,” she says, beaming at me.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
“Don’t worry about Andrea,” Jace says, leaning forwards. He’s examining me, looking me up and down. I suddenly feel a lot more self-conscious. Jace is Will’s best friend–if he doesn’t like me, I’m not sure the rest of the group will either. “She’s just jealous. I’m sure Liv didn’t actually say that,” he finishes, although he doesn’t sound convinced by his own words.
I’m not so sure I believe them either. I nod anyway. “Thanks.”
He gives me a nod. “Sure.”
“Anyway,” Stacy interrupts, glaring at Jace, “are you going to be sitting with us tomorrow?”
“Oh, er, I don’t know. I just…feel a bit awkward.”
“Don’t!” she says, reaching out to grab my free hand and squeezing it what I’m assuming she thinks is reassuringly. I start. “Sorry,” she apologises, “but you shouldn’t. I doubt Andrea will sit here tomorrow anyway. She didn’t know you were coming.” She whispers the last bit as if it’s a top secret thing I’m not allowed to know.
“Oh. Okay.” I still don’t feel keen about sitting here again tomorrow. Or any other day for that matter. I suppose Will’s making sacrifices for this fake-dating scheme, with his being in my general vicinity for the majority of the day; I suppose I can make do with sitting with his nosy friends.
“Hey,” Will says, tugging at my sleeve. “We should go. You’ve got class next period.”
I nod, unsure how he actually knows that, and stand up.
“We’ll see you tomorrow, guys,” Will says, leading me away from the table.
I barely have time to say goodbye or even really wave before I’m pulled into the corridor. I slip my hand out of his.
“What’s up with you?” I ask him.
“Nothing,” he lies. I raise an eyebrow. “I’m just annoyed.”
“Why? With who? With me?”
“No, not you, never you. I’m annoyed with Liv.”
“Oh. Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?”
“It’s not like she hasn’t done things like this before,” I say with a shrug.
“Don’t you see? That’s the fucking problem, Tilds!” he yells. I look around at the eyes that have turned on us and sigh, before leading him into a darker, empty corridor.
He runs his hand through his hair and leans against the lockers, the metal banging in response. He won’t look at me.
I study him; all the sharp lines and the clenching of his jaw, his biceps pulling against his white shirt as he holds his jumper in his hand. I walk a few steps closer to him and his eyes finally meet mine.
He still looks angry, but at least I know it’s not with me. He looks sad as well.
“What’s the problem, Will?” I ask quietly, reaching for him.
His shoulders relax as I place my hands on his waist. “I just…I hate how you’re so used to her treating you badly.”
My face screws up in confusion. “She doesn’t always treat me badly,” I stare down at his chest before correcting myself. “She hasn’t always treated me badly.”
He shakes his head and reaches into my hair to pull the clip out. My curls tumble over my shoulders and I desperately want my hair back up.
“I love your curls,” he says softly.
“I–You do?”
He smiles down at me and reaches over to tug at one. My stomach flips.
Stop it, Matilda.
Stop getting butterflies.
His fingers tangle into my hair, his eyelids heavy as he stares at me. He pulls me closer to him and a gasp falls free from my lips.
I’m drowning in him; his scent, his warmth, his arms.
I shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t the plan. When you have plans, you should stick to them. I mean, that’s why the call them plans, for fuck’s sake.
I reach out to steady myself and my hands find their way to his chest.
“You deserve better than that, Matilda. Than her,” he whispers, his voice velvety. Our noses are bare inches apart, his breath touching my cheek.
My hands slide to his shoulders, his face coming possibly even closer to mine, and his hands remove themselves from my messy, curly hair and slide down to pull me closer by the waist.
“Will, I–”
“Well, isn't it the happy couple?” a voice drawls from beside us.
We both gasp and leap apart, his head whacking against the back of the lockers. He hisses in pain but focuses on glaring at the red-headed girl leaning against the doorway.
“What do you want, Liv?” he demands sharply.
“Want? Who says I want anything? I am simply checking up on my two good friends.”
“Calling either one of us your friends is a fucking joke,” spits Will.
Liv’s eyes flash with a flicker of hurt, and then it’s gone, because God forbid she show emotion.
“What’s with the hostility, William?” Liv asks, cocking an eyebrow and giving him a razor-sharp smile.
“You’re spreading rumours about us,” I say. Her sharp gaze swivels to me and I swallow. “Apparently,” I add, more quietly this time.
Will scoffs and I can’t tell whether it’s at her behaviour or mine. He pushes himself off the lockers and comes to stand defensively beside me. “You’re almost late for class, Liv,” he says, signalling that he is in no mood to argue with her.
She smirks, as if she’s won somehow. I hate it when she does that.
She turns and leaves.
The silence that settles between us is thick and awkward.
“Is your head okay?” I ask quietly, not looking at him.
He also continues to stare at the empty spot where Liv used to stand. “Yeah. Thanks.”
The bell rings through the corridor making us both jump. Will laughs a disbelieving laugh and runs a hand down his face. “Come on. I’ll walk you to class,” he says.
I nod and follow him.
The crowd of students is busy and he grabs my wrist, but my brain is too busy to feel anxious now. All my thoughts are focused on that moment in the hallway with him. All my thoughts are focused on the feel of his arms around me. All my thoughts are focused on the look in his eyes when I rested my hands on his chest.
All my thoughts are on him.
His fingers are light against my skin, as if he is too scared to touch me for too long. As if I may burn his skin with mine.
We stop in front of my classroom.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in response. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” His voice is gravelly and thick.
“Sure,” I say softly. His eyes meet mine. “Don’t go yelling at Liv though, please. She’s caused enough drama already.”
Will just hums in response. I can’t tell whether he’s agreeing with me or just can’t be bothered to argue.
He steps forward a couple of steps and rests his hands on the back of my neck. I inhale shakily.
Before I can say anything, he leans forward and presses a kiss against my forehead. “Have a good lesson,” he says.
“Okay.” I nod.
Hesitantly, he steps away from me, and his fingers flex at his side. “Bye, Tilds.” And without waiting for my response, he turns and leaves, leaving me reeling and blinking after him.
I watch as he turns into a dot before he turns round a corner, and even then I continue to stare after him.
The sound of the second bell rings through the echoey corridor, and only then do I move into the classroom.
Will
I’m still obsessing over that moment in the hallway.
I think I will forever be obsessing over that moment in the hallway.
Because what the hell was that?! I mean, I’m standing there, talking about my frustrations over Liv being a bitch and then she comes over to me with all her prettiness and Matilda-ness and then she tries to kiss me.
Kiss me! I mean, what the fuck?
And then, Liv comes along and interrupts us.
I don’t care whether or not her and Matilda ever become friends again, I’m holding that grudge for the rest of eternity.
My heart hurts when I think of how close we were. So close that the scent of her vanilla shampoo wrapped around me. So close that I could feel her breath brushing my cheek, my lips. So close that I could smell her scented lip gloss.
I dig my nails into the palm of my hand. I need to stop thinking about it. Thinking about it is not helping my crush. At all.
Kieran is blabbing next to me about the basketball game again on Friday. I’m not really listening, just nodding idly. I’m already aware about the coach of another university coming to see me play. I’m also aware of the fact that a sports scholarship is the only way to get into a university.
So, I should probably be worrying, or at least listening to Kieran talk, and not be thinking about my crush like a hormonal teenager. But, in my defence, I am a hormonal teenager.
I’m still nodding distractedly when Kieran says, “So you agree?”
Shit. My eyebrows shoot up and I glance at Jace behind Kieran who’s still looking at me like I’m a suspect in a murder case.
I’m considering lying, but decide that hasn’t really helped me before. “Uhm, with what?”
Kieran sighs dramatically and runs a hand through his dark brown hair. “With the tactics.”
“What tactics?” I frown. Kieran glares at me and then looks at Jace as if to say Is this guy fucking serious?
And I want to yell at him and say, Yes, Kieran, I am fucking serious. In case you haven’t noticed, I am currently having an existential crisis, so I would appreciate it if you would be patient, you absolute fucking moron.
Instead, I say, “Sorry. I’m just distracted.”
“It’s fine,” Jace interrupts, throwing Kieran a look. “We were just discussing what players are gonna be on the court, and who’s gonna do what.”
I nod but Kieran still looks annoyed.
“Hey, Kieran, could you give Will and I a sec? I need to talk with him about something.” Jace doesn’t wait for an answer before he grabs my arm and pushes me into an empty corridor.
“Jeez, what is wrong with you?” I ask.
“Me? What’s up with you? You’ve been looking like a sad puppy dog for the past half an hour, and I for one don’t want to spend a free period staring at you with your tail between your legs,” Jace says, folding his arms over his chest.
I scoff. “Don’t scoff at me!” he scolds.
“What the hell is–”
“Don’t give me lip!”
“Lip?!” I ask, incredulous and confused. I’m also not entirely sure whether he referenced Gilmore Girls on purpose.
He sighs, irritated. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s going on with you and Matilda?”
I guffaw. “What do you mean? We’re going out.”
“Have I ever told you you're a horrific liar?”
“Yes,” I mutter.
“Good, so don’t even try,” he says. “So?”
I sigh and lean against the lockers behind me. I get immediate flashbacks. “It’s sort of…complicated, but…It’s not a real relationship.”
Jace raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘not a real relationship’? So it’s like a fake relationship?”
“Yes,” I sigh. He blinks and comes to lean beside me on the lockers. He opens his mouth a few times a couple of times but then slams it shut. I decide to explain.
Explain all about how she’s in love with her ex-boyfriend, who’s dating Liv, and how she’s hoping to get his attention by dating me. I explain all about her complicated relationship with Liv. I even tell him about that scene in the hallway earlier.
He lets out a low whistle and leans his head against the collection of lockers.
“So,” he says finally, “you’re just gonna let her fuck you about and kiss and what-not, all while harbouring the secret that you’re in love with her?”
“Okay, first of all, she is not, in anyway ‘fucking me about’. She doesn’t know about my crush on her. And she wouldn’t do that.
“And second of all, I am not in love with her. I just have a teensy, tiny crush on her,” I lie.
He doesn’t seem convinced. “Sure, man.”
“It’s true.”
“You’re convincing no-one but her in this scenario.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Just as I say that, a flash of red, shiny hair passes by the doorway and my jaw clenches. She can’t have been listening. She would’ve come in to taunt me by now.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, and push myself off the lockers without saying goodbye.
I chase Liv through two hallways before we finally get to an empty one. I know I should listen to Matilda’s advice. I know I shouldn’t create ‘unnecessary’ drama but Liv deserves getting yelled at.
I am also aware of the fact that Matilda will probably yell at me when and if she finds out about my conversation with her, but, honestly, I could care less.
“Liv,” I snap. She immediately swivels around and narrows her eyes at me before scoffing. “What, William?”
“You know what. Why the fuck do you need to taunt us whenever we’re together? And you running your mouth about us with Andrea of all people? Out of line, Olivia,” I scold.
“I can talk about whoever I want with whoever I want, Will. It’s none of your business,” she says, smiling sardonically.
“Last time I checked, I am my business. And, technically Matilda is too.”
“Oh, please, Will, you’re not convincing anyone,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
“With what? Because did you see that moment in the hallway before? Because that sure seemed real to me.”
She blinks and opens her mouth to retort before snapping it shut.
I know I shouldn’t be blabbing about it. As far as I’m concerned, it was fake.
But then I think about the way she gasped as I pulled her closer, the way her freckled face flushed, the way her fingers slid along my shoulders gently. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel fake at all.
I push all my thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on Liv again, where her face is red–either from anger or embarrassment, I’m not sure.
“Is it actually real?” she asks. She doesn’t seem angry, or annoyed or like she’s about to mock me any time soon. No, instead she looks…sad.
I think of her at the party, where she was so concerned and worried over her being drunk, or having a panic attack that she looked like she was about to throw up. I think about her yelling at Jamie for not knowing what a panic attack was.
And suddenly, I don’t feel angry at her. I just feel pity.
I want to tell her. Tell her that all the things we’re doing aren't real, and that Matilda just wants Jamie back. But I can’t.
“Yeah,” I lie, “it is.”
She swallows and blinks a few times at me.
It’s moments like these that Liv seem more human and less devil incarnate.
“Oh” is the only word she says before she pauses, looks over my shoulder and walks that way.
I stare after her, her glossy hair bouncing with each step she takes. I shake my head, confused.
There are moments with Liv that I despise her, and would like to have her shot, mainly moments where she is embarrassing Matilda, or yelling at Stacy, or making her little sister feel less than, or just moments where she’s generally being a brat.
But then, there are the moments when all I see is a lonely girl who doesn’t know how to deal with anything so she takes it out on everyone she loves.
She is the textbook definition of a Mean Girl, and yet, I see her as a lot more than that. I shouldn’t, but I do.
I shake my head free of the thoughts. No point in thinking about the complexities of Liv Wexler.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
The rest of the week is more or less the same.
Every day Matilda sits with us, her fingers intertwined with mine while she sits in silence and the rest of the group ignores her. I don’t think she minds though.
We have no more almost-kisses and I think we’re both pretending that it didn’t happen, although I doubt her reasons are the same as mine.
I have no more unpleasant or uncomfortable encounters with Liv as we are both actively avoiding each other, although I have a feeling she isn’t ignoring me, so much as Matilda.
“So, Matilda,” Jace says, turning to Matilda on Thursday. “Are you coming to the basketball game tomorrow?”
“Oh. I don’t know. We haven’t discussed it,” she says, turning to me, biting her lip anxiously.
I shrug. “Only if you want to.”
“I do want to,” she says sincerely.
I cock an eyebrow. I would’ve thought she would want to spend as much time away from me as possible after Monday. “Really?”
She nods.
“Uh, well, yeah. Sure. You can come,” I say, offering her a smile.
She smiles back.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
I’ve been leaning against my car for ten minutes when I see Matilda.
“Finally!” I say. “What took you so long?”
“Sorry,” Matilda says sheepishly, “I was grabbing my book.”
I nod. “That’s alright,” I say, opening the passenger door for her. She climbs in quickly.
“So,” I begin as I sit in the driver’s seat, “what is the great Matilda Weston reading at the moment?”
Her smile falters slightly and I tilt my head. “Um, it’s a murder mystery,” she says quietly.
“Tell me about it.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will bore you,” she says, waving me away.
“It won’t. Tell me,” I promise.
“I’m really bad at explaining things, so I–”
“I don’t mind. Tell me,” I repeat.
She blinks a few times as if nobody has ever asked that of her before, before beginning to explain all the details.
She talks all the way to her house about the suspects, the plot, the setting and the romance because “apparently all books need romance nowadays” she said with a very annoyed eye roll.
“So, I, personally, think it’s the maid because she seems like the least likely suspect and that usually means it’s them. Or it’s the son because he’s the most likely suspect. It’s one or the other,” she says with a shrug.
I just hum in response as we pull into her driveway.
“Anyway, can you tell me why you want to come to my basketball game?” I ask her.
She frowns. “Because I want to.”
I snort. Her frown deepens. “You don’t like sports,” I point out.
“How do you know I don’t like sports?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Because you’re Matilda and you don’t like sports.”
“I can like sports if you’re playing sports,” she defends.
I’m not sure if she means it in a flirty way or not but my heart flutters anyway.
My heart needs to calm the fuck down.
I raise an eyebrow. She just smiles.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re going to sit in a sweaty gymnasium for two hours while about a hundred people scream and yell, all because you like sports because I play sports?” I ask.
She looks visibly anxious now, probably at the mention of people screaming and I immediately wish I hadn’t said anything. But still she says, “Yes, I am.”
“Okay. But if you change your mind…”
“I won’t. Besides,” she says, “I should probably go anyway. Sell the whole girlfriend thing.” She begins to play with the hem of her red cardigan.
I swallow. “Right.”
“So, should I like, wear your jersey, or something?”
“What?” I ask, startled.
“I meant a spare one. And is it called a jersey? Or a vest? If you ask me it should be called a jersey, because it sounds better. But, hey–”
“Stop,” I cut in, interrupting her rambling. She slams her mouth closed and her face turns a cherry red. “You can wear an old one of mine if you want.”
“Well, actually, now that I think about it, will it look weird? I mean, we’ve only been “dating” for two weeks and I don’t want it to look like we’re being too full-on with it. And also, will anyone else be wearing one? I don’t want to look out of place. And–”
“Tilds,” I say gently. “You can do whatever you want.” As I say that, I get out of the car and then walk over to her side and open the door for her.
“Well, I’m only asking because Stacy asked me whether I wanted to come to her house before it to ‘get ready’. I don’t really know what that means so I assume she might be wearing Jace’s jersey also. Is there something going on between them because they’re very couple-esque?” she asks, still rambling.
“Tilds. Why are you so nervous?” I ask.
“I’m not,” she lies and stares at the path in front of her.
When we reach her doorstep, I grab hold of her wrist and pull her against my chest. A gasp falls from her lips and she rests her hands against chest, steadying herself.
“Do I make you nervous, Matilda?” I murmur.
Her eyes widen and her face flushes a bright pink. I smirk.
“No, this conversation’s making me nervous,” she says, looking away from me. I smile and shake my head.
I lean forward and press a kiss against her forehead. “You don’t need to be nervous,” I tell her, my tone soft.
“Why not?” she asks, gnawing at her lip.
I just smile in response. “Because it’s me. You don’t need to be nervous.”
She doesn’t seem convinced and she pulls away from me.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, yeah?” I ask as she opens her front door.
Her lips press together before she nods. I turn and wave goodbye, heading back to my car.
I’m halfway down the path when I hear her call for me. “Will?”
I turn and stop. “Yeah?”
Even from a distance, I can see her anxious face and her playing nervously with the ends of one of her braids.
“Never mind,” she yells finally before slamming her front door.
Matilda
I’m sitting in my bedroom after school desperately trying not to have a panic attack.
Not just from that almost-kiss on Monday but that moment earlier on the porch has really worsened it.
I need to get a hold of myself. I do not like Will. I don’t feel anything for him. He’s just my frustrating classmate. He’s an annoying bastard. An annoying, attractive bastard.
God, these thoughts really aren’t helping.
And I almost gave in to him today! Thinking of inviting him into the house– what am I crazy?
I stare at myself in the mirror of the bathroom and bend down to splash water on my face. I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve been in here. All I know is I came in to have a shower twenty minutes ago and ended up here, panicking and hyperventilating.
My heart leaps when a knock raps at the bathroom door.
“Honey?” My mother’s voice travels through from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? You’ve been in there a while.”
“Y-Yeah. Everything’s fine,” I yell back, what I’m hoping is convincingly.
“Okay. You sure?”
“Yeah. I promise.”
“Alright. You wanna bake some cookies and watch a movie in a little bit? Or watch more of that show we were watching last night?” she offers.
“We can bake. And maybe a movie. I dunno.”
“Alright. Just let me know.”
“I will. Bye.”
I hear the sound of retreating footsteps and loosen a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I turn back to my reflection and think of my anxiety techniques my therapist taught me.
While I dry my hair in the mirror, I focus on deep breathing; in for four, hold for four, release for four.
While I do my skincare, I focus on all the things I can smell, touch, hear. I ground myself.
I focus on everything but my thoughts. I focus on everything but Will.
I refuse to focus on anything that is Will.
And, when I run out of techniques, I blast my music so hard in my ears that I shouldn’t hear my thoughts.
But still, my mind slips back to him. The feel of his rough hand entwined with mine, the feel of his fingers as he threaded them through my hair, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes–
My thoughts are interrupted by my phone dinging beside me. My hand reaches for it absentmindedly.
I frown at the notification from Stacy. How did she get my number? I mean she gave me her number, not the other way around. I click on the message.
Stacy: hi matilda
Me: hi
Stacy: have you spoken to will about the basketball game tomorrow?
I pause for a moment and think back to mine and Will’s conversation. I refuse to think of the moment that happened after.
Me: yeah. he said it was fine.
Stacy: YAY! now we can be jersey twins.
Me: uh sure
We both text goodbye and my phone returns face down on top of my bed just as Risk by Gracie Abrams begins to play.
My mind drifts back to Will. I’m not sure why I’m bothering trying not to think of him. It clearly isn’t working.
I think back to that moment with him in the corridor at school on Monday. I think of the hotness and the warmth of his skin. I think of the light stubble along his jaw. I think of the look of his curly, chocolate brown hair that I desperately wanted to run my fingers through.
My thoughts then float to the moment on the porch a few hours ago. The softness of his words, his tone. The feeling of the cotton of his shirt beneath my fingers.
Why aren’t you here in my bedroom? Hopelessly boring without you
I immediately jolt up and press the skip button. I’m not in the mood for your relatableness today, Gracie.
Through my headphones I can hear my mother calling me to bake the brownies.
And throughout our baking, and throughout whatever movie that we apparently chose, I think about Will. It is the only thing my mind seems to be able to focus on.
And it is then that I truly realise my dilemma: I have true feelings for Will North.
Will
I don’t know why I’ve arrived at Matilda’s house so early. I’ve been sitting out here for about half an hour, playing music on my speakers.
John Wayne by Cigarettes After Sex is currently playing and it’s hitting far too close to home for my liking. I push myself up from my seat and click the skip button.
Perfect Girl by The Cure begins to play. Not much better in my situation.
What was I thinking yesterday on the porch? Pulling her close like that? Do I want to torture myself? Honestly, I should be locked up. I think it'll be the only way to make sure I keep my hands off of her.
And, furthermore, what was she thinking? What did she want to ask me? Did she want me to back off? Did she want me to kiss her? Oh, Jesus, I need to get a grip. In what world would she want me to kiss her? None. In no universe, even in the multiverse would she want me to kiss her.
I quickly calm myself and am about to get out of the car when my phone rings. I check the caller ID and immediately tense.
On the screen reads ‘Mum’.
What on earth could she possibly want now? She hasn’t called me, texted me, emailed me, or any other way of contact in almost eleven months; why bother calling now?
I shake my head and hit the deny button before opening my car door and walking up to the porch. I refuse to think about our moment yesterday any longer.
I’m about to knock on the door when Matilda opens it and almost runs straight into my chest.
She blinks up at me through her lashes, clearly caught off guard.
I give her a glance up and down and I feel my stomach flip. God, she looks so fucking good.
She’s wearing a dark blue sweater, making her bright blue eyes look even more vibrant. She’s wearing a long dark red and blue tartan skirt, which, I’ll admit is somewhat questionable in mid-November, but she pulls it off, so who am I to question? Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, a few curls falling free from its grip.
She just looks good, damnit.
I refuse to stare at her any longer and force my eyes back up to meet hers.
She offers me a polite, albeit awkward, smile and says, “Sorry, I was just–”
“No, it’s fine, I was just…I usually…”
“I saw your car, I thought I’d…” she trails off.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to ease her worries.
“Sorry,” she says.
An air of awkwardness settles between us and I hate it. Is this because of yesterday? What happened on the porch? God, I shouldn’t have done it. Why did I have to pull her close to me like that? She didn’t ask for that. I make a promise to myself to stop touching her.
“So, er, what’s with the bag?” I ask as I turn and gesture for her to follow me. I don’t place my hand on her back like I desperately want to.
“Oh, well, I’m going over to Stacy’s today after school, and she said that I should bring a change of clothes, so,” she explains. I’m immediately disappointed at the thought of her being in anything else, although the thought of her wearing my jersey with my number on her back isn’t entirely unappealing.
“Ah, okay,” I say and reach for the passenger door. Matilda thanks me and climbs in.
When I enter the car myself I see Matilda staring and frowning at the car screen.
I frown. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She turns to me and nods. “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just…On the screen it said your mum was calling. I dunno, I just—I thought you weren’t in contact with her?”
I swallow and move to buckle my seatbelt, trying to give myself enough time to come up with a lie. It doesn’t work. “I’m not?” I try instead.
“Well, I just kinda assumed. I mean, you never mention her.”
I shrug. “You never ask.”
“I suppose. It’s just–” She cuts herself off, seeming to remember something. “Never mind,” she says, offering me a smile. “Um, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Alright. Shoot.”
“My mum, last night, she asked me whether you wanted to come over? After the basketball game? It’s just, we have this tradition that every Friday night we watch two movies, usually 2000s rom coms, and eat a bunch of junk food and order pizza. And since we didn’t do it last Friday night, she was very insistent that we have one this week. She’s not needy, or anything,” she adds quickly, “she just likes spending time with me. We’re always so busy during the week,” she finishes, offering me a small smile.
It sort of stings, hearing how much her mum wants to spend time with her.
Especially since my mother can’t even be bothered to send me a fucking text.
She seems to sense my change in mood because she seems to shrink back slightly and asks, “So, what do you think?”
“Uhm, yeah, sure. We might be back a bit late, though, if that’s alright with her?”
Matilda nods and smiles at me before picking up her phone, presumably to text her mum. I would do whatever she wanted as long as she kept smiling at me like that. “That’s fine,” she says, still typing.
I tilt my head at her and glance her up and down again, taking advantage of the fact that she’s looking away. Is she wearing different makeup? Her lips definitely look a different colour.
I’m narrowing my eyes at her, trying to determine what exactly is different about her face when she looks up and I immediately move back from her. She giggles. “What?”
“Nothing. I–” I sigh. “You just look really pretty today,” I mumble.
Her face flushes a bright pink and she blinks, taken aback. “Oh. I–Thank you.”
I nod. More silence fills the space between us and I fill it by starting the engine and driving off to school.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
The drive is painfully, dreadfully and uncomfortably silent and I’m not sure how to fill it.
Even though Matilda and I are sort of friends now, compliments are new territory for us. It’s weird that holding hands and hugs seem to be so easy for us and yet we’re not able to compliment each other without being awkward.
We’re now sitting in the school car park, extremely early (although, that is my fault as I arrived at her house too early), and are both sitting awkwardly in our seats. I’ve tried to make conversation a few times and none of my attempts have worked.
“So,” I attempt again, “what classes do you have today?”
“Uhm, well I have double English first and second period,” she says.
Great, more moments of awkward silence. Fucking fantastic.
“And, then we have break, obviously, and then History and then Film Studies. And then, after that I have Film Studies again,” she finishes, offering me a smile.
“Oh. Well. Fun,” I reply. She responds with an awkward chuckle.
“What do you have?” she asks.
“Uh, well, obviously double English. Then I’ve got double PE and then Science last period.”
Her face screws up in disgust. “You chose PE for your A-Levels?” she asks, her tone filled with judgement.
“I didn’t know what else to choose!” I defend, incredulous. “Besides, I’ve got loads of scholarship opportunities for my basketball, and it keeps me in shape. And I sort of enjoy it.”
“You have scholarship opportunities?”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“That’s really impressive,” she says quietly. “I can’t even kick a ball in a straight line.”
I laugh. “Sports not your thing?”
She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “I’d never been more happy to drop a subject in my entire life. Aside from maybe Drama in Year 10.”
“Oh, well I agree with you there,” I say, laughing softly.
She tilts her head at me. “Really? I would’ve thought you liked Drama?” I snort in response. She slaps my arm lightly. “What? You’re just very…y’know.”
“No, actually, I don’t know,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“Well, you’re just…” She huffs in annoyance. God I’d missed annoying her.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” she says finally, clearly still irritated, although I can’t tell whether it’s with me or herself.
I smile at her and shake my head. I reach a hand over and tug at one of her loose curls. Does tugging on her hair count as touching her? If it does then I think I’m screwed.
She glares in response to my hair tug. My grin widens.
The weight on my chest from everything that’s happened already this morning has lifted and I’m glad we won’t have to sit in silence for the rest of the day.
“Should we go in?” I ask her. She nods and undoes her seatbelt.
“Wait,” I tell her and climb out of the car. I rush over to her side and open the door for her where she is sitting with an eyebrow arched.
“You should know by now that you don’t open car doors,” I tell her.
“What are you, my valet?” she asks.
“Don’t valets just park your car?” I challenge.
“Oh, my apologies, wrong term,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What are you, my driver?” she corrects.
“Yes, I am. I am your own personal driver. I expect my paycheck on Sunday.”
She gives me a sarcastic smile and hops out of the car.
“So,” I begin as we start to walk inside, “are you excited for the basketball game? Matilda?” I ask when she doesn’t respond.
I turn my head to look at her and find her gazing at something in the distance. Or rather someone.
Her eyes are pinned on Liv and Jamie talking intently to one another, their faces incredibly close together.
I feel my heart pinch slightly.
It’s not like she’s shown any indication that she fancied me, or even really liked me at all, to be honest. But it still hurts knowing the only reason she’s hanging out with me at all is because she wants someone else.
“Matilda?” I repeat. I’m hoping she doesn’t hear the pain in my tone.
“Hm?” she asks, turning to me. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“Are you excited for the basketball game?” I ask again.
“Aw, yeah! Hey, are you gonna shoot a layout?” she asks, grinning.
“A layup?” I correct, laughing.
“Oh, dammit!” she swears, annoyed. “I promise, I did so much research, I just have an awful memory.”
“Research?” I ask her, still laughing. “Why are you doing research?”
“Well, I thought that if I’m going to sit in a gymnasium for two hours then I should at least know what on earth is going on. Plus, I might be less bored then,” she says, matter-of-factly.
“Fair enough. Although, I don’t think you’ll be bored. Stacy will be yammering in your ear the whole time anyway,” I tell her. She groans softly in response. I chuckle. “What?”
“Nothing. I just never know what to say when she’s talking to me. I’m not good with conversation,” she says.
“You’re good at it with me,” I say with a shrug.
“Yeah, but you’re different,” she says casually.
“Oh?” I tilt my head at her. “How so?”
“I dunno. You’re just, y’know…Will,” she says as if that’s an explanation.
“That is my name, yes.”
She glares at me. “You know what I mean. You’re just, I dunno. Easy to talk to, I suppose.”
“I’m sure my mother would disagree,” I comment dryly as I open my locker. I immediately regret my words.
She frowns and opens her mouth to respond but Jace appears beside me.
“‘Sup,” he says.
“‘Sup,” I respond.
“You ready for the game today?” he asks, his eyebrow arching. I know what he’s actually asking. He’s asking "You going to be okay for the game today?”
I’ve never talked about how pressured I feel on the team, but I know he’s always guessed. I know he doesn’t understand. He sees basketball as a fun game that he’s good at. I see it as a game that depends on my livelihood.
I’m not exactly sure when it stopped being fun for me. Or if I ever found it fun. It just happened, and now I’m here with scholarships being offered left right and centre. I know I shouldn't complain, and I know so many of my teammates would kill to be getting so much attention from schools. But being aware of that doesn’t make it any less stressful.
“Yeah. Are you?” He gives a nod in response.
“Will,” Matilda interjects. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, glancing at Jace and offering him a quick, polite smile, “but I’m gonna head to my locker. I’ll see you in English, okay?”
“Oh, I’ll walk you,” I say.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to–”
I grab a hold of her arm gently and say a quick goodbye to Jace and start to lead her through the busied hallways. I immediately curse myself when I realise I’ve now officially broken my promise not to touch her.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. I’ll be fine,” she says.
“I know, but I want to,” I tell her. She doesn’t seem to have a response to that other than blushing slightly.
I walk her through the bustling corridors for about five minutes before we finally arrive at her locker.
“So,” she begins as she opens her locker and begins shoving books inside, “are you ready for the game?”
I look away from her. “Yeah. Why?”
“You just seemed, I don’t know, nervous,” she says. In my peripheral vision I can see her watching me anxiously. “Just your facial expressions,” she explains.
“Ah,” is my only response. I turn back to face her. She’s watching me with her brows furrowed and she’s biting her cheek.
“Are you sure?” she asks, more quietly this time.
I swallow. I hate lying to her, but I’ve got a reputation to maintain. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t seem convinced but she nods and whispers, “Okay.”
I nod and hold out my hand for her. She takes it and we both begin to walk to class slowly.
“So, er, there’s no need to wait for me after school,” she says. “Stacy said she would drive me to hers,” she clarifies when she sees my frowning face.
“Oh. Okay,” I say.
I won’t deny I’m disappointed. Our car rides to school are the only times she actually feels comfortable enough to say more than two words around me and it’s annoying that it’s being taken away.
Matilda’s grip on my hand tightens when we pass Liv and Andrea and the rest of her posse. I can feel Liv’s sharp, blue-eyed gaze on us even as we walk past a corner.
“Hey, why are we going this way?” Matilda asks, frowning and glancing over her shoulder. “Class is that way.”
“Well, this is just a shortcut,” I say.
“It is not!” she chastises. “Why are we going this way?”
“I have a reputation to maintain, Matilda,” I tell her, half-joking.
“Oh? And what reputation is that, Wilford?” she asks.
When I don’t answer, she says, “Being late isn’t cool, Wilson.”
I narrow my eyes at her and stop. “Is it not?” I ask softly as I press her against a wall, my hands resting on her waist.
She swallows and glances around, presumably at the eyes on us, but I’m not sure I care if people are staring.
My brain is screaming at me to stop, that she doesn’t want this to happen, that I need to get away from her, but then, Matilda glances at my lips, before meeting my eyes. She tugs me closer, only by an inch, and I have to force back my gasp.
The soft scent of her vanilla perfume swirls in the air between us.
“No, it's not,” she says, her voice so calm I’m sure I imagined everything. “And if you’re going to insist on walking me to class, then you’re going to be on time. Okay?”
God, I love it when she bosses me around. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.
My nose grazes against hers and I say, “Okay.”
And with that, she pushes me away and stalks back off the way we came.
I have no choice but to follow her like a lost puppy.
Matilda
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I have no idea what inspired me to push him away. Or walk off like that. I think I was having an aneurysm of some sort.
I’m currently locked in a bathroom stall, sitting on top of a toilet seat, waiting for my final class to end. I’ve barely been able to focus all day, especially not in English. And it didn’t help that Will definitely wasn’t having the same problem. He was just sitting there casually as if it was totally normal for us to have almost-kissed twenty minutes before. Well, technically it is for us, but that’s not the point.
I know I should probably be in lesson, and the teacher will probably send someone in about thirty seconds to come and check on me, but I’m not going to be able to focus anyway so what’s the point?
I hear the bathroom door creak open. Called it.
“Matilda?” Stacy’s voice rings out through the echoey bathroom. “Are you in here?”
I think about not saying anything at all, but she can probably see my shoes anyway. I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Oh, good. I’ve been to, like, two bathrooms already.”
“Oh. Sorry,” I say. “I went to the furthest one.”
Stacy giggles. “Fair enough. Are you going to come back to class? I’m pretty sure Miss will strangle me if I go back to class without you.”
I can’t help but laugh and I unlock the stall. Stacy smiles at me and swings a lock of her shiny blonde hair, which I am eternally jealous of, over her shoulder.
I give myself a once over in the mirror and flatten my hair that has become frizzy again in the school air.
“I’m very jealous of your hair,” Stacy comments. “I’ve always wanted curly hair.”
I blink, surprised. “Oh. Thank you. I’m jealous of your hair.”
“Really?”
“It’s very shiny.”
“Oh,” she says, smiling sheepishly at me. “Yes, it is. It’s my conditioner.”
“Makes sense.”
She nods and tilts her head, gesturing for me to follow her back to class. I, regretfully, follow her.
We walk in silence for about five minutes before she finally asks, “So, are you okay?”
“Um, yeah. Why?” I say.
“I was just wondering if you were hiding for a specific reason, or if you just hate your seatmate,” she jokes.
I laugh softly. For a moment, I consider telling her about what happened, and about my confusing, newly-discovered feelings for Will, but I know she won’t understand. Stacy doesn’t know what Will and I have is fake, and I don’t want to crush her dreams by telling her it is.
“No, I’m fine,” I lie. Stacy tilts her head at me for a moment, clearly unconvinced, before she nods.
“So, we’re gonna meet at Jace’s locker after school today,” Stacy says, “to collect the jerseys. And we’re gonna meet up just before the game. Y’know wish them good luck,” she says. I nod.
“Is Jace nervous?” I blurt. I don’t mean to ask it, but I can’t get the sight of Will’s face when Jace was talking out of my head. And I can’t exactly ask him. He clearly has issues in accepting that he feels any negative emotion, and even more issues in talking about them.
“Nervous?” Stacy asks. I nod, confirming. “I’m not sure. Should he be?” She looks nervous now, and I immediately regret bringing anything up.
“No! I mean–I don’t think so. I’m not sure. I was just asking because…” I trail off. I’m debating whether to tell Stacy anything or not. I know it’s not a big deal for someone to be nervous before the quarter-finals of a basketball game, especially not someone who is getting scholarship opportunities. Even though I could tell he was lying (I’ve come to the conclusion that Will is a horrendous liar), he didn’t want me, or Jace, to know that he was nervous.
“Because?” Stacy asks expectantly. I realise I’ve probably been stuck in silence for the past few minutes.
“Um…You know what? I forgot,” I say, even though I have in fact, not forgotten.
“Oh. Okay,” she says with a shrug.
We arrive back for the final ten or so minutes for class, but I don’t listen to anything the teacher says. My mind is focused on Will.
I’d always thought up until a week ago that Will was exactly what I always thought him to be: careless, lazy, annoying (In all fairness, I do still find him very annoying. I’ve just grown to like that about him.), and, as stupid as it may sound, happy.
I always thought he was happy with his friends that litter and steal pens from me. I always thought he was happy arriving late to class just because he wanted to piss off the teacher. I always thought he was happy when girls fawned over him in the hallway.
But now that I’ve actually gotten to know him, the more I see that I was, as much as I hate to admit it, wrong. I’ve only seen glimpses, the slightest cracks in his armour, his masks, but the ones I have seen have had me questioning what I used to believe. What I still sort of believe.
The bell rings out through the classroom, startling me from my thoughts. I quickly stuff my things in my bag, grateful to finally be getting out of class. I’ll ask Stacy for notes later.
Stacy meets me outside the classroom and we both make our way to Jace’s locker. Throughout our journey, she blabs on about something. What, I’m not really sure of as it’s far too loud to hear her actually say anything. Maplewood may be a small town but its occupants sure are loud.
Luckily for me, she doesn’t say anything that actually requires an answer, so I just nod and say ‘Sure’ every few moments.
We arrive at Jace’s locker five minutes later than we should’ve, thanks to the crowd. I stop short when I see Will.
He’s leaning against the lockers next to Jace’s, chatting and smiling politely at a girl who’s looking at him like he’s, I don’t know, Wes Bennett or something!
I feel something twist deep in my gut.
No, stop being jealous, Matilda! He is not yours to be jealous over.
Will glances up and a massive grin takes over his face, dimples flashing.
“Hey,” he greets, still smiling like an idiot. The girl next to him swings her head around and rolls her eyes when she sees me before stalking off, leaving Will and me behind.
I blink at WIll’s face, a sudden sadness taking over my body when I think back to his face earlier today.
So, instead of saying hello like a normal fake-girlfriend, I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his middle.
Will tenses slightly before relaxing and wrapping his big arms around me. His warmth comforts me, eases the sort of pain in my chest.
I rest my head comfortably on his chest, and I can hear his heart thudding quickly inside.That’s odd.
“Hey,” Will whispers into my hair, before grabbing my face gently, tilting it up to look at him. I rest my chin on his chest, staring up into his dark brown eyes. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft and gentle and his eyes are filled with worry as they scan over my face.
“Yeah,” I say, just as softly. “Are you?”
Something flickers in his eyes and his eyebrows furrow, as if he’s confused by the question.
His Adam's apple bobs, before he nods. “Yeah.” He hesitates slightly before repeating, “Yeah. Of course I’m okay.”
Of course I’m okay. As if he’s never not okay. As if someone asking him if he’s not okay is astounding.
I want to tell him that it’s okay. It’s okay not to be okay. I’m interrupted by Jace saying, “Alright, lovebirds, time to go.”
Will’s eyes rip away from mine to glare at Jace. I reluctantly remove myself from his arms and turn back to look at Stacy and Jace.
Stacy is grinning at the both of us, her hand pressed over her heart like a mother who’s proud of her children. Jace, however, looks far more unimpressed. He’s watching me with precise focus, as if he’s trying to figure something out. I’m not sure what, but his gaze is making me incredibly uncomfortable.
Will’s arms come around me, wrapping me in a hug and pressing me against his chest. “Sorry, dad,” Will mocks.
Jace scowls. “We’re gonna be late.”
Will rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says. He pulls away from me and comes to stand next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go then.”
Jace nods, only once, before grabbing Stacy’s hand and beginning to walk out the school towards his car.
“I left my jersey in his car this morning,” Will explains. I just nod in response.
“So,” I begin, “you sure you're not nervous?”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and his grip tightens on my shoulder for a moment. “‘Course. Why would I be nervous?”
“Well, it’s a big game, right? I’m just saying no one would blame you if you were nervous.”
“I’m not,” he says, his tone slightly clipped.
We’re almost to Jace’s car now. Time for a new subject, I decide.
“So, do you think you’re gonna win?” I ask. We both stop beside Jace’s car, waiting for him to grab Will’s jersey.
Will smirks down at me before removing his hand from my shoulder and tugging me close to his chest by my waist, the scent of his cologne surrounding me. “What do you give me if I do?”
I blink rapidly up at him as blood rushes to my cheeks. Is he seriously Conrad Fisher-ing me right now?
No, no, no, this isn’t fair. He can’t do this. He can’t be all hot and shit with his teasing.
“Well, I–What–what do you want?” I stutter.
His smirk grows before he leans in closer to me, his nose grazing mine. “I want a kiss.”
A what?! “A what?”
“I want to kiss you,” he repeats, far too calmly for my liking.
My heart is trying to leap out of my chest, I’m sure of it. Oh, God, I’m not going to survive this conversation. In fact, I’m quite sure I’ve dropped dead on the sidewalk and I’m in heaven right now.
Will has me pressed flush against his body and I’m not sure whether I want to slap him, pull away, or melt right into the floor.
“Well, I–I, um, I suppose that could be, um, arranged.” Will’s smirk widens and his face gets even closer to mine, his lips brushing mine ever so slightly, my lips parting in response.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, his voice deep and husky.
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Uh-huh,” my voice is hoarse and breathy and I wish to God that I will eventually shut my mouth. “Although, um, we should probably wait until you win, you know. Because what’s the point in winning if I give you a kiss before you win?” I finish with an awkward chuckle.
I expect him to pull away from my awkwardness, to frown and raise an eyebrow and say “I was only kidding” and then I will laugh and say “Haha, so was I” before running off back home.
But none of those things happen. Instead, he brushes his lips against mine once more before pulling away slightly. “Good point, sweetheart,” he whispers.
Oh. Dear. Lord.
My stomach does a thousand somersaults.
Sweetheart? Jesus fucking Christ. Holy mother of god.
My heart, my brain, my body can’t take this. I’m quite sure I’m going to collapse if he doesn’t stop flirting with me. If he doesn’t stop teasing me. If he doesn’t stop–
Jace chucks Will’s jersey at him and I leap away from Will, almost smashing my head on Jace’s car.
Will removes his jersey from his head where it had promptly landed and throws a glare at Jace before turning back to me and offering me a friendly, perfectly calm smile as if we hadn’t been almost about to kiss for the third (or was it fourth? I’ve lost count.) time. As if he hadn’t just stopped all the logical signals sent to my brain in the last one, three, or five minutes that he had me pressed against him.
I don’t think I can look at him anymore. I might die if I do. I turn back to Stacy and Jace who are both watching us curiously. Stacy smiles at me, and runs her eyes over my face. She must read something in my impression, as she frowns and glances towards Will.
I blink in confusion. I don’t have any time to object before she rushes toward me and grabs my arm and yanks me harshly away from Will, grabbing his jersey as she does.
“Say goodbye to Matilda, Will,” she yells over her shoulder as she drags me towards her car.
Will looks as confused as I feel. “Bye, Tilds,” he yells.
The only thing I can offer him is a limp wave as Stacy continues to drag me to her car.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Stacy drives in silence, and keeps throwing glances to me as she drives and I continue to be perpetually perplexed.
I mean, what the hell was that? One moment she was practically gushing over us, the next she’s yanking me away from me as if he’s a terrorist or something.
I keep trying to think of things to say, but what polite way is there to ask “what the hell is going on?”? It just doesn’t exist.
And, even more stress-inducing than that, is the fact that Will was flirting with me. Will was flirting with me. And I wasn’t flirting back. I mean–Was I? I don’t think blabbing my mouth off constitutes as flirting, and I don’t think he would take it as flirting either.
Was I supposed to flirt back? I’m not overly sure on the dynamics of flirting. Or maybe I was flirting? I’m not sure; I think my brain went dead after he asked me to kiss him.
I try to think back to what was actually said–I’m usually really good at that. I remember his words, I remember the scent of his woodsy cologne, I remember the feel of the soft cotton of his shirt against my fingers. But when I try to think of what I said, I come up with nothing. He’s apparently caused me some sort of very specific amnesia.
My thoughts pause when a realisation dawns on me: Stacy and Jace were there. And if Stacy and Jace were there…Does that mean he didn’t mean it? Did he not actually want to kiss me? Was he just putting on a show?
My neck and face grow hot, flushing in embarrassment. Of course it was just an act. I don’t know how I thought any differently.
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter because you like Jamie. Remember? I ask myself.
I do, in fact, not remember.
Because suddenly, I can’t remember or think of a single reason or thing as to why I like Jamie. Why I’m attracted to him.
I try to think back to all the moments when we were dating, when I was at Stacy’s party, hell, even this morning when I saw him with Liv, but apparently Will has deadened that part of my memory too.
I rest my head in my hands. I need to get a fucking grip. I can’t think of Will like this. I can’t have this intense of feelings for him. I just can’t. My brain isn’t set up for it. My heart isn’t set up for it.
“Are you okay?” I startle when Stacy’s voice enters the car. I’d forgotten she was there, to be honest.
I reluctantly lift my head to look at her. Her kind brown eyes are filled with anxiety and are watching me closely. She offers me a hesitant smile, and I return the gesture.
I sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, Stacy,” I admit. Her expression softens and she reaches over to squeeze my arm gently.
“Just relax. We’ll go inside, and I’ll get us some ice cream and you can tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours,” she says, tapping me on the forehead. “And then we’ll get ready. We’ve got an hour or so before we have to get dressed and that, because it doesn’t start till five.”
I nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
She smiles at me before she unlocks the door and climbs out. I follow her into her house.
All the memories from her party hit me all at once: my panic attack, Liv and Jamie making out, me getting drunk, me throwing up.
I refuse to think about the fuzzy memories of Will.
“Your house is very nice,” I comment.
Stacy smiles at me. “Oh, thank you. My mother’s handiwork. She’s an interior designer, you see.” I hum in response.
Stacy strolls into the kitchen and I continue to follow her. She walks over to the fridge and opens the freezer. “Okay, so what ice cream do you want?”
I walk over to her and peer inside. My mouth almost falls open in shock. Now, my mother and I may be world-champion eaters, but we never have this much ice cream in our freezer, especially not this wide a range. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, peanut butter, rocky road. You name it, it’s probably in her freezer.
“Woah. That’s a…a lot of ice cream,” I say.
Stacy turns her head to smile at me again. “Yeah, well I like ice cream.”
“No, don’t get me wrong, I like it too. In fact, it’s literally my favourite food. But I’m just, like, shocked.”
Stacy laughs and nods. “Okay, so what do you want?”
I tilt my head and peer inside the freezer. “Hmm…How about mango?”
“Alrighty,” she says and grabs the tub of mango ice cream from the freezer and grabs the coffee flavour for herself. She hands me the tub of mango before grabbing some spoons from a drawer and gesturing to me to follow her upstairs.
After leading me up the ornate marble staircase, and turning down what feels like a million corridors, she finally pushes open an oak wooden door. My eyebrows raise in response.
Her room is huge. I’m aware that Stacy’s rich, but I didn’t expect it to be king-size bed, en-suite, swing-chair, tv-mounted-on-the-wall rich.
On her bed lay layers and layers of fluffy blankets and pillows, all in different shades of pink, ranging between a pale pink to a pinkish-purplish shade of mulberry. Her swing chair is piled with jellycats and teddies, not too different from the way my bed is laid out.
“I like your room,” I say, giving her a small smile from her perch on her bed. “I like all the jellycats. My room’s like that too.”
“Yes!” she exclaims, grinning. “I started collecting them when I was, like, ten or something. I think I like my daisies the most,” she says, gesturing to the Amuseable jellycat sitting on her desk, “or the sheepdog,” she says, grabbing it from its place on her bed and holding it up. “I’m conflicted.”
I smile at her, glad to have found something we have in common for once. “Yeah. I think the Bartholomew Bear will always be my favourite. But I recently got the, uh, snow dragon, and I really like that one too.”
She nods, before patting the place next to her on her bed. I carefully sit down next to her.
“Okay, so,” Stacy begins, opening her tub of ice cream, “tell me what’s going on with you.”
“It’s sort of…complicated,” I sigh.
“Good. I love complicated,” she says sincerely.
I let a disbelieving chuckle before I start to tell her. I tell her all about mine and Will’s weird fake relationship. I tell her all about my conflicting, somewhat still lingering feelings for Jamie. I tell her all about mine and Will’s odd new camaraderie. And lastly, I tell her all about my extremely confusing, new-found feelings for Will.
Throughout it all, Stacy listens silently, squeezes my hand reassuringly, and eats her ice cream.
I swallow and rest my chin against my knees. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For listening.”
Stacy tilts her head at me. “Of course. What are friends for?”
Blinking confusedly at her, I ask, “We’re friends?”
She gives me a bemused smile. “Aren’t we?”
“I don’t know,” I say with a frown. “I’m not very good at making friends.” And apparently I’m not good at defining one either.
Stacy just grins and shakes her head at me, taking another bite of her ice cream. “I think you’re better at it than you think you are.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, but fortunately enough for me, it doesn’t require an answer. Stacy bounces off of her bed, setting her ice cream down on her dresser and pushes open her ensuite’s door. I aimlessly follow her.
“Okay, so,” she says, turning to face away from her reflection in the mirror, “should we start getting ready now?”
“Um, y-yeah. Sure,” I say, surprised by the change in subject. Something gnaws at me deep in my gut that makes me add, “Please don’t tell anyone.” She frowns and tilts her head at me. “About what I told you,” I clarify. “My best friend doesn’t even know and it’s just—Please don’t tell anyone.”
She smiles kindly at me. “No, of course not. I was only changing the subject because I didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable.”
“Oh.”
“And I also want to apologise,” she says quickly. I frown at her. Apologise for what? “For being so just, I don’t know, energetic?” She laughs softly. “Will sort of mentioned that you’ve been finding me a bit overbearing, and I get that. I know I can be full-on at times, but I’ve only been like that because I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh,” I say again.
“You just seemed sort of…lonely? But I wasn’t talking to you because you seemed lonely!” she adds quickly. “I just wanted to. So, yeah. Sorry,” she finishes, offering me a sheepish grin.
“It’s not a bad trait to be, um, energetic, to use your word,” I say. She laughs. “In fact my best friend is very energetic. It was just very, er, sudden when you started it. I was just a little blindsided, I suppose.”
Stacy nods, looking back into her reflection in her mirror and tucking her hair behind her ears. Her face breaks out in a smile. She turns back to me. “Great, so now that we’re over with all the serious talk,” she says with a roll of her eyes, beaming at me, “let’s get ready.”
I couldn’t agree more.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Will
I feel like my heart is going to explode in my chest.
Matilda and Stacy are both walking towards Jace and me, both wearing our respective jerseys.
Matilda looks so fucking beautiful. Her hair has been removed from its bun from earlier and is now blowing freely in the cold wind. She has replaced her skirt and dark blue sweater with a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck. She’s wearing my blue jersey on top of it. Have I mentioned how good she looks in blue?
My eyes travel back to her face which has been decorated with little black hearts and a number five on her left cheek, no doubt Stacy’s handiwork. I don’t even know how Stacy managed to convince Matilda to do that.
“Dude,” Jace says, nudging me in the ribs.
“What?”
“You’re staring.” Oh. Right.
Matilda and Stace are almost standing in front of us now. Both of their heads are tipped back in laughter. I clench my jaw. Why didn’t she laugh with me like that? Does she not find me funny?
Oh my God, I’m insane.
Why on earth am I getting jealous over Stacy? I mean, this morning Matilda was complaining about her, so it’s a good thing that they’re getting along. I hope so, anyway.
“Hi, boys,” Stacy says, smiling at us, recovering from her fit of laughter.
“Hey,” I say to Matilda.
She offers me a shy smile. “Hi.”
“You look nice,” I say, my voice scratchy. We’re never going to get better at compliments if we don’t practise.
Her cheeks flush a light pink. “Thank you.”
My fingers reach for her wrist. I’ve already failed at my mission not to touch her, so what’s the point? “You’re welcome.”
“I like your hair,” I murmur. Her face flushes an even deeper pink.
She opens her mouth, probably to thank me again when she’s pulled out of my hand’s light grip by Stacy. I’m still a little bitter about her yanking Matilda away earlier, and this does nothing to help her case.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore. We both know you’re in a fake relationship,” Stacy says, smiling sarcastically at me.
“You know?” Matilda and I both say in unison, although to entirely different people. Matilda is pointing an accusatory finger at Jace whose eyebrow is arched in response. Whereas, I’m glaring at Stacy, both confused and irritated. Confused because I’m not sure why Matilda told her, and irritated because that basically means I’ve lost a bunch of opportunities to hold Matilda’s hand.
“I told her today,” Matilda explains, turning her angry stare away from Jace.
“I told him on Monday,” I tell her.
“Yes, we both know. And frankly, I’m very disappointed in you, William. I am also your best friend,” Stacy states, matter-of-factly.
I sigh. “Yes, you are. I sort of just…forgot to tell you.”
Wrong thing to say.
“Forgot to tell me?” Stacy practically screams, incredulous.
I give her my most charming smile. “Yes…?”
“Oh, well, great. Is there anything else you ‘forgot to tell me’?” she demands.
“His full name isn’t William,” Matilda pipes in. I glare at her. She shrugs.
“What?” Her voice is so high-pitched it’s reaching that frequency that only dogs can hear. “So this whole time I’ve been telling my friends that your full name is William, and apparently I’ve been lying this whole time?”
“I suppose,” I say with a shrug.
“You suppose?” she yells.
“Okay,” Jace interrupts, “how about we all go inside now?” he asks, wrapping a comforting arm around Stacy’s shoulders and beginning to lead her inside. Stacy throws me one more death glare before starting to talk animatedly with Jace.
I sigh and turn back to Matilda. I study her face for a few moments before offering her my hand to hold. Stacy’s right, we don’t have to pretend anymore. But I still want to. And I want to see if she still wants to too.
Matilda stares hesitantly down at my hand, before grasping it in hers and beginning to walk inside.
Her steps slow slightly once she sees the crowd filing into the gymnasium. I squeeze her hand reassuringly and pull her closer to my body.
“It’s gonna be fine,” I murmur against her temple. She turns her bright blue gaze on me, her face the definition of anxiety.
“You don’t know that. What if I end up sitting next to a psychopath who follows us home and then kills me in my sleep?” she asks. I arch an eyebrow in response. “Huh? What then?”
“Okay, first of all,” I say, chuckling softly, “that would never happen. Second of all, I really think you need to stop watching true crime dramas.”
She glares at me before flicking her eyes back to the crowd. I sigh. “You know, it’s okay to admit that you’re scared of people, rather than making up some weird elaborate story about how you’re scared of getting murdered.”
“Can’t I be afraid of both?” she asks.
“Yes, you can,” I sigh, and pull her into a hug. She doesn’t protest. Her arms wrap around my torso, giving me flashbacks from earlier. I stroke her hair softly as my mind trails back to that moment.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the fact that she hugged me, but it was the reason why she hugged me that has me confused. Because she looked worried. Concerned, almost.
People don’t worry about me. I’m used to being cast to the side, being an afterthought, especially for my parents. I’m not used to people being worried about me. In fact, I actively avoid making people worry about me. So, why is she worried about me? How could she see through me? She’s not supposed to see through me. She’s not supposed to feel anything at all towards me.
I remove my brain from my thoughts and focus on the girl in question. “Just take some deep breaths okay?” I whisper into her hair. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“You sound like my old therapist.” A pause. “And the one before that.”
“Doesn’t sound like a very good therapist,” I say. She shakes her head. She’s trembling in my arms. “Hey,” I say softly. “Where’s this come from? You were excited earlier.”
“I didn’t realise how busy it was going to be. And I was distracted all day so I didn’t have time to think about it,” she says.
I pull her away from me, studying her apprehensive face. “Do you want me to drive you home?” I ask her gently, brushing back her hair from her face. “Because I will.”
“What? No. No, it’s–it’s fine. I–The party was way worse than this, and I survived that.”
“You got drunk.”
“Oh. Right.”
I run a frustrated hand down my face. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” I ask her again.
She nods firmly. “I want to be supportive,” she says. My stomach flips.
“Okay. If you're sure?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”
The best way to get Matilda to calm down? To annoy the fuck out of her.
I nod and wrap an arm around her waist and begin to slowly lead her towards the entrance. I know she probably won’t change her mind–she’s been pretty adamant about that–but I still want to give her the option.
I notice Stacy standing at the doorway and I feel some of my annoyance toward her dissipate.
“There’s a lot of people here,” Matilda says, almost admiringly.
“Yes, well I’m very proud of the amount of people who have nothing to do on a Friday night,” I say. Her lips twitch into a small smile.
Once we’re a few meters away from the door (and Stacy), I stop her. Matilda frowns.
“I have to go in the back entrance. To get ready,” I say. She nods. I look back to Stacy and the entrance. “You sure you’re going to be okay, Tilds?” I almost call her sweetheart again and I mentally curse myself for doing it before. For asking her to kiss me at all.
Matilda rolls her eyes at me. “Contrary to what you may believe, I am not a fragile little girl. I’ll be fine.”
I furrow my brows in confusion. “I don’t think you’re fragile.”
She scoffs. “No?”
“No. I’m only making sure because the last time you were in a crowd this size you had a panic attack and got drunk.”
“Well there’s no alcohol here so you don’t have to worry,” she half-jokes.
I press my lips together and shake my head slightly. I tug her back into a hug. I know I shouldn’t. I know that she’s probably sick of me touching her by now, but it seems to be the only reassurance she’ll actually accept.
“You promise you’ll be okay?” I ask her, tracing my fingers delicately down her arms.
She huffs in annoyance. “Are you using my promises against me, Willoughby?”
I laugh softly into her hair before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah.”
“Bastard,” she huffs and pulls away from me.
“Yeah, well,” I say with a shrug. My lips tilt up into a smile when I see her annoyed, yet blushing, face.
She’s not looking at me. She’s staring at the few people still filing into the building, anxiety written all over her face. I reach out to tuck a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her face, but she’s once again tugged out of reach by Stacy.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Stacy says, still gripping Matilda’s wrist. Matilda opens her mouth to speak, but immediately slams it shut again when Stacy drags her away.
“Uh, bye?” I call after them.
Matilda throws a bemused glance over her shoulder, and waves goodbye to me.
Matilda
“Ow! Stacy!” I exclaim, rubbing my arm to ease the pain. “What the hell was that?”
She’d dragged me all the way from the entrance to the bathroom, despite my protests. We’re currently standing in the bathroom that smells like citrus cleaning wipes and glaring at each other in confusion.
“You know what it was!” she defends.
“No, I don’t! Could you tell me, please?” I ask, trying to hide my irritation.
She sighs before leaning against the sinks. “I thought we had an agreement.”
“An agreement?” I ask, frowning.
“A silent agreement,” she amends.
If I was confused before, I’m utterly bewildered now. “A silent agreement? For what?”
She sighs and gives me a sympathetic look. I’m growing frustrated now. “I just thought that you would like me to intervene when you and Will are being, y’know, couple-y.”
“Oh.” I consider this for a moment. Do I want that? It would certainly help my confusion for my feelings, and possibly stop Will (and myself) from breaking my heart when it turns out he doesn’t feel the same.
But then I consider how I would feel without him touching me; the loss of his fingers brushing mine, the loss of him wrapping a soothing arm around my waist, the loss of him brushing my hair out of my face, and all of a sudden, the thought of him breaking my heart feels minute compared to the one I would feel without him touching me anymore.
“No. Well, I–” I pause. “How about I come up with a signal?”
“A signal,” Stacy repeats.
“Yeah.”
She frowns. “What sort of signal?”
I frown. “I’m not sure. I’m not very good at these kinds of things.”
Stacy hums softly, thinking up an idea. After thirty or so seconds, she says, very enthusiastically, “How about just, like, a look?”
“A look?” I ask skeptically.
“Yes. You know how when a guy is flirting with you and you aren’t interested in him so you throw your friend a look that says ‘help me’?”
“Guys don’t flirt with me,” I say blankly.
“Oh. Well, that doesn’t matter because you’ve got a fake-boyfriend and a crush anyway,” she says, waving off my thoughts and words. “So what do you think?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, only because I know I can’t think of anything else. “But what if you aren’t looking at me?”
“Uhh…I dunno. We’ll think of something,” she says with a shrug. I nod, still unsure.
We both exit the bathroom after confirming what our ‘Help Me’ look should look like (It’s pretty straight-forward). We’re walking up to our saved seats, thanks to Stacy’s friends, when Jamie intersects.
I blink in shock at him. Jamie didn’t play sports. Jamie still doesn’t play sports. In fact, it was one of the things I liked about him. I didn’t have to pretend to be overly interested in what was going on, or pretend like I knew what the hell everything was.
You don’t do that with Will, Matilda, my brain tells me. I ignore it.
I take in Jamie’s appearance thoughtfully. Messy blonde hair, brown eyes, his signature wonky smile, the same jeans he always wears. And I feel…not quite nothing, but I don’t feel like I’m going to have a panic attack or throw up when I look at him because of how attracted I am to him either.
You feel that when you look at Will, my brain pipes in.
My brain needs to shut up.
“Hey,” Jamie says with a smile.
“Hi,” I say. Stacy looks over her shoulder from a few steps ahead. She tilts her head at me as if to say, You need help?
I offer her a wobbly smile and a shake of my head. No, go ahead.
She spares me one more glance over her shoulder before going to sit in her seat.
“So, um, h-how have you been?” I ask him, flattening my curls.
He chuckles uncomfortably. “Not bad. How are you?”
“Fine. Just–Just fine, yeah,” I answer. “Uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but, uh, why are you here?” I ask. “Not that you’re not allowed to be here,” I add quickly when he frowns. “It’s just not your kind of thing. Or it wasn’t when we were, uh, dating…” I trail off awkwardly.
Jamie scratches the top of his head. “Uh, yeah, it’s not really, but Liv wanted to come, so,” he finishes with a shrug.
Panic pours over my body, adrenaline rushing through my veins. Why is Liv here? “Liv wanted to come?” I ask him, confused.
“Uh, yeah…?” he says with a chuckle. “I know, I was confused as well, but she was pretty insistent. You know what she’s like.”
Yes. Yes, I do.
I nod at him, looking around for Liv in the stands. Now, it’s not like she’s going to murder me or something. It’s not like she’s going to hold me to knifepoint and threaten to slit my throat. But Liv doesn’t go to these things. She doesn’t like these things. Which means she’s here for an ulterior motive. Either that, or she suddenly has the urge to watch sweaty boys run around in shorts.
“Um, well, I just wanted to say hi,” Jamie interrupts my thoughts, “so I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Yeah. N-nice to see you,” I stutter. He chuckles awkwardly before going to his seat. I decide I don’t want to see Liv, and refuse to look at them as I walk towards my own.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Will
I don’t think I’ve ever been more angry in my life.
I’m glaring at Jamie and Matilda as they talk after the game, and not hiding it either. I know the only one who would be suspicious, and Stacy now, would be Matilda and her back is to me. But still, it has to look weird with me just staring at them as they talk.
I’m about to move towards them but Kieran grabs hold of me, wrapping his arm around me. I try to hide my irritation.
“We knew you could do it!” he said, grinning. I offer him what I hope is a happy smile.
Because I should be happy. We’d won for God’s sake. After a tricky game of back and forth and sweating consistently, I’d finally managed to get the ball in the basket a few seconds before the buzzer, leading to our win. My team keeps saying it was because of my skill; I think it was because Matilda was there.
“Thanks, man,” I say, throwing another glance towards Jamie and Matilda chatting. She laughed. Why was she laughing?
Great, I think, now I’ve got that Flipped audio stuck in my head.
Although it was pretty in tune with the situation right now. Although in my case, the hottest girl in school eating lunch with me is actually me winning a basketball game.
“What?” Kieran asks. I open my mouth to spew some excuse but he turns towards the direction of my gaze, spotting Matilda and Jamie talking. “Ah. Exes, huh?” he says, laughing knowingly.
I did, in fact, not know.
I didn’t have an ex, seeing as the only girl I’ve ever been remotely interested in for longer than a week is Matilda.
“Uh, sure,” I say, if only to speed this conversation along.
“Can’t live with ‘em…” He laughed again as he trails off. I try to avoid giving him a side eye. Instead, I laugh with him awkwardly.
“I’m just gonna…” I say, pointing, walking backwards towards them.
Kieran nods. “Sure, man.”
With the permission of leaving him without seeming like a dickhead, I walk speedily towards Matilda and Jamie, both still talking and smiling at each other. What was so interesting anyway? It certainly wasn’t him–he had the personality of a doorknob.
Don’t hug her, Will.
You’re her fake boyfriend, remember?
Go win another basketball game or something.
Ignoring my brain’s protests, my arms wrap around Matilda’s shoulders, hugging her from behind.
She tenses beneath my touch, before looking behind her realising it’s me, and not the serial killer she was so afraid of. She relaxes back into me, smiling up at me. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” I say, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
“Hey, man,” Jamie says.
“Hey,” I say, not taking my gaze away from Matilda. God, why does she have to be so pretty? It’s not fair.
“Oh, sorry,” Matilda says, moving away from me for a moment to rearrange herself, wrapping my arms around her torso. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, our faces close together, her lips close to mine. “I should address you properly: Hi, Will, King-of-Basketball.”
A soft smile curves at my lips. “Hi, Tilds,” I murmur. Her face flushes a light pink, probably at the closeness of our lips. I want to kiss her so bad, and her lips are so close and–
“Hey, Will,” Jamie says. I restrain my groan. “Looked like a hard game out there.”
Matilda buries her face into my chest and I loosen my hold around her, relaxing them around her. My fingers glide up and down her arms, trying to soothe her.
I turn back to Jamie. The least I can do is be nice, however hard it may be. “Yeah, it was.”
He nods. “Sorry for my awful vernacular, I don’t know much about basketball, but how many points do you get from the circle thing-y?” he asks, chuckling slightly.
“Three point line,” Matilda provides helpfully.
I press a kiss to her forehead gently, letting her know she got it right. “Yeah, the three point line. But I only got two because I was inside the three point line. But if you’re outside, then you get three,” I explain to him.
“Ah, okay. So–” Jamie’s cut off by Liv pressing a kiss against his mouth.
I roll my eyes and take the time to check on Matilda. “Hey, you okay?” I ask, tilting her chin up to meet my eyes.
She nods against my chest. “Yeah,” she says quietly, obviously avoiding looking at Liv and Jamie.
“No psychopaths?” I ask her, just as quietly.
She shakes her head, resting it back on my chest. “No psychopaths,” she mumbles.
“Told you so.”
“Shut up.”
“So, Will,” Liv interrupts, “congrats on your win.” She smiles sharply at me. I give her one in return. “Thanks, Liv.”
Liv’s gaze slips down to Matilda resting perfectly on my chest. Liv purses her lips and something flickers in her eyes, but it’s gone before I have the chance to read it.
Matilda doesn’t look at Liv, but she knows she’s there. I can tell by the way her grip tightens around my body and her fingers knot themself in the back of my sweater. I stroke her hair, trying to soothe her slightly.
I know I’m not supposed to do this, not supposed to act like her real boyfriend, not supposed to act like I’m allowed to do this. But sometimes I can’t help myself, especially when she’s like this. I hate it when she’s anxious, anxious enough to run to me for help.
“We have to go,” I say, trying to get Matilda out of here. I don’t think she’d have a panic attack at the sight of Liv, but I’m not taking any chances.
Matilda, somewhat reluctantly, pulls herself out of my arms, turning to face Liv and Jamie.
“We’re gonna go over to hers and watch some movies,” I explain. They nod.
“Bye then. Bye, Matilda,” Jamie says, watching her expression with a look of interest.
“Bye,” she says, offering him a polite smile.
“Liv,” I say in goodbye to her.
“Will,” she returns the gesture.
Matilda and I shuffle out through the lingering crowd, my hand intertwined with hers.
Once we get out to the parking lot, I begin to lead her towards my car. Noticing she’s holding her bag, I wordlessly take it from her, despite her silent protests. She’s frowning at me, watching me with curious intent.
I turn my head towards her, continuing walking, continuing holding her hand in mine. “You okay?” I ask, smiling at her.
She nods. “I could’ve carried my bag myself, you know.”
“‘Course. But I wanted to,” I say with a shrug.
She doesn’t seem to have an answer to that as she stays silent. I wonder if maybe I’ve done something wrong, done something to upset her, but she’s been pretty adamant about being fine, and I’m not sure whether if I ask her again she’ll get irritated. Her being annoyed with me is fine when I’m trying to distract her, but I don’t want to annoy her when I’m only trying to check on her well-being.
Pulling my keys out of my jeans pocket, I open my car boot, ready to put the bags inside, releasing her hand as I do so. Once I do that, I decide to take a different distracting tactic.
I grab a hold of her wrist, pinning her gently against the car. A soft gasp falls from her lips, and her face heats and turns a bright red. Her eyes are wide and blinking.
“Hi,” I murmur.
“H-Hi,” she says breathlessly.
My arms are wrapped around her waist, the feel of my scratchy jersey beneath my fingertips. Our faces are mere inches apart and I can feel her hot breath fanning against my face.
“I won,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Yes, I know,” she says, sounding confused, though still breathless.
I arch an eyebrow knowingly at her, trying to refer to our conversation earlier. I want to kiss her, and now I finally have a somewhat good excuse to do so. It’s not a great excuse, but it’s an excuse nonetheless.
She seems to understand what I’m talking about as her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting in response.
I lean my face towards her, grazing my nose against hers, a sigh or a gasp leaving her lips as I do so.
“Can I–” I cut myself off, steadying my trembling voice. “Can I kiss you?” I ask quietly, flicking my gaze back up to meet her eyes.
Her pupils dilate, her gaze flitting between my eyes and lips, not seeming to know which one to settle on. With her lips still parted, her eyes settle on my lips. Her breathing is heavy, her chest rising and falling quickly as she stares at my lips. For a moment, I’m worried she’s not going to answer, or worse, she does answer and she says no. But I can’t bring myself to pull away from her, the scent of her perfume swirling in the air between us, making my mind go fuzzy.
She opens her mouth to speak, her gaze flitting back up to mine. “Y–”
“Will!”
I cut back my groan of frustration, half irritated that Jace interrupted her, and half irritated because she was about to say yes.
She was about to say yes.
Matilda Weston wanted to kiss me.
Me.
My brain goes foggy at the thought, half forgetting that Jace wants something. I reluctantly pull away from her, studying her one more time before calling back, “Yeah?”
“What, no goodbye?” he yells.
I do groan then. Did he really just interrupt us for some sarcasm?
Matilda’s eyes come to settle back on my face, her chest still heaving.
“I’ll be right back,” I say quietly. She nods slowly. “You can get in the car if you want.” She nods again, pushing herself off the car and walking over to the door, her legs shaking slightly. I walk behind her, opening the door for her. She thanks me, her voice only a whisper.
I slam the door behind her, walking over to Jace and the rest of the group. I make quick conversation with them, trying to hide my irritation, though failing miserably. I’m barely listening to them, my mind fixated on that moment with Matilda. I finally let it settle in: Matilda wanted to kiss me. Kiss me. It doesn’t compute.
The whole reason she was even here, hanging out with me, coming to my basketball game was because she was trying to get Jamie back. She wants Jamie, not me. So why would she say yes to kissing me? Or almost say yes, at least? Did she feel pressured? I almost groan at the thought. Because Matilda is absolutely the kind of person to say yes to someone even though she doesn’t want to do it.
I’d talk to her about it, I tell myself, even though I know I won’t. Matilda and I are pretty shit at communicating.
I say a quick goodbye to my basketball team and Stacy, before walking back to my car. I climb into the driver's seat, looking towards Matilda who’s reading her book. She doesn’t look over.
I swallow nervously. Jesus, why am I so nervous? “You brought your book with you?”
She nods, still focusing on the words on the page. “Yeah. I always bring a book with me. Just in case.”
I nod, filing away this information. I wasn’t particularly good at remembering things, but I always somehow remembered everything about her. “Do you–Do you still want me to come over…?” I ask, staring at my shoes.
In my peripheral, I can see Matilda finally look at me, setting her book down on her lap. “Will…”
“We don’t have to talk about it, okay? We can just ignore it.” Like always. “I swear I won’t bring it up again.”
She blinks a few times at me but I refuse to look at her. “Okay,” she says. “I do still want you to come over. Besides, my mother ordered like four pizzas so I think she’ll be annoyed if you don’t show up.”
I chuckle. “Okay. Let’s go then.”
She nods stiffly, turning back to her book. We drive in uncomfortable silence.
Will
I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable in my life.
I’m not sure what it was about this kiss that made it so much more than the other times. Perhaps it was the fact that it happened more publicly. Perhaps it was the fact that it was something I’d asked her to do.
Or maybe it was the fact that she was going to say yes.
I can’t get that thought out of my head. Because she, Matilda Weston, light of my life, fake girlfriend, girl I’ve had a crush on for two years, wanted to kiss me.
It’s the only thought that has been going round and round in my head, like an incessant song you have stuck in your head.
But something else was there too, another lyric: She likes Jamie. That’s why she’s here. Not just in my car, but just in my general vicinity.
Before this whole thing, she was annoyed by my very presence, my nerve to even exist and breathe beside her. But now? Now she actually seems to like hanging out with me. She doesn’t just tolerate my existence anymore, she seems to actually like it.
But I still have to remind myself that she likes Jamie, not me. Getting my hopes up isn’t going to help anything, especially when Jamie eventually notices her, and he will notice her (How could you not?), and this thing ends. And when it does end, we probably won’t even hang out anymore because I doubt he would want her hanging out with her ex.
Continuing to ignore the ache in my chest, I pull into her driveway.
I turn to face her and immediately wish I hadn’t. Her eyes are laser-focused on her book, not looking up, though I haven’t missed the fact that she hasn’t flipped a single page during our entire ride. Her curly brown hair falls messily around her face like a halo, hiding most of her face from my vision. She removed my jersey during the drive and is now only wearing her loose, black, fuzzy turtleneck sweater which she’s buried half her face in.
Clearing my throat, I turn my gaze away from her to focus on her front door instead. I can feel her gaze turn to the side of my face, finally removing her gaze from her book.
I run a hand through my already disheveled hair and ask, “Should we go in?”
She nods slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”
I nod but don’t make any move to open the door, not knowing whether it’s from lack of wanting to, or whether it’s from not wanting to startle her. I don’t see her as fragile like she thinks I do, but I’m scared that even the slightest movement after the moment we shared will cause her to run for the hills.
Luckily, she moves to open her door herself and I stop her, gently grabbing her wrist. She blinks down at my hand enveloping her wrist, her cheeks flushing with heat. I remember the moment before I pinned her to the car when I grabbed her wrist. I wonder if that’s what she’s thinking about too.
“I get your door, remember?” I ask softly. She nods, her cheeks turning an even brighter shade of pink.
Placing her hand on her lap, I open my door and walk around to her side of her car. She’s staring at her hand that I placed on her lap a few moments ago, her lips parted.
I frown. “You okay?”
She blinks up from her hand, her eyes coming to settle on my face. She nods, climbing out of the car. We walk silently towards her front door, the only sounds the few cars still whizzing by and the wind rustling the trees, both clearly uncomfortable.
Matilda unlocks the door, the keys jangling, and pushes it open.
“Mum, we’re here!” she yells.
“Kitchen!” her mother yells back.
Matilda gestures for me to follow her and leads me through a doorless doorway into her kitchen.
I remember back when Matilda was drunk and she told me that her and her mother wanted to make the house girly after her dad left. They’ve certainly done that with the kitchen.
The counters are white with light wooden countertops which are decorated with plants, vases of flowers and little trinkets I’m sure have no use. The back wall is lined with white cabinets and powder blue and white tiles behind them. In the centre of the room is an island which has piles of junk food and sugary desserts, which I assume is the food for our movie night.
“Wow,” I say, staring at the food.
“We like to have options,” Matilda says, walking over to the other side of the island counter and grabbing a gummy bear.
I guffaw. “Options? You’ve got every food known to man here.”
“That’s not true,” Annabel Weston defends. “The pizza hasn’t been delivered yet.”
“Oh, my mistake,” I say sarcastically. Matilda giggles as she stuffs another Haribo in her mouth.
“It’s a little extensive, I know,” Matilda says, smiling, some of the tension eased from her shoulders.
“It’s a diabetic’s nightmare is what it is,” I say, approaching the food to study it. Annabel cackles and reaches over a hand to open a packet of jelly babies.
“What is all this anyway?” I ask.
Annabel walks across to me and sits down on the stool beside me. “Well, we didn’t know what you liked so we got a lot more than we usually do. We have our–” she reaches over to grab a plate of muffins, and pulls them towards her, “--strawberry and cream muffins which I made myself today, so they’re not stale. And then we have our–” she reaches over to grab another plate which is displayed with cookies, “--double chocolate cookies. I made them yesterday so they won’t be all warm and gooey like they were, but they’ll still be pretty good.”
I nod and look over to Matilda who’s no longer jamming sweets into her mouth. Instead, she’s looking at me, seeming to be waiting for a reaction of some sorts. I smile at her and she offers me a stiff one back.
Annabel seems to sense the tension in the room immediately and looks between us a few times before saying, “Matilda do you want to go get changed?”
Matilda blinks away from me, settling her eyes on her mother instead. “Sure. Uh,” she glances at me, “you gonna be okay?”
I nod reassuringly and she spares me one more glance before shuffling out of the room.
The tension and silence in the air is thick without her there to fill it. The last time I was in a room with her mother she started interrogating me about my intentions, so I’m not looking forward to round two. I clear my throat, if only to fill the silence.
Annabel stares at me for a few seconds before turning to face me. “So–”
She’s cut off by the doorbell ringing.
Saved by the bell. Literally.
She seems to be irritated with the doorbell for interrupting her but stands. “I’ll get it. It’s probably the pizzas.”
As she reaches the doorframe, her phone begins to buzz in her pocket. She frowns and pulls it out. Her face turns slightly pink and she glances up at me before saying, “I have to, uh, take this.”
“Okay. I’ll get the pizza,” I say, offering her a smile. I manage to peek a glance at her phone screen and see the Caller ID ‘Tony’ again before she scuttles off to her office with a murmured thank you.
Once I’ve grabbed the pizzas and thanked the delivery driver, my mind begins to wander. Who the hell is Tony? It’s the same guy who called her on the night of Stacy’s party, I’m sure of it. But why the hell is she being so secretive? I remember how flustered she was when she got the call the first time, and how flushed she was a few moments ago. It could be a new boyfriend. But why would Matilda be uncomfortable with a random new boyfriend? Even taking into account her anxiety around new people, it doesn’t add up.
I’m startled out of my thoughts when Matilda walks into the room. She’s wearing a pair of dark red pajama shorts and a loose white shirt that reads ‘I’m not opinionated, I’m just always right.’
I smile at her and gesture for her to sit next to me on her sofa. She complies and sits down next to me and the arm of the sofa. I take the opportunity to wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to my body.
“You’re not cold in that?” I ask, gesturing to her bare legs.
She rolls her eyes. “God, you’re so obsessed with the cold, North,” she teases.
I smile at her and shake my head. “I’m not obsessed with the cold. I’m obsessed with you not getting ill.”
She hums softly in response, teasingly disagreeing. I playfully roll my eyes before reaching behind me and grabbing the blanket that’s laid on the back of the sofa. Unraveling it, I place it on both of our laps. She hums, this time in approval, and shuffles closer to me, wrapping her arms around my torso in a side hug.
“Hey,” I whisper into her hair. She looks up at me, smiling a small smile. I remember my thoughts, my actions from earlier and feel a wave of guilt smash into me. Matilda agreed. She agreed to kiss me. But did she really want to? “Are we good?” I ask, just as quiet.
A crinkle appears in her brow and she nods solemnly. “Yeah. We’re good. We’re always good.”
A soft smile pulls at my lips and I feel my shoulders relax. “Always?”
“Always,” she repeats sincerely.
Pressing a kiss into her hair, I begin to trace small circles into her shoulder. “Good to know,” I say, keeping my tone soft.
Pulling my face away from hers, her fingers knot in the front of my shirt. I don’t have any time to ask her what she’s doing before she pulls my face back close to hers, a gasp falling from my mouth as she does. Our noses are now barely touching one another’s, both of our breathing heavy. My heart begins to beat quicker in my chest as I stare down at her with heavy lids. She’s staring at my lips, her own parted.
“Tilds?” I force out, my voice thick and quiet.
Her breath catches in her throat, but she manages to get out a soft, “Yeah?” Her voice is just as breathless and thick as mine which gives me some comfort.
The light in her living room is dim, only the soft orange-yellow light coming from a lamp beside the sofa we’re occupying. The feeling of the cotton of her shirt is comforting in a way as I force my hands not to tremble. The faded scent of vanilla fills my nose and the little space between us.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask, my voice hoarse and raspy.
Her eyes flick back up to meet mine for a moment. She nods before her gaze flits back down to my lips and I’m not sure what a heart attack feels like but I’m certain this is it.
“Do you know who Tony is?” I ask.
I resist the urge to slam my head against the coffee table.
Matilda pulls away from me, her brow furrowed.
Great. Now not only have I ruined the one chance to kiss her, I’ve confused her as well.
“Tony?” she asks. I nod, trying to hide my self-loathing in my expression. She shakes her head, still confused. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
I hesitate. It could be nothing. Whoever this Tony is could be nothing. But if he is nothing, why the hell is her mum being so weird about it?
She’s looking at me expectantly, a small frown tilting her lips down.
“I–”
“Sorry about that,” her mother interrupts. I try not to look too guilty as she looks between us. “Took a little longer than expected.”
Matilda’s brow is still creased, waiting for me to answer despite her mother’s appearance. I swallow and force my gaze away from her.
“That’s okay,” I say, offering Annabel a fake smile.
“So what movie are we watching?” she asks.
Matilda finally finds her voice and says, a little breathless, “We haven’t picked yet.”
“Oh,” Annabel says. “Well, go on, pick. I don’t mind.”
After a long conversation about which movie to watch, and Matilda getting annoyed at me because I wouldn’t pick (‘Guests have to pick. It’s the rules’), we finally settle to watch the film.
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I lean back on the sofa as the end credits roll across the screen. The majority of the film-watching had been uncomfortable silence only filled by occasional chewing of sweets or cookies. Matilda and her mother are conversing over me, presumably about the film we’d just watched.
I’d barely been able to focus on the film that I’d been forced to pick; my mind was too focused on whoever the hell Tony is. I’m aware that it’s none of my business, and I probably shouldn’t be obsessing over some random man that I don’t even know, and, from the sounds of it, Matilda doesn’t either. But I can’t seem to centre my attention on much else.
The same thoughts from before and during the film continue to run through my brain: Why would Matilda be uncomfortable? Why is Annabel being so secretive? Does Matilda actually know who Tony is and is just lying? And if she is, why would she lie?
Matilda asks me if I want to go upstairs. I nod.
The walk up the stairs is silent besides the creaking of the stairs and the door of her room squeaking open.
I take in her room once more, memories of the night of Stacy’s party flooding back to me. It’s the same set up as before; same nearly full bookshelves, same perfectly organised desk, same pillows nearly falling off her bay window. The only thing that’s different is the bedsheets which now have small pink flowers over them instead of blue.
Matilda clears her throat. “So this is it,” she says.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been here before,” I say, smiling.
“Oh. Right,” she says, her face flushing with heat and blinking her gaze away from mine.
“No, but it actually looks really different to before. I guess you miss a lot when you’re trying to get a drunk girl to balance,” I joke.
She scowls but I see her lips twitch into a smile when she turns away from me. She perches herself on the overflowing bay window, playing with her hands nervously. I itch to reach for her, but busy myself by walking over to her bookshelves.
“Do you have a favourite?” I ask her, pulling out a book from her shelf to study it.
“That’s like asking someone to pick their favourite song–it’s impossible,” she says, matter-of-factly. I smile and a huff of laughter escapes my lips. “But,” she adds, walking over to me, “all my favourites are on these two shelves,” she says, pointing.
I nod and reach for a book on one of the shelves she gestured to. “Binding 13?” I ask, looking towards her.
“It’s good but emotionally ruining,” she says solemnly. Her seriousness almost makes me snort but I smother it with an amused grin.
I reach for another. “Shatter Me?”
“Very politically relevant nowadays,” she says as she puts Binding 13 back in its place. At my raised eyebrow, she elaborates, “It’s a dystopian fantasy but there’s a heavy topic of destroying books and literature and that.”
I nod and study the cover before placing it back to its place on her organised shelves. We continue this routine for about half an hour; I pull out a book and she tells me what it’s about in a sentence. I’ve never been used to having routines but I could get used to having one with her.
She yawns when she finishes telling me about what’s probably the thirtieth book I’ve chosen from her shelves. I smile softly before gently grabbing her wrist and leading her over to her bed and laying her down on top of it.
I’m about to move to grab one of the many blankets littered around her room when her hand grabs ahold of my arm.
“Stay,” she says sleepily, burying her face into her pillow.
My heart thuds dangerously fast in my chest and I ignore the butterflies that have returned to my stomach. “I was just gonna get a blanket for you,” I say, my voice thick and hoarse.
She whines in protest and tugs me down onto the bed with her, her strength shocking me. She pulls me to lay down with her and moves to rest her head atop my heart. An arm wraps around my torso, fixing me in place. My heart is still thumping hard in my chest, and I force my hands to keep steady as I wrap an arm around her tired form. The scent of her shampoo fills my nose and my breathing is shaky.
Because I don’t know what to do, or what to say. My brain, my body, has gone numb to her touch, her words, somehow. Because Matilda wants me to stay with her. For how long, I’m not sure, but the basic sentiment of the word has me trembling. It’s odd how a singular word can disrupt my entire brain chemistry.
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep, okay?” I say, my voice possessing calm that I don’t have.
“Then I won’t fall asleep,” she says.
A soft chuckle escapes my lips. I press a kiss to her forehead. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” I murmur against her skin. She lets out a soft hum of satisfaction at the nickname. I resist the urge to smile against her forehead.
“Stop smiling, North,” she mumbles.
“Whatever you want, Weston.”
“I hate you.” Her voice is still slurred with sleep as she continues to rest against my chest, feeling my no doubt still racing heart.
“No, you don’t.”
She stays quietly for a moment before finally admitting sleepily, “No. I don’t.”
And with that, Matilda slips off into the realm of sleep.
My limbs and eyelids feel heavy when I tell myself to move.
The faded scent of her shampoo and perfume fills my senses, distracting me from any desire to move.
I’ll just stay for five more minutes, I tell myself.
I wrap my arms more firmly around her.
Just five more minutes.
I bury my face into her curls, inhaling the scent of her once more.
Five more minutes.
And I continue to tell myself that until sleep claims me too.
Will
Sunlight peeks through the curtains, its warmth tickling my skin.
That’s strange. I never close my curtains at night. I never see the point as I’m just going to open them in the morning anyway.
My eyes flutter open, my eyelids protesting in response. I blink. Twice. I’m not in my room, I realise. I’m in Matilda’s.
Memories from last night flood back to me: pressing Matilda against the car; momentarily forgetting myself and asking her to kiss me; the excruciatingly silent drive home; the caller ID on her mother’s phone; us almost kissing again; her showing me her books; “I hate you.”; “No, you don’t.”; “No. I don’t.”
I don’t realise I’m hyperventilating until Matilda stirs under the feeling of the erratic rising and falling of my chest. I flick my eyes closed, focusing on calming my breathing, both for her and for me. I run a frustrated hand through my already disheveled hair, sighing as I continue to calm my breathing.
I think back to all those panic attack articles I read, flitting through each method with ease. I’d memorised them all, just in case of emergency.
Finally, after a few minutes my breathing seems to slow and my chest eases back to its normal rhythm. Blowing out a frustrated huff, I run a hand down my face and rest my head back on my pillow.
No, not my pillow. Matilda’s pillow. Shit.
I quickly yank my phone out of my jeans pocket, checking my notifications. None from dad. Unsurprising. Pretty sure he wouldn’t notice if I was gone for a week until the authorities showed up.
Another unsurprising thing is the five messages from mum. She’s been messaging me nonstop since yesterday morning. I’ve chosen to ignore her. She’ll get bored eventually. She always does.
I spend the next fifteen minutes answering messages from Jace and Stace who actually care about my whereabouts, and somehow end up discussing and sorting out an argument of the ethical dilemma of how Stacy has too many shoes (Jace: Nobody needs that many shoes! Stace: Elle Woods does.).
I now lay awake on her bed, Matilda still sleeping peacefully and soundlessly on my chest. Her curly hair is frizzy and messy, her lips parted and pink. The freckles that dust her cheeks and nose are illuminated by the soft golden light of the morning sun.
Her makeup has been ruined in the night, her dark pink lipstick smudged slightly on her cheek, and some of her concealer has smudged on my t-shirt. I’m not sure I care.
The only issue is that I’m not sure if her mum still knows I’m here. I mean, she must, right? There’s no way she wouldn’t have come in during the night and seen me here, laying on her bed with her daughter. I feel a pang of gratitude towards her for not waking me up just to drag me away from Matilda.
My mind is still occupied with this when Matilda stirs on my chest. I immediately still and I think I might stop breathing too. I’m being extra careful not to wake her up. If that means depriving myself of oxygen, so be it.
Despite my attempts and lack of oxygen flowing into my lungs, her eyes flicker open, eyelids heavy with sleep and the sight has my heart cracking open in my chest. Because it feels too personal to see her like this, before she has time enough to hide from the world like she always does. Too personal to see her like this when we’re not even really together.
“Will?” Her voice is heavy and drunk with drowsiness and sleep.
I expel the breath I’m holding. “I’m here,” I say, my shoulders tense and my voice breathless. I blame it on the fact I’ve been depriving myself of oxygen for the last thirty seconds.
Her eyes flutter open a little more, her gaze focusing on me, a little wide eyed. “You stayed.”
It’s such a simple statement, but one that has my heart and stomach doing backflips.
I swallow back my nerves and offer her a soft smile. “You asked me to.”
She blinks a couple of times at me, seemingly taken aback by my words. And then, her lips pull into a sleepy smile and it’s so unbelievably adorable I might cry.
None of us say anything for the next few seconds or minutes, simply basking in each other’s company and the warm sunrise. Her eyes flicker closed every few seconds, clearly still tired.
I’m just studying her relaxed face when she suddenly jolts upright, nearly bashing my nose with her head. I look around the room, checking for some sort of attacker or spider or anything that could’ve spooked her.
Her eyes remain wide, her face staying flushed.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sitting up with her and resting a hand on her lower back.
“I have work,” she states.
I sigh and visibly relax. “Has anyone told you you’re very melodramatic?” I ask her.
She narrows her eyes, clearly affronted. “No. And how is that a response?”
“You jolted up like you saw a man-eating spider or some shit,” I told her.
She shakes her head. “No. I have work. And I didn’t go last week because I got drunk, remember?” she says, her tone accusatory.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Yes, I remember. Of course I remember. I could be living in an old person’s home and still remember the night Matilda got drunk and admitted that she no longer hated me. Technically I know she said it last night too, but it’s really not the same thing.
“Yes, I remember,” I reply with a sigh. I meet her eyes again. “What time do you have to be there?”
She looks over my shoulder to the digital clock resting on her night stand. “Half an hour. Why?”
“Get dressed. I’ll take you,” I say, standing to leave the room.
She doesn’t respond for a few moments, though I’m not sure why as I’m facing away from her. Still, I can hear her anxiety turning around in her mind.
Finally, she says, “Okay. You stay here. I’ll change in the bathroom.”
I nod, still not facing her. I hear the soft click of her bedroom door shutting and I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Resting my head in my hands, my eyes flick closed for a few seconds, exhaustion still pulling at me. I groan softly into my hands. God, what was I even doing here? I know I keep saying it, but Jesus, she likes Jamie, not me.
So why on earth was I the one driving her to work at eight am? Why the hell was I still the one driving her to school? Why was I the one her mother was inviting over for their sacred movie nights? It doesn’t make sense.
And it’s not like I’m complaining or anything. I actually take great satisfaction in the fact she wants to hang out with me, and drive her to her work place, and stay over for a sleepover. But still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a second choice here. That I’m the person just there when she needs a shoulder to cry on.
Groaning once again, I flop backwards onto her bed, my head and legs dangling off the edges. I’m lying on a teddy of hers and I shift and pull it out from beneath my back. A soft smile pulls at my lips when I see Bart in my hand. I place him on my stomach and pat its head, still smiling.
My mind flicks back to the night of Stacy’s party for what feels like the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours. She was right–he does suit the name Bart.
Her bedroom door creaks open and Matilda pads in, wearing a dark blue knit blouse type-thing and a pair of simple flared jeans. She offers me a quick smile before pulling her closet open and pulling out a pair of Adidas trainers and a brown leather jacket. She grabs a slate blue knitted bag that’s hanging on her closet’s handle before shutting it with a soft click.
I watch, slightly mesmerised by the simplicity and naturalness of her routine, almost as if pretending I’m not here.
When she catches me staring at her, her eyebrows furrow, and she gives me a confused sort of smile. “What?”
I shrug, sitting up and resting Bartholomew on her bed with another pat on his head. “Nothing. You just look nice in blue.”
The compliment is out of my mouth before I can think better of it, and I immediately curse myself for my forwardness. This is going to create a lot more awkwardness that’s already existing between us.
Her cheeks flush a slight pink and she tucks her hastily straightened hair behind her ears. “Oh. Thank you.”
I nod, another short, awkward silence settling between us. My heart is thudding in my chest and I’d really like it to stop.
“So we should go?” I ask her.
She nods silently. I watch patiently as she hurries around the room, collecting and stuffing things into her bag. Her phone, her portable charger, her book, her water bottle, her back-up portable charger in case the other one doesn’t work or isn’t charged.
She walks to her bedroom door, looking back at me with her cheeks still slightly pink. “You coming?”
I nod and push myself off of her bed, standing. I look over her bedspread, making sure I haven’t left anything behind, even though I know the only thing I brought was my phone which is safely tucked away in my jeans pocket. My eyes linger on Bart for a second, giving him one more pat on his head for good measure before turning and following Matilda out of the room.
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After a very intense interrogation from Matilda’s mother, and another somewhat heated argument, from both her mother and me, about Matilda not eating breakfast before she leaves, we finally managed to get in the car.
The drive to her work at the bookstore was silent, though not particularly an uncomfortable one. It wasn’t tense like last night, or comfortable like whenever I drive her to school. It was somewhere in between. Like we both knew what happened last night was a big thing, but neither of us feel bad about it and yet we’re still refusing to discuss it. Although that probably has to do with our aforementioned shit communication skills.
The only sounds that filled the car was the soft sound of McFly over the stereo and the loud crunching of toast that me and her mother practically forced into Matilda’s hand.
I pull up outside the bookshop and set the car in park. Leaning back in my seat, I turn my head to study the entrance. Dead, soggy autumn leaves scatter the ground, the tree above it almost completely dry of leaves, the ones hanging on I know only have a few more days at most.
The sign and writing on the front of the window read ‘Rafferty Bookshop’ in swirly, bold, yellow letters.
I frown. “Rafferty,” I echo. Matilda turns her head to look at me, some jam staining her cheek. “That sounds familiar.”
“Oh, yeah. Mrs Rafferty, the owner, has a son a few years younger than us,” she tells me. “He, uh, actually dated Lainey. Lainey Wexler,” she clarifies, and suddenly it all makes sense.
“Liv’s little sister,” I say.
Something you need to know about my hatred for Cameron Rafferty is very closely linked to the fact that I’m pretty close with Lainey. Despite her sister being a bitch (I’m sorry, but it has to be said), Lainey is sweet and quiet, and used to be a massive ball of sunshine before Cameron broke up with her. Now she just sort of mopes around, her usual hopeless-romantic-self dead and buried.
Lainey is also the only one who knew about my crush on Matilda before this whole fake-dating mess.
“Yeah,” Matilda replies. “You’re close with her, right?”
I nod with a soft hum of confirmation, focusing on the idea of punching Cameron in his idiotic face.
Also something you need to know is that I don’t think Cameron is even all that bad. He was polite, hated the Wexler sisters parents the same way I did, and tried to mask his distaste for Liv as best as he could.
But you mess with my friends then it doesn’t matter how positive all your other traits are, I’ll hate you forever.
I don’t realise how silent I’ve been until Matilda startles me by speaking.
“Okay, so I’m gonna head in now. Thanks for the ride,” she says, reaching for the door handle.
“Wait,” I say, reaching for her wrist but accidentally grabbing her hand instead. I don’t let go, partly because I need to save face and partly because I don’t want to. Her cheeks flush a soft pink, as she blinks up at me expectantly. I clear my throat before speaking again. “Um, what time do you get off work?”
“Three,” she tells me. “Why?”
“I got a text earlier saying that my friends are all going to the park later. I was wondering whether you wanted to come with,” I ask, offering her a reassuring smile.
She hesitates. “Um, which friends exactly?”
I know what she’s thinking. She wants to know whether Liv will be there.
“Just the lunch lot and that. Mason as well,” I say, hoping to soothe her, knowing she and him are sort of friends. “Liv might be there too, though.”
Her lips press together as she considers this, mulling it over in her mind. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head.
“Uh, sure. Why not?” she says, giving me what she thinks is a convincing smile.
I hesitate now. I probably should’ve thought about her anxiety around Liv being there before, even though I’m still not sure what the deal is around that. All I know is that Liv started to ignore her as soon as Vivi left for Australia, and there’s been issues around their friendship ever since.
I don’t know. I choose to hate Liv anyway.
“You don’t have to. We can just do something else together,” I say. “Or not,” I add quickly. “I can just see you tomorrow for school when I pick you up.”
I realise I’m rambling awkwardly now and severely embarrassing myself, but apparently my mouth can’t shut up. Jesus, why am I so nervous?
I’m somehow still talking when Matilda presses her hand over my mouth, an amused smile on her lips. I immediately shut up.
My sudden silence makes her giggle and my lips twitch at the sound. Whether she’s laughing with me or at me, I don’t care; her laugh is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
“Relax, Will,” she says, another giggle escaping her lips. “It’s fine. I can go to the park with you.”
I nod without saying anything, partly because I don’t have anything to say and partly because I don’t want her to remove her hand from my mouth.
She does anyway and sets it back down on her lap, her fingers flexing.
I clear my throat, trying to prevent my voice from sounding hoarse when I say, “So, I’ll pick you up later then, yeah?”
She nods and offers me a smile before reaching for the door handle and stepping out of my car. I don’t get a chance to offer her a goodbye before the door slams in my face.
I watch as she opens the door to her work place, the bell above the door jangling in response. Once she’s finally out of my line of sight, I expel a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I wipe my hands down my face, sighing, before I shove my fingers through my disheveled hair.
Jesus Christ, I am so royally fucked.
Matilda
Dying of mortification is sorely exhausting. And terrifyingly slow.
Why, oh why, did I have to ask him to stay? And why did he have to abide? It’s really not helped my whole having-a-crush-on-him dilemma.
Honestly, I think the worst part this morning is that it wasn’t awkward–it just felt comfortable, and so insanely right.
Emphasis on the insane. Because it is insane. It’s insane to feel comfortable waking up next to him. It’s insane to want to wake up next to him. I mean, I like Jamie, don’t I? That’s why I’m hanging out with Will in the first place. Isn’t it?
Jesus christ, I’m going mad. I’ve been at work stocking the bookshelves and doing inventory for the last three hours and still haven’t managed to free myself from the torment of my own thoughts. I even offered to work the counter as soon as I came in, that’s how bloody desperate I was.
Because what do I even do? I don’t know how to deal with these strong feelings towards Will. Furthermore, I don’t know how to deal with my lack of strong feelings towards Jamie. At the basketball game last night–Jesus, how was it only last night?--when I was speaking to him it was fine, but that’s all it was. I didn’t get that weird rush of butterflies, or feel like I was having a heart attack, or ache to touch him like I do with Will. And the thought of the fact that I do feel those things with Will is absolutely horrific and terrifying.
And how do I tell him about my feelings towards him? And how do I stop this whole fake-dating charade? I can’t very well carry on like this, can I? With me having mini heart attacks every time Will brushes my hand, or compliments me or offers to drive me to my fucking workplace. I mean, that’s the bare minimum! I can’t fall for the bare minimum. I won’t allow myself to.
But then I remember him helping me through my panic attack, I remember him driving me home when I was depressed and drunk, I remember him telling me how I deserve better than Liv, and suddenly, he doesn’t seem like the bare minimum after all.
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I’m busy stacking shelves, one airpod blasting The Only Exception by Paramore, and still pondering what the hell to do with my complicated feelings for both Jamie and Will when a deep, male voice startles me.
I yelp, and the box of books in my hands goes stumbling to the floor, narrowly missing my foot and clattering all of them on the oak wooden floor, smacking my head against the shelves in the process.
Sucking in a pained breath through my teeth, I pick my head up to see where the voice has come from. I blink in shock when I see Jamie there, all blonde hair and gorgeous brown eyes. He’s smiling sheepishly at me, scratching the back of his neck in the awkwardness of it all.
“Sorry,” he says, still smiling apologetically. He leans down to pick up the scattered books across the floor and I help him in the midst of my confused haze.
Once all the books are carefully stacked in the box, we both stand and I offer him an uncomfortable smile. I’m not really used to being uncomfortable around him. Despite my social anxiety, and general socially awkwardness, I’ve always managed to get along, and feel comfortable with Jamie. I’m not sure what it is about him, maybe his slightly crooked smile, or his floppy blonde hair, but there’s always been something about him that I’ve felt safe around.
You feel like that with Will, that whispery voice in the back of my head tells me. It really needs to learn to shut the fuck up.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jamie says, handing me the box with the books in.
I take it from him, offering him an embarrassed smile of my own, turning the music off on my phone before I speak. “That’s okay. I’m just a little…jumpy today,” I say, huffing out a self-deprecating laugh.
He chuckles as well, scratching the top of his head. “That’s okay.”
An awful silence fills the space between us, only filled by the hum of the air conditioning and the wind roaring outside the windows. I offer him another smile before walking around the bookshelf to place more books on the shelves. He follows.
“So, um, are you looking for anything?” I ask him, pushing a book onto its rightful place onto the shelf. As an avid reader, it always bothers me when I go to Waterstones and a series isn’t in the right order, so I make sure to never do that when I’m working. “We just got those special additions of the classics you like,” I tell him. “There over there if you want to have a look,” I say, nodding towards another corner of the shop.
He smiles gratefully at me, following the nod of my head to have a look. “Thanks. I’ll have a look in a min. I actually came here, er, looking for you,” he says, scratching his neck again awkwardly. I’m starting to think he may have a rash of some sort.
Finally, I turn my attention away from stacking books, blinking at him in shock. He’s never come looking for me since we broke up a few months ago, especially not to my work place.
“O-oh,” I stutter. “Um, may I ask why?” My cheeks are pink with discomfort and embarrassment, dipping my head to stare into the box to hide it.
“I wanted to see if you’re coming to this thing at the park later,” he tells me. I can feel his eyes burning into the top of my head as it remains ducked.
“Yeah, I am,” I say as I busy my nervous hand by sorting through the books. “Why?”
“Uh, well–” he cuts himself off. Finally, I muster the courage to glance up at him. He’s scratching the top of his messy mop of blonde hair, clearly uncomfortable and bracing himself for what he’s about to say.
“It’s just, er, things have been a little awkward with us, haven’t they?” It doesn’t seem like a question that needs an answer. He continues without my reply. “And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me, seeing as you and Will seem to be going really well. Then again, it’s only been like two weeks, so–”
“Jamie,” I cut him off, resisting the urge to laugh at his rambling. Oddly, his nervousness has made me less nervous. “It’s not you that’s making me uncomfortable,” I tell him earnestly. At his raised eyebrow, I correct myself. “Well, it’s not just you.”
I nod my head towards a different corner of the store, realising I have no more books to stack for this shelf. Once I stop, I continue my honesty.
“It’s more you and Liv. Both as a pair and separately,” I say, glancing at him as I carefully shove the books on the shelf. He’s frowning at me in confusion, and so I elaborate. “It’s just–Well, Liv and I aren’t overly friendly with each other at the moment. I’m sure you knew that,” I say, waving away my words, “but anyway, it’s just been sort of weird around her. And now that you two are dating, well, it’s just even more awkward.”
I’m rambling now and it’s making this whole thing embarrassing. I shouldn’t be telling him this, I mean, it’s Jamie, for God’s sakes. But I can’t seem to find my off switch.
“Do you-Do you get that?” I ask quietly, refusing to look at him again.
I can sense him nodding. “Yeah, I get that. I just thought that it wouldn’t be so awkward as we broke up, like, half a year ago.” I can hear the honesty in his tone. “And we didn’t date for that long.”
That sentence is like a knife in the gut. Because that’s what makes it so much worse. I’ve always known that I was more into Jamie than he was into me, but hearing it is so much worse then I could’ve ever imagined. It doesn’t matter if my feelings for him have faded a little, it still hurts. It still feels like my heart is being torn out of my chest.
“Right,” I say hoarsely. My vision is going blurry and I’m not sure whether it’s from tears or from an oncoming panic attack. “Yeah, yeah, totally. I get that. I just, um--Would you excuse me for a second?” I ask, looking up at him.
He frowns but nods, tilting his head at me. “Sure.”
I nod a little too enthusiastically and hurry behind the cashier to the store room, shutting the door quickly behind me. Gasping for breath, I slide down to the floor, my back resting against the door and my head in my hands. My chest and throat are tight and I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s a feeling I’m all too familiar with, and suddenly I feel like I’m fifteen-years-old again, sobbing into my hands because I felt like I was dying.
I can’t do this here, I tell myself repeatedly. I’m at work, I need to get a handle of myself. It’s not the time for this.
But the problem with anxiety is that it doesn’t quite know when the time is. It jumps from behind you at the worst moments, preying on your vulnerability and sensitivity. And then once it’s inside of you, you can’t get it out again. It blocks your airways and claws at your chest. It makes every nerve, every hair, stand on edge, making everything else around you seem like a predator.
Oh, I can’t do this.
I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I can’t do it.
I need Will.
Shakily, my hand reaches for my phone.
Trembling, I click on his number.
Quivering, I type out a message to him.
I need Will.
Will
I’m getting into my car to head to the park straight from practice when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I internally groan. My mum’s been messaging me non-stop since yesterday. Seriously, today alone I’ve received thirty messages and four calls from her, all of which have gone unanswered. I know I’ll have to message back eventually, I’m just not sure I have the courage to yet.
However, something inside of me tells me to pick my phone up. Sighing, I yank my phone out of my pocket and read the message.
My heart falls to my stomach. My breath catches in my throat.
On my lockscreen, a single message from Matilda reads just one simple word, but it’s enough to get my heart racing: help
Help? Help with what?
Swallowing down my fear, I frantically type out a message to her.
Me: help with what?
Me: tilds?
Me: matilda?
After five minutes and several similar messages, although a lot more panic stricken than the first three, I finally start my engine and speed out of the car park.
My heart is thundering loudly in my chest as my mind flicks through the worst possible possibilities. What does she need help with? Who does she need help with? I swear to god if it’s Liv again I’ll break Jamie’s fucking face in two.
She was perfectly fine when I dropped her off this morning. Or, at least, Matilda’s version of perfectly fine. So what the hell had happened within the, what, four hours I’d dropped her off? I’m aware that a lot of things can happen within a four hour period, but not here, in this town. Not to her. I won’t allow it.
By the time I’ve reached the bookstore, I’ve sped through at least two red lights and four stop signs. But I don’t care. All I care about is getting to her.
I climb out of the car quickly and push open the door a little harder than necessary, causing the bell above the door to jingle very loudly. The cashier, who has a book in her hands as she leans against the counter, jumps about three feet in the air, a small yelp leaving her lips.
I give her an apologetic smile before I begin to hastily move between the bookshelves, stopping every so often to look at the shelves so I look like I’m actually here to buy something and not like I’m here to find her coworker.
Finally, after scouting the entire shop thrice, I approach the cashier, Binding 13 in my hand. I figure as long as I’m here, I may as well buy one of the books Matilda showed me last night.
Once I’ve paid and it’s all bagged up in a little brown bag, I lean one arm against the counter and offer the girl behind it my most charming smile.
“Hi, so I’m actually looking for someone,” I explain, a lot more kindly than how I feel right now.
The girl frowns slightly, tilting her head at me. “Are you Will North?”
I frown now. How the fuck does she know who I am? “Uh…y-yes. Yes, I am.”
The girl sighs in relief, some of the tension releasing from her shoulders. My frown deepens. Seriously, what the absolute hell is going on here?
“She’s in the back,” the girl explains hurriedly, pointing to the door behind her. “Matilda’s who you’re looking for, right?” I nod silently. “Good,” she continues, sighing again. “I went in there a few minutes ago and she didn’t look so good.”
My heart drops into my stomach, it pounding erratically.
I nod firmly before slipping behind the counter and pushing the door she pointed to open.
Frantically, I look around the room, my heart continuing to thud unevenly in my chest.
“Will?” a small voice croaks out from the corner.
My head snaps towards the sound of Matilda’s hoarse voice, my eyes widening when they land on her.
She’s curled herself up into a small ball, her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. Her hair is no longer neat, but rather frizzy and wild, a few small curls she’d forgotten to straighten twirling over her shoulders. It’s clear she’s been running her hands through it.
My heart cracks open at the sight of her tear-stained face. Her makeup has been smudged, mascara streaked under her eyes. Her eyes are wide and red and puffy as she stares up at me, all anxiety and terror.
Quickly, I rush over to her, almost tripping over a box of books on the way. I throw my bag down by one of the shelves and crouch down in front of her, my hands resting on her outer thighs.
“Hey,” I whisper softly.
It’s only by my close proximity I can feel, and hear, her ragged breathing. One of her pale, freckled hands comes to claw and touch her throat, more tears leaking from her eyes.
“I-I can’t breathe, Will,” she chokes out. “I can’t breathe. I can’t–” A small sob breaks from her throat. “I feel like I’m dying,” she whispers hoarsely.
I feel like I might be dying seeing her like this. My heart was moving far too fast to be healthy, even if I am wracked with fear right now.
She’s just having a panic attack, I tell myself firmly. She’s not dying. She’s breathing.
I repeat these words to her. “You can breathe, Tilds. And you’re not dying,” I tell her, softly but firmly. “You’re just having a panic attack.”
She nods fervently, her body still trembling. Or maybe I’m trembling. It’s hard to tell.
Gently, I reach out to grab both of her hands, holding them together in my own. I press a kiss to her fingers, and she inhales a ragged breath in response.
I look up to meet her wide, tear-filled eyes, and say softly, “Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe.”
More tears spill from her eyes and her breathing remains erratic. I give her hands a tender squeeze, pressing another kiss to her knuckles. “Breathe for me, sweetheart,” I repeat against the skin of her hand. I look back up at her and frown when her breathing continues to stay uneven.
God, why won’t she listen to me?
Removing my hands from hers, I reach out and rest my hands on her face, stroking my thumb over her cheek. Her eyes are still huge and wide and filled with tears.
“I need you to breathe for me, darling,” I whisper hoarsely, trying to force calm into my tone. But still, she remains panting, eyes wide, tears still dripping down her cheeks, makeup smudging further.
I don’t know what to do. My heart is thundering so loudly and dangerously in my chest I’m sure she can hear it and all I want to do is pull her into my lap and help her through it until it’s over and make sure nothing can ever hurt her again. But she won’t listen.
She’s gripping my wrists tightly in her hands, her nails digging into my skin. It stings, but not nearly as much as it stings seeing her like this. My hands, however, remain cupping her face gently, continuing to bat her tears away with my thumb.
“Matilda,” I say, firmly but softly, “I need you to breathe.”
She shakes her head harshly, her breathing growing heavier.
No? What the hell does she mean ‘no’?
Swallowing, I do something I swore I would never do. Not like this, at least. But I don’t see any other way. Any other way for her to get oxygen into her lungs at a normal pace. Any other way for her to breathe.
Tentatively, I lean forwards and press my lips to hers, drawing a soft gasp from Matilda.
Her lips are soft against mine and I have to remember to keep my head but it’s so damn difficult. The scent of her vanilla perfume is haunting my senses, desperately making me want to drag her into my lap and never let go.
Her lips are parted and she’s solid in my arms for a few seconds, or minutes, or years before her hands come to rest against my shoulders, then move to the back of my neck. I fight a groan.
What was I supposed to be doing again? Oh, right.
Reluctantly, I pull away from her, focusing on her ragged breathing. Except, she doesn’t seem to be breathing at all anymore. Oh, god, have I murdered her?
With more calmness than I’m capable of, I brush my forehead lightly against hers, and say, my voice thick and gravelly, “Breathe, darling.”
Finally, something I’ve said, or done, seems to respark her brain and she inhales a deep, ragged breath. I nod in approval, a soft smile tugging at my lips.
I press my lips against her forehead, kissing it tentatively. “That’s it. Good girl. Just breathe, yeah?” I encourage. “Let’s do it together, okay?”
Pulling my lips away from her forehead hesitantly, I lean back, taking my first proper look at her since my lips were pressed against hers a few minutes ago. Her eyes are wide and still puffy, but the tears have ceased. She’s watching me intently, and her eyes are soft as they drag themselves each and every inch of my face, scorching my skin as she does so.
I grab one of her hands and rest her palm over my heart before repeating, “Let’s do it together. Breathe with me,” I instruct and inhale a deep breath.
Thankfully, she listens, inhaling a deep breath with me. I exhale and she follows with me. I sigh internally with relief, some of the tension in my shoulders relaxing.
After a few minutes of this, once I’m sure her breathing has returned to normal, and she isn’t a risk to herself, I release my gentle grip from her jaw and move to sit next to her. Her eyes go wide with fear when I shift away from her in that short moment, a small crinkle creasing her brow.
Once I’m sitting next to her, she practically half crawls into my lap, her arms hooking tightly around my waist and her cheek resting against my heart. I fight a chuckle.
I bury my face into her hair, pressing soft kisses to the crown of her head as she continues to cling to me like I’m the only thing keeping her from drowning.
“Will?” she chokes out thickly, her cheek still resting against my thudding heart.
Stroking her hair away from her face, I hum softly in answer.
My lips are still tingling from her lips against mine minutes ago, and I don’t know if it will ever be any different. I don’t know how I’ll ever return back to normal knowing how her lips feel on my own. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to see her with Jamie without feeling like my heart is being ripped from my chest.
Matilda’s broken voice frees me from my fearful thoughts.
“Th-thank you,” she whispers brokenly. “For coming.”
Jesus… “Yeah,” I whisper back. “No problem.”
“And I’m sorry,” she adds quickly, voice still hoarse from her tears. “I shouldn’t have–” She cuts herself off, inhaling deeply as she wipes a tear from her cheek and collects herself. “I shouldn’t have texted you,” she finishes. “It’s not your job to take care of me.”
If this girl wasn’t already breaking my heart with her panic attacks and general existence, she would be now. She was apologising. She was apologising? For something she couldn’t even control?
Gently, I pull her away from my chest, once again cradling her face in my hands. I wipe a stray tear away from her cheek before leaning forwards and pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. She stares at me, wide-eyed.
I shake my head at her firmly. “Don’t you dare apologise,” I say gruffly. “And you’re wrong,” I tell her. She blinks back, affronted. “It is my job to take care of you,” I explain.
She shakes her head back at me, more tears spilling from her eyes. “No. No, it’s not–”
“It is my job to take care of you,” I repeat, firmer this time.
She blinks back at me, confused and looking somewhat irritated. However, when she speaks, it’s all confusion and sadness. “Why?” she asks quietly.
“Because I like taking care of you,” I respond with simply.
She looks completely baffled by this information, eyelashes fluttering wildly. She stutters over her words for a few moments before pushing out a “Why?”
Because no one else seems to. “Because…I want to,” I say instead.
She pulls away from me, lips set in a deep frown, but cheeks flushed a bright pink.
“Still not your job,” she mumbles, looking anywhere but at me.
The loss of her arms around my body is one I’ll feel for the rest of my life, but there are no tears in sight, just irritation, so I’ll take it as a win.
A small, satisfied smile pulls at my lips as I take in the sight of her flushed, pouting face. Reaching over, I tug at one of her forgotten curls. She bats my hand away almost in reflex and swings her head to glare at me. I grin back. Her lips twitch into an almost smile before she looks away.
It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I need to know who to punch in the face, so I plan on forcing the information out of her one way or another.
Sighing, I tug on another curl and catch her hand right before she slaps it away. She frowns down at her captured hand and I intertwine her fingers with my own, squeezing it softly.
“What happened, Tilds?” I ask her gently.
She glances up at me, biting her inner lip before turning her attention back to her hand clasped in mine.
“What do you mean?” she asks, feigning innocence.
“You know what I mean,” I say, not buying her bullshit for a second. You can’t hide from me, Matilda Weston. I see right through you.
Just like you see right through me.
“What happened to elicit this sort of reaction?” I try again.
She swallows hard, tucking her hair behind her ears. She keeps her eyes averted as she begins to explain everything. She explains her conversation with Jamie and him running his mouth about how it shouldn’t hurt anymore just because they broke up six months ago and didn’t date for very long.
Like, so fucking what? I didn’t date Matilda but whenever I saw Jamie and her kissing when they were together, it still felt like an axe to the chest.
I sigh and press a kiss to her temple as another silent tear falls down her freckled cheek. She turns to me, bright blue eyes sad and filled with tears. We just sit there for a few seconds in the silence of it all.
“Is he still out there?” she asks, breaking the silence with her hoarse and quiet voice.
I shake my head firmly. “There wasn’t anyone else in there but the girl behind the counter when I was in there. He must have left.”
The thought makes me rationally angry. Who the hell just leaves someone after smothering their heart beneath their foot? Jamie, apparently.
I’m still struggling to find a singular reason why she likes him in the first place. He’s one of the most boring, insensitive bastards I’ve ever met in my entire life, and believe me, that is saying something.
Turning my attention back to her, I notice the sadness in her eyes as she plays with my fingers. Her crying has stopped once again, and the silence is only accompanied by the occasional sniffle or the sound of the bell jingling inside the shop.
My gaze keeps catching on her swollen pink lips and I have to keep forcing myself to look away. I’m not supposed to be looking at her like this. I’m not allowed to. It’s emotional torture on my part.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asks me, quiet and solemn.
The seriousness of her tone has my heart palpitating in my chest. I’m not good with these sorts of conversations. I actively avoid them, in fact.
“Technically you just did, but I’ll allow you another,” I half joke as I focus on her side profile.
A small smile ghosts her features but it’s instantly sobered when she turns her gaze on me. Her eyes are sombre and earnest as she studies my features in silence for the next few moments, causing goosebumps to raise over my arms and neck. I swallow down my anxiety.
Finally, she speaks. “Why did you kiss me?”
I still. My entire body tenses. That I was not expecting.
And it’s a loaded question, to say the least. What does she expect me to say? Furthermore, what does she want me to say?
Struggling with my words and the general activity to get oxygen into my lungs, I finally manage to find some acceptable words. “I was trying to get you to breathe properly. Holding your breath was the only thing I could think of and you weren’t listening to me. Hence the kiss.”
Hence? Who the fuck says hence, Willoughby?
Despite my overly formal language, it’s the truth, regardless of my heart saying otherwise. I was just trying to get her to breathe. I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that. I wanted it to be real and genuine, not just to be some sort of cpr type thing.
I inhale deeply as I watch her face for her reaction. Something flickers in her eyes for a second, before she turns her gaze quickly away from me. Her fingers untangle from mine and I’m pretty sure I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Right,” she whispers. She inhales sharply before turning to me with an obvious forced smile. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Uh…you’re welcome,” I reply.
The room fills with an awkward silence, one that makes everything so much worse.
What was I supposed to say? I just said the truth, damnit. And it’s not like it should matter. Not to her, anyway.
So why is she sitting there looking all sad puppy-dog?
Gently, I reach out and rest my hand on her elbow. I keep my voice soft as I say, “Do you want me to take you home?”
She looks down at my hand enveloping her elbow before blinking up at me and swallowing. She clears her throat before she speaks. “Yeah, sure.”
I nod and stand, delicately pulling her up with me. I keep my hand on her elbow as I lead her towards the store room door. “And don’t worry about coming to the park today. I can tell them you weren’t feeling well or something.”
She halts in her tracks, causing me to stop along with her. My brows furrow in confusion.
“I’m going,” she says firmly.
My furrowed eyebrows raise in surprise. “You still want to go?”
She nods firmly again, her heels digging into the floor stubbornly as she glares at me. Jesus, I’m really messing up today.
“You don’t have to–”
“I’m going, Will,” she repeats firmly.
I have a feeling this has a lot more reasoning behind it than me just telling her she shouldn’t go, but I decide not to push her. I’ve already pushed her on one thing today–she deserves a break.
“Okay,” I reply simply.
She narrows her eyes at me for a few moments before nodding and releasing my grip from her elbow and walking out of the store room. I blink after her in confusion before grabbing my brown paper bag and following her out.
She talks quietly with the girl at the counter for a few minutes while I wait awkwardly at the front of the shop before she leaves the shop, gesturing for me to follow her. Blindly, I do.
We climb into my car in complete silence, tension thick. I place the bag with Binding 13 in the back. She notices the bag and frowns slightly, but returns my earlier favor by not pushing me. I can’t tell whether I’m grateful for it or not.
As soon as I start the ignition, she speaks. “I can walk to the park later.”
I look back at her before nodding silently. I’ve decided not to argue with her today.
We both stare at each other for a few seconds, both mute and still.
Wordlessly, I drive off to her house.
Matilda
Independence and fragility are two of my fatalest flaws, both of which often go hand in hand.
Being seen as fragile has always been something I’m terrified of, ever since my struggles with my anxiety when I was fifteen. When my panic attacks were really bad, as bad as the one I had today, my friends always tried to help me through them, or any obstacles I have with my anxiety. Both of them tried to help me the best they could, and it worked, for the most part, but what always terrified me were the looks on their faces. It’s like when you pick up a mug or a glass-something in a store and you hold it really gently because you don’t want to shatter it. That was how they looked at me.
And I hated it.
Because the truth was, while I might appear fragile, I’m really not. It’s taken a lot of hard work and emotional breakdowns to get where I am today, and while I’m not totally better, I’m healing. Slowly, sure, but healing all the same.
My need to not appear fragile is very closely connected to my flaw of independence. I’ve always craved it ever since my anxiety has gotten better, in need to show people that I’m not a thing that’s about to break every time I go outside, or panic about something. I know they must have some sort of anxiety over me themselves, and it is sweet, in a way, but it’s also irritating at times.
That’s why I freaked out on Will earlier. Because I saw the way he looked at me, I saw it. And I can’t handle him looking at me like that. My heart can’t take it.
Because Will has always been that one person who shouldn’t care whether I’m hurt or not. He’s always been annoying me, laughing at my irritation and anger, for years now.
But now, he’s being something a whole lot worse.
He’s being nice.
And, yeah, while I should be used to it because it’s been two weeks since we started this whole fake dating gig, I’m really not. The extent of how caring he is towards me, of how much he’s caring for me is truly and utterly terrifying. I’m not used to people caring about me so fully, outside of my mum and Vivi.
The worst part about it though is that he doesn’t even seem to mind caring for me.
My anxiety has always been a bit of a nuisance, especially for me, but he’s never treated it that way. Every time he’s helped me through a moment of anxiety, his voice has always remained calm and coaxing.
And the worst part is, I like him taking care of me.
That’s not supposed to happen. I’m Matilda Weston, for god’s sake. I don’t ever accept help. From anyone. It’s not part of the Matilda handbook. And I especially don’t accept help from annoying, handsome boys who make my stomach feel all tingly and make me feel like I’m having some sort of seizure every time he touches me.
You asked him for help, remember? that annoying part of my brain tells me.
Seriously, it needs to learn to shut the fuck up. I’m not in the mood for a reality check.
“I’m sorry, T, but I’m really failing to understand the problem here,” Vivi says as she brushes her silky hair.
I’ve been on call with her for the past fifteen minutes since Will dropped me off. The drive was, as usual, incredibly awkward and silent, and I knew in my heart that it was my fault. I also knew deep in my heart that when Will offered to tell his friends that I was ill, he didn’t mean it in a way that he thought I was weak. He was saying it because he cared. But still, some part of me refuses to acknowledge that.
“I mean, the boy was just being nice,” Vivi continues. “Besides, it’s not like you even want to go anyway.”
“That’s not the point,” I insist, pacing around my bedroom like a madwoman. I was probably going to wrack up another panic attack, or at least, some sort of asthma attack.
“Okay, well, what is the point?” she asks, leaning back in her chair.
“The point is…The point is…The point is…” I let out a frustrated groan, running my hands through my still frizzy hair, annoyed that I can’t find a good enough excuse to tell her. I can hardly tell her the truth; that’ll make me sound insane.
“Yes?” drawls Vivi, arching an eyebrow and smiling in amusement.
“Oh, shut up,” I grumble, throwing a pillow at the computer screen.
She laughs and I sit down onto my mattress, moving the pillow away from blocking the screen. I’m still thrumming with anxious energy, but I need my best friend’s advice and I know that the only way she’ll give me it is if I'm sitting down calmly. As insane as she can act sometimes, she has a lot of good guidance in her head, often pulling them out when I need someone to think rationally for me, when I’m too anxious to do it myself.
“What do I do, Vee?” I ask softly.
She sighs, amusement gone and all sympathy. “I don’t know, babe.”
I groan, burying my face into the pillow that I had thrown at the computer screen.
Hearing Vivi sigh, I peeked up, but half of my face still remained buried in the fluffy white pillow.
“Look, I don’t think him telling you that you shouldn’t come meant what you think it meant,” she says, giving me a meaningful look. Of course, she knows. Vivi knows me better than anyone. Well, maybe almost anyone. “I genuinely just think he thought you might be vulnerable and didn’t want you to go to a place that might set you off,” she continues. “Because face it, babe, that boy cares for you.”
The thought makes me want to throw up and kick my feet all at once.
I’ve always known exactly where I stood with Will, how to act, what to say. But this fake date dilemma has really screwed it all up. Everything’s been thrown off kilter.
Now I don’t know where I stand. Seriously, I might be in Northern Ireland for all I’m aware.
And it’s not like I even feel uncomfortable around him. It’s not like that. He’s probably one of the only people ever that I feel comfortable around. The comfortability I feel around him rivals the one I feel with Vee. And the truth of it is, I think I’ve always felt like that around him. Comfortable, I mean.
Even before we started fake dating, I always felt like I could be myself around him. Despite what he may have thought about me, I didn’t scold or get irritated with everyone that I saw, or spoke to. I was only ever like that with him. And, yeah, maybe that wasn’t the greatest relationship, but what proves my point is that I felt like I could be myself around him, in ways that I hardly let anyone else really see.
Vivi sighs when I don’t answer. “Look, babe, let’s not focus on that for now. Just go shower, sort your hair and makeup out and go over to the park like you told him you wanted to. Unless you’ve changed your mind–?”
“No,” I say, all too quickly. “I’ll go.”
“Okay,” says Vivi.
“Where the hell are you anyway?” I ask, changing the subject.
For the entirety of our call she’s been sitting in what looks like some sort of Travelodge or Premier Inn.
“Oh, nothing, don’t worry about it,” she says, waving me off.
It’s very obviously not nothing.
“But–”
“Don’t you need to go?” she interrupts.
I frown. She’s definitely acting suspicious, but I can’t quite place why.
I decide not to push the matter, and nod, but say nothing. After all, she’s just through the screen. If she doesn’t want me to interrogate her, she can just hang up.
We both say our goodbyes and I quickly hurry off to shower.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
The walk to the park was long and I deeply regret not taking Will up on his offer to drive me, pride be damned. Especially since, in a moment of not complete sanity, I’d chosen to wear the brown boots that Liv bought me for my birthday two years ago. I’ve never worn them before, so I don’t know why I chose today to break them in, and because I’d taken the route through the woods, they were now caked in mud.
I emerge from the woods that leads straight to the park and look around for Will’s group. I spot them in their area by the basketball court. Will isn’t playing, but some of his friends are.
I’m not really sure what to do. Do I walk over? That seems like a bad idea to me, seeing as the last time I did I almost got a ball to the face. Texting him seems awkward, too.
Thankfully, Will seems to notice me and says goodbye to his friend, who I don’t know the name of, and jogs over.
“You’re wearing boots,” is how he greets me, eyes focused on my caked boots.
It’s not a question so I just nod and say nothing.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear boots before,” he decides to fill the silence with.
“I didn’t pay for them,” I blurt. Will glances up at me, an eyebrow arched. “They were a gift,” I elaborate quickly. “I didn’t shoplift. I’ve never shoplifted. I don’t even have the desire to shoplift–”
I’m cut off by Will’s laughter. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Damn my ramblings.
“Y’know, you’re pretty cute when you’re nervous,” he muses, and my cheeks burn for a whole different reason.
His head is tilted slightly, and he’s giving me one of his charmingly famous dimpled smiles that make my heart and stomach do backflips.
“Come on, let’s go over,” he says, and doesn’t give me time to respond before he’s grabbing my hand and walking me over to his mob of friends. I cling onto his hand a little tighter than necessary as we approach, but he doesn’t seem to care, simply offering me a gentle squeeze of his hand on mine.
“It’s gonna be fine,” he whispers in my ear. “They’re not here yet.”
I inhale a shaky breath. “Key word: yet,” I whisper back, turning my head to meet his gaze.
His brown eyes are filled with well-meaning sympathy, but it makes my skin itch. I hate people feeling sorry for me.
He leans in slightly, the tip of his nose stroking against mine, the movement causing my breath to hitch and my lips to part.
“I won’t let them say anything.” His voice is deep and comforting, and I immediately want to bury my face into his signature dark green sweater. I force myself to resist, knowing it won’t help my case as being seen as fragile.
“I promise,” he says. Those words mean more to me than my pride, and the awkwardness I felt earlier, ever could. And I think he knows it too.
It’s only now that I realise how deeply this boy understands me. How deeply this boy knows me. It’s unnerving, really, how he’s managed to weasel his way into my heart and brain in only a few short weeks. How he’s managed to get into the very depths of my brain and understand it so easily.
I swallow and open my mouth to thank him when I’m suddenly bombarded by a small blonde.
Stacy’s arms are wrapped around my middle, holding my arms down and arms squeezing so tight that it makes any movement, or breathing, impossible. The only body part that is free from her hold is the hand that is still clasped in Will’s.
“Uh, hi, Stacy,” I choke out, trying to awkwardly pat her back with the other hand. “H-how are you?”
I shoot Will a help-me look and he just shrugs, trying and failing not to laugh.
Traitor.
“I’m good,” Stacy replies, still clinging to me like a baby monkey.
“Th-that’s nice. Uh, could you get off of me, please? I’m having a little trouble with air flow,” I tell her.
She almost immediately flies off of me, so fast that I’m pretty sure I have whiplash.
She gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was just glad to see you. I didn’t think you were coming anymore,” she explains.
I frown and my gaze shoots over to Will, but he’s not looking at me. He’s frowning at Stacy, looking slightly confused and a lot pissed off.
“Who told you that?” he all but demands.
“Jamie.”
“Fucking Jamie,” Will mutters under his breath.
I squeeze his hand reassuringly, but inside I’m just confused. I know I should probably be pissed off too, but I just can’t be.
I told Jamie I was coming, so why would he tell Stacy I’m not? Is it because I just disappeared on him? Or is it because he didn’t want me to come?
“Why would he tell you I’m not coming?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
Stacy just shrugs, equally as confused as me. “No idea. But you can ask him,” she says, pointing behind me.
Me and Will both snap our heads in the direction of her pointed finger. Sure enough, Jamie and Liv were strolling into the park, hand in hand, like they were king and queen of the fucking universe. I just didn’t understand the nerve. Yeah, okay, it’s a free country, and people can do whatever they want, blah blah blah, but I didn’t understand they could walk in like they owned the place without giving a fuck.
Liv and I had been friends since Year 7, along with Vee, and I just didn’t understand how she could walk around with my ex-boyfriend when she knew how much I liked him.
Jamie was right: we didn’t date for very long. Four months to be exact. But he was the first boy I liked that actually liked me back. Not as much as I liked him, sure, but it was something, at least. He was the first boy I thought I had a chance with. Because Liv could get anyone she wanted. But she had to have the one that I did. Or at least, used to want.
Jesus Christ, my head was a fucked up place to be.
I’m yanked out of my thoughts when I feel Will’s hand slip out of mine, and watch him begin to thunder towards the two of them. In anticipation of the storm that will no doubt ensue, I grab ahold of his forearm.
He turns his head to look at me, and his expression softens ever so slightly. “Matilda–”
“Just leave it,” I whisper, pulling him back to me. “It doesn’t matter.”
His hands come to rest on my hips, causing my heart to flutter and my cheeks to warm.
Damnit, why did he have this deep of effect on me? I need to majorly chill out.
“It matters to me,” he says earnestly, hand coming up to tug on one of my straightened locks. Doubling down, he adds hoarsely, “You matter to me.”
Oh, my poor, poor heart.
Inhaling a deep breath, I force myself to think logically. Although, it is admittedly very hard at his proximity.
“If I matter to you, then you need to leave it,” I force out, the words almost sticking in my throat. For some reason, the words taste all wrong in my mouth, feel all wrong on my tongue.
Is this emotional blackmail? I think it might be.
“Because I don’t want you to make a big deal out of this,” I say, feeling like the shittiest human in the world.
He groans softly, his forehead leaning down to press against mine. His eyes flutter closed as he tries to calm himself. My hands slide up to rest on his biceps, a sigh leaving my mouth. I’m not sure whether it’s one of frustration or contentment.
“I hate her,” he admits quietly, his body tense with withstrained anger.
“Liv?” I ask softly, pulling my forehead away from his to look into his eyes. Blearily, he opens his eyes and nods slowly. “Why?”
Will sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “Because she’s a shit friend,” he says bluntly. “And you just seem so used to it, and it pisses me off.”
“It’s okay,” I try to coax. “Honestly, I don’t care.”
“Yeah, well that’s half of the fucking problem!” he snaps, finally losing his cool.
My skin starts to tingle, and the hair on the back of my neck starts to stand on end as I feel all of Will’s friends' eyes come to stare at us. My cheeks burn hot from embarrassment, like the habit of a lifetime. Damn social anxiety.
Noticing my hot cheeks, Will sighs, running a hand down his face. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”
“It’s fine,” I assure quickly. “I promise. It’s just sort of habit.”
He frowns in confusion, but says nothing other than “Sorry” again.
Smiling reassuringly at him, I grab the hand that is still resting on my hip and squeeze it. “Come on. Let’s just go have fun with your friends.”
He doesn’t look convinced by my forced enthusiasm, but he nods silently, letting me lead him towards his group of friends.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
We’ve been hanging out at the park for about an hour now. Will’s body is still tight with tension, and I know that if Liv says even one thing out of line, he’ll snap. Which is why me, Jace and Stacy have formed a sort of team to keep them–them being Jamie, Liv and Will–away from each other.
I keep Will occupied while Stacy keeps Jamie and Liv busy with whatever stories she can come up with. Jace, however, handles Will whenever Liv makes a snide comment about someone, and I’m silently grateful for it. I’m not very good with confrontation, much less watching someone else do it.
I’m laughing with Stacy about something while Will plays a game of basketball with Jace when I spot someone.
The woman looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t tell why.
She’s a little closer now, and from here I can tell that she’s possibly mid-40s. Her hair is long, thick, and brown with a slight wave to it. Her crooked nose is the most familiar of all though.
And then it hits me. The reason she looks so familiar.
That’s Will’s mother.
The same mother he’s been ignoring calls from.
The same mother he’s been ignoring texts from.
Swallowing, I excuse myself from Stacy’s rambling and walk over to Will, who’s taking a drink of water on the side of the court.
I rest my hand on his lower back to get his attention, and his brown eyes flicker to mine. Sweat trickles from his brow, down to his jaw. I focus my gaze on that, not wanting to meet his eyes when I tell him this.
I’m not entirely sure how good his relationship with his mother is, especially since the divorce, but I’m assuming from the missed calls, it’s not good. At all.
“Tilds?” Will’s voice breaks the silence. My eyes snap towards his out of instinct. “Is everything okay?” His voice is laced with concern that makes my heart wrench, and I immediately don’t want to tell him who’s currently watching our interaction curiously.
“Yeah,” I croak out. “I’m fine. It’s just…”
“Just…?” Will prompts.
Inhaling a deep breath, I clench my eyes closed and brace for the reaction coming. “Is that your mum?”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Reluctantly, I open one of my eyes. Will’s face has turned to the side to get a look at his mother. From the skin visible on his face, his skin has gone pale, and the pink flush from exercise has disappeared. His hands are balled into fists, and his jaw is ticking.
Finally, he speaks.
“I better go over there,” he says. His voice is firm, but hoarse.
He won’t look at me.
He doesn’t even spare me a second glance before he starts to walk over to her, body tense.
Almost out of habit, I rush after him.
“Are-are you sure?” I ask, blocking his path. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No,” he bites out and I almost wince from the harshness in his tone.
Sensing my discomfort, he sighs, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face. His hands come to rest on my shoulders, his touch soothing.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his tone gentle. “No. Everything’s fine.” Pausing, he looks over my anxious face and adds, with a reassuring smile, “I promise.”
I’m not stupid enough to believe he’s telling the truth, but I nod, allowing him to lie. I don’t want him to yell at me again. Yelling is worse than silence.
He pulls me closer to his sweaty body, but I don’t mind. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and my body loosens some of its tension.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispers against my skin.
And then he’s gone.
Will
“The fuck are you doing here?” I demand as soon as I’m sure Matilda is out of earshot.
My body is practically vibrating from anger, and that’s only from looking at the woman. Speaking to her is going to be hell.
“Hi, baby,” my mum greets, her voice so sweet it makes my skin crawl. She glances over my shoulder. “Who was that?”
“No one you need to concern yourself with,” I spit back. I can’t handle the thought of Matilda being anywhere near my mother. While I don’t think Matilda is fragile like she seems to think I do, she can be naive at times. And while I’m a dick for thinking that, just look at the evidence. She’s in love with Jamie, and she was friends with Liv, for Christ’s sake.
The odds are really stacked against her.
The point of the matter is that my mother is a manipulative bitch. Again, maybe that’s cruel of me to say that about my own mother, but it’s true. And I don’t want my mother getting into Matilda’s head, and screwing her perfect brain up. I won’t allow it.
“And don’t ‘baby’ me,” I add, my eyes narrowing. “I’m not your baby.”
My mum sighs sympathetically at me, her head tilting. She reaches a perfectly manicured hand up to stroke my cheek affectionately. I flinch away.
“You’ll always be my baby, Willoughby,” she says, her eyes filled with faux kindness. “Was that your girlfriend?”
“None of your goddamn business!” I snap, my body shaking with anger. “What do you want?” I demand, determined to get her away from me, and Matilda, as soon as possible.
“Want?” my mother echoes, the mocking kindness in her eyes replaced with fake sadness.
“Yes, want,” I repeat, pissed off that she would try to suggest otherwise.
My mother hasn’t talked to me in almost a year. The last time I even spoke to her was on Christmas day, and that was for about thirty seconds before she had to catch her flight to the Bahamas. Since then, total silence. So, I’m not stupid enough to believe she wants to speak to me just for the sake of seeing her son. She’s selfish, and she’ll do whatever the hell she has to to get what she wants.
“I just wanted to see my son,” my mum huffs back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that allowed?”
“No, it isn’t,” I shoot back angrily. “I don’t want to see you.”
“Well, too bad, I’m your mother, and–”
She’s cut off by the sound of my manic laughter.
Mother? She was really calling herself that? After I haven’t spoken to her in almost a year? God, the nerve.
“You may be my mother biologically, but you haven’t acted like a mother a day in your life,” I say icily.
My mother flinches as though I struck her.
But I won’t take the words back.
I won’t comfort her.
Never again.
Because they’re true.
I’ve had enough of trying to make her feel better about her shit parenting, and I’ve had enough of forgiving her whenever she forgets something. Sure, maybe my parents only divorced two years ago, but she’s been absent my entire life.
Maybe her absence has grown tiring, but so has my tolerance for her.
“Willoughby!” she scolds, fake tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t believe you would say that to me,” she sniffs.
I roll my eyes. “Why, because they’re true?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“No! Because–”
I feel a hand on my lower back and tense immediately, my head snapping towards the person.
Matilda’s face stares anxiously back at me, her teeth gnawing at the inside of her lip. She glances at my mother, and a flicker of confusion, followed by what deceivingly looks like annoyance, before returning her gaze back to me.
“Hi. Sorry for…interrupting,” she says, throwing another glance at my mum, “but, um, Jace wanted to know whether you're joining the basketball game. Because they’re sorting out teams,” she explains.
She’s looking at me in a way that’s saying Please don’t be mad at me, I didn’t want to interrupt.
I nod in answer, and tuck her under my arm, wanting to get my mother’s prying eyes off of her. I press a kiss to the top of her head in a way that tells her I promise I’m not mad.
She swallows and nods, looking back up at me.
“Hi,” my mother’s grating voice interrupts. “I’m Will’s mum, Mallory. Are you his girlfriend?”
Matilda’s wide-eyed gaze goes to my mother, and I feel a flicker of irritation.
However, it seems like I’m not the only one.
Matilda’s anxious face twists into one of aggravation, anger and what I can only describe as disgust.
“Yes,” she says, voice clipped.
My mother either doesn’t notice Matilda’s obvious dislike of her, or just ignores it.
She chuckles lightly, all fake tears gone, replaced with amusement and simmering smugness. “I swear he never tells me anything,” she jokes, smiling.
“Maybe if you actually showed up he could tell you things.”
My jaw almost falls open.
Well, shit.
Who thought I would see the day where Matilda Weston defended me.
A surprised laugh escapes my lips, while my mother balks, and Matilda narrows her eyes.
Anger is practically emanating off of my fake girlfriend, and honestly, I’ve never felt prouder. It’s insanely satisfying to see Matilda have the confidence to stand up to someone, even if it is for me, and not for herself.
“E-Excuse me?” my mother stutters. I snort, clamping my hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter.
Matilda doesn’t back down. She doesn’t even flinch. Just continues to stare icily at my mother. “You heard me.”
“Well, I-I’m not sure why that-that’s any of your business,” my mum says, folding her arms over her chest in a desperate attempt to look intimidating.
“My boyfriend’s relationship with his mother isn’t any of my business?” Matilda asks, arching an eyebrow.
My heart does a little backflip when I hear her call me her boyfriend.
Steady down. We can freak out later.
“Look, I don’t know what my son has told you–”
“He hasn’t told me anything,” Matilda interrupts.
And it’s true. It’s clear that Matilda is a lot more observant than I’ve given her credit for.
“I’m basing this on my own assumptions,” Matilda continues icily. “Ones I presume are true, based on my boyfriend’s lack of correction.”
My mum narrows her eyes angrily at my girlfriend. “Will is very soft-spoken–”
“Bullshit!” my fake girlfriend practically screams. This time, my jaw does drop open, gaping at Matilda’s angry exclamation. “And if you knew anything about your son, you’d know it was bullshit.”
My mum looks like she’s ready to pounce on Matilda. And if it’s anything like the past, she probably would.
“Listen here, you insolent–”
“Back off,” I warn, deciding now was the time to intervene. “Leave me and my girlfriend alone, do you hear me?”
“Will!”
“What’s going on?” a voice says behind me. A voice that instantly fills me with relief.
Matilda and I both turn our heads towards Jace, who’s standing behind us, arms crossed over his chest. His blonde hair is blowing in the wind, and the grey skies make his blue eyes look even paler.
His face turns from frustrated and confused to pissed off when his eyes land on my mother.
Unlike Matilda, I have discussed my issues with my mother with Jace, against my will, may I add. He’s of course always known about my less than positive relationship, even when we were growing up together, but he never fully grasped why and how until I was forced into talking about it a few months ago.
“Mallory,” he greets stiffly. He has a better handle on his self-control than I do, because I know inside he’s fucking raging.
“Jace,” my mum practically gushes, her face changing from seething to delight.
My mother has always been fond of Jace, and had always said that he was the only friend that was worth anything. Which is very telling towards her character if you ask me, considering she was saying that after the events of my ninth birthday party.
“How are you?” Jace asks, voice cold as he walks towards us. He takes a protective stance next to Matilda, making it look like me and him are her own personal bodyguards.
“I’m good,” my mum replies.
“Great,” Jace says, his voice holding a harsh edge. “Well, I better get these two back. Stacy’s going nuts with worry.”
I’m almost ninety percent sure that that isn’t true, as I can literally see Stacy balancing on Mason’s shoulders while holding a basketball, shoving it into the hoop. I doubt the sight is one Jace will be particularly pleased with.
“Oh, well, okay. Can I just talk to Will for a few more minutes?” my mum asks.
“No,” I reply, moving to go with them.
“I still need to talk to you,” my mother protests.
“Well I don’t need to talk to you,” I reply, ignoring her several other protests as I follow Jace and Matilda back to my group of friends.
Removing my arm from around Matilda’s shoulder, I shove my hands into my pockets, feeling that familiar sense of guilt in my chest. It always happens when I say something not entirely polite to my mother.
I’m not a people-pleaser in any way, but I always seem to be when it comes to the woman that birthed me. I feel obligated to care for her, for some reason. Which is ridiculous, because she clearly doesn’t feel the same for me.
“Hey,” Jace’s voice startles me out of my thoughts. “You alright?”
Glancing down at Matilda, who’s watching me with those big, blue, curious eyes of hers, I nod, clearing my throat. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m all good. I’m always good.”
Jace watches my reaction intently for a few moments before nodding stiffly.
He knows I’m lying. Of course he knows. He’s been my best friend since I was seven. But he doesn’t push me. Not now, anyway.
Without warning, I feel Matilda’s hand clamp onto my arm and pull me closer towards her.
“Sorry, can I just borrow him for a sec?” she asks Jace, smiling.
Jace nods, and offers me a shrug as Matilda begins to drag me away.
I don’t protest as Matilda begins to drag me away towards a tree near the entrance to the park.
The soft early-winter breeze is sharp, and it makes me very worried about the fact that she’s wearing a short skirt. As cautious as this girl seems to be about everything, she clearly does not take weather into account when she plans her outfits.
“So?” I prompt.
“So?” she demands, glaring at me like I’ve done something wrong.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I explain.
“About your attitude.”
“My attitude?”
“Yes, your attitude.”
“Well you’re the one who basically just screamed your lungs out at my mother,” I defend. “So if we’re going to talk about anyone’s attitude, it should be yours.”
A flicker of guilt crosses her face, and her anger and irritation falters. Her lips twitch in that way they do when she’s contemplating apologising, and I immediately feel like a dick.
“I’m sorry,” she says, voice so quiet it makes my heart crack. “I-I just got so angry when I saw her there,” she confesses, twirling a piece of hair around her finger as she stares down at her muddy boots. “It just came out.”
I shake my head firmly, and reach over to tug on a strand of her straightened hair. She instinctively moves to bat my hand away, and I grab a hold of her hand before she does.
Tugging her towards me, I hear her breath hitch, and watch as her gaze flits up to mine, blinking in shock.
I rest my free hand on her waist and tug her even closer, her chest brushing against mine. She gasps, the hand that isn’t clasped in mine flying out to steady herself on my shoulder.
“Please,” I murmur, “don’t apologise. I liked you defending me. I liked seeing you defend someone. I’m just being an asshole. I’m sorry.”
She’s so close to me I can smell the scent of her strawberry lip gloss, and the intoxicating aroma of her familiar vanilla perfume. Her body is warm against mine and I want to keep her there forever, tucked against me, protecting her from everything.
Swallowing, she makes my heart ache a little further when she whispers, “I don’t think you could be an asshole if you tried, Will.”
I fight a shaky breath, and smirk instead. “You’ve sure changed in a matter of three weeks.”
She stares soulfully into my brown eyes with her blue ones before saying, voice earnest, “Everything has changed, Will.”
Oh God, I can practically hear Taylor Swift’s voice in my head.
I can’t feel anything except for the girl in front of me; the knitted cotton of her brown, turtleneck top; her warm hand in mine; her other hand heating my skin through my shirt.
One moment, we’re staring at each other, and the next, something entirely insane is happening.
We’re kissing.
I’m not sure who initiated it, or who decided what, all I know is that her lips are on mine, and not in a resuscitation type of way.
Her lips are warm and dizzying, and her hands are tangled in my hair, pulling my lips impossibly closer to hers. Her breathing is coming in heavy pants as we continue our reckless actions.
My arms come to hook around her waist, tugging her body closer to me, causing her to let out a soft moan in the back of her throat.
Oh, Jesus.
My body is acting completely on autopilot. I can feel nothing except her body against mine, hear nothing except for her soft, ragged breaths, taste nothing but her strawberry lip gloss. I can’t do anything except inhale and keep kissing this girl like my life depends on it.
The kiss is tentative and passionate all at once. Like we know we shouldn’t be doing this, but all the tension from the previous almost-kisses keeps us from breaking away.
After what seems like hours, we finally part, staring at each other through heavily-lidded, wide-pupiled eyes.
Her lips are swollen, and her lip gloss is smudged. I can feel some of its stickiness on my own mouth.
“Will–”
She’s cut off by the sound of a loud metal clang in the distance. She yelps in surprise, and clings onto me harder, both of our heads turning towards the sound.
I notice one of the football players jogging towards the basketball court, towards the rogue soccer ball that had flown into the metal barrier behind the basketball hoop. I also notice two familiar looking redheads walking towards him, one looking pissed off, the other desperately trying to stop her sister from flying off the rails.
“Oh no,” me and Matilda both say in unison.
Kiss forgotten, we both hurry towards the storm that’s about to go down.
Because Liv stalking towards Cameron Rafferty, the reason behind her sister’s broken heart, will in no universe go well.
We reach them all just in time to hear the start of Liv’s rampage.
“You,” Liv snarled at Cameron, who looks completely unfazed as he tucks the football under his arm, “you have a lot of nerve coming over here.”
“Liv, please just calm down,” Lainey tries to coax to her sister, cheeks flushed an embarrassed shade of pink, and shamelessly avoiding eye contact with her ex-boyfriend.
“I was just grabbing my ball,” Cameron says, shrugging, also avoiding eye contact with the girl whose heart he broke.
I’d only met Cameron a handful of times, but he still remains to this day one of the only people who is unbothered by Liv’s bitchiness. And because of that, I will always hold a tiny little respect towards the lad.
“I don’t care,” hisses Liv. “You dare show your face when she’s here?” she demands, pointing at Lainey.
“Look–”
“Do you know how long it took for her to get over you?” Liv doubles down by saying. “You left her heart broken and mangled on the floor, and you didn’t even look back!”
“Oh God,” moaned Lainey, burying her face into her hands, her red curls covering her face. I rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
To his credit, Cameron’s expression turns from relaxed to guilty, finally throwing a glance towards Lainey. I wonder if I’m the only one who notices how his eyes soften, and his hand flexes at his side when he takes in her embarrassed state.
Liv clearly doesn’t as she continues to yell at him, spewing insults.
“Liv, stop,” Matilda instructs calmly, but her face is riddled with anxiety.
Liv’s head snaps towards the sound of Matilda’s voice, surprise casting over her features. But it then turns sour, twisting into a scowl.
“Glad you could pull your tongue out of North’s mouth long enough to tell me that,” she snaps.
These words stir a reaction from all five of us. Matilda’s face blushes pink, Cameron’s eyebrows raise in shock, gaze flicking towards Matilda, Lainey’s head snaps up in my direction, and I let out a sigh of both anger and exasperation.
“What?” Lainey whispers so only I can hear her. “You were kissing Matilda?”
As aforementioned, Lainey is the only one who I’d actually told about my crush on Matilda. It was sort of an odd form of camaraderie. Before she and Cameron broke up, I got to hear her gush about everything he said, and after they broke up, I got to hear her fake confessions of loathing. It was only then that I told her about my Matilda obsession that was bound to get my heart broken. I thought that hearing my own heartache would help her get over hers. And, surprisingly, it did.
I groan softly, running a hand down my face. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
She narrows her eyes and I watch her lips tilt at the corners for a moment before she returns her gaze to her still yelling sister.
“Liv,” interjects a voice I don’t recognise. “Stop.”
All five of our gazes turn to the boy standing a few feet behind Cameron. Glasses frame his face, and his messy, dark blonde hair falls over his forehead.
Liv’s mouth immediately snaps shut as she blinks at the boy, her cheeks turning a bright pink.
Yeah, remember when I said she only really had a soft spot for one person? Well Daniel Knight is that one person.
I’m not entirely sure what their story is, or what’s going on with them, but I don’t really care. Liv’s feelings are her own business.
Daniel walks towards us, silent and brooding as always. With more gentleness than she deserves, he rests a hand on Liv’s shoulder, and we all watch as Liv’s tension and anger melts away.
He leans forward and murmurs something into her ear, her hand clinging in the front of his shirt. I can’t tell if it’s a movement of wanting him to come closer or wanting him to fuck off.
All I can think of is the fact that Jamie’s definitely gonna be pissed as fuck if he sees this. Serves him right.
Finally, he pulls away, an eyebrow raised expectantly at Liv. She groans and rolls her eyes, cutting Cameron one last glare before she swivels on her heel and storms off.
Well shit. Go Daniel.
Daniel watches her storm off silently, assessing her, before nodding and turning back around to the group of friends waiting for him and Cameron. Lainey gives him a weak wave, and he offers her a nod, and a small twitch of his lips. It’s about the closest to emotion I’ve seen him get to.
But everyone has a soft spot for Lainey Wexler. It just can’t be helped.
Cameron’s eyes are focused on her, and she’s pretending not to notice, eyes pinned on Daniel, who clamps a hand on Cam’s shoulder. He seems to have to actively force his eyes off of his ex-girlfriend, meeting Daniel’s sharp gaze.
Whatever he sees in them causes him to nod, and turn around without even sparing so much as a second glance at Lainey. Daniel follows after him, almost as if daring Cameron to look back at her.
And then me, Lainey and Matilda are all just sort of left standing there awkwardly.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat, causing both girls to look at me, “that was weird.”
“Very weird,” Matilda agrees.
“Super weird,” Lainey agrees also.
My next remark is cut off when two arms come around me from behind.
“I just heard your mother was here,” Stacy’s muffled voice says. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he told her.
“What?” Lainey asks. “Okay, I seriously need a mega life update because what the fuck?” she hisses quietly, before moving to stand next to Matilda.
I groan, running a hand down my face. “Yeah. She was here. It’s all good.”
Matilda and Lainey both simultaneously roll their eyes, but neither of them snark at me like I know they want to.
“So?” Stacy asks, not removing her death grip from me. As tiny as she is, she’s got a fierce hug.
“So?” I echo, dragging out the word.
I can practically hear Stacy roll her eyes. Like I’m the idiot.
Seriously, what is it with women and this ‘so’ business? Do they think I’m a mind reader or something?
“Stace, remove your hands from North. You’ll strangle the poor boy to death,” I hear Liv command, before she appears beside her sister a few seconds later.
“Oh, you care if I’m dead,” I say, setting a hand over my heart. “I’m flattered, Olivia, really.”
She gives me a sardonic smile before it resets back to her usual RBF.
“What are you all yammering about, anyways?” Liv asks.
“We just saw Will’s mother,” Stacy tells her, finally releasing her hold on me and standing beside me.
Liv’s face twists in disgust. “Ew.”
I snort, before smirking. “Are you saying that,” I begin, “because Stacy said my name or because you don’t like my mother?”
Liv meets my eyes, a smirk playing at her lips, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Both.”
I resist the bark of laughter that climbs up my throat, but fail to repress my smile. Laughing with Liv instead of at her only feeds into her ego, and god knows it’s big enough already.
But I won’t deny it’s nice to see Liv acting like an actual human for a change.
I’m yanked out of my thoughts when a vaguely familiar voice drawls from behind me, “Well this get together certainly is a lot less fun than described.”
And I watch as Liv’s face goes pale, every muscle in her body going tight with tension. I frown, and turn around, but not before a squeal erupts from Matilda’s mouth.
Like, an actual squeal. I’m not usually one for girls who squeal, but she somehow makes me find it strangely endearing.
Christ, I need help.
I see a bundle of brown hair fly past me before she’s tackling whoever it is to the floor. All I see are tanned arms wrapping around my fake girlfriend’s torso and sun bleached brown hair.
“What are you doing here?” Matilda demands, finally pulling off the girl, and that’s when Vivi’s face comes into focus.
Well shit.
Why is she here?
And why’s Liv so unhappy about it?
Matilda
As soon as I saw Vivi, I couldn’t help it: I squealed. I guess that’s what happens when you haven’t seen your best friend in over two years.
My lips still tingly from kissing Will, and face still hot from embarrassment from Liv, I tackle her to the ground, grinning.
Vivi laughs, her arms coming to wrap around me.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, finally climbing off of her to sit on the muddy grass.
Vivi just grins back. “Miss me?”
I slap her playfully on the arm and she mockingly clutches it, wearing an expression of faux hurt.
“Of course I did, you big dope!” I exclaim, smiling like a maniac.
Because even though I’m slightly mad that she didn’t tell me, I can’t deny that she’s come at exactly the right time. My head is a real mess right now. So much has happened within the short space of half an hour.
I, unfortunately, met Will’s bitch of a mother, and then I tried to scold him about acting like he was fine (because he definitely was not) which ended up with his lips on mine (which was not an unpleasant experience, I just thought I should add).
And then, to make matters worse, Liv caused a public scene, embarrassing me, Lainey, and Cameron with one stone.
I desperately need her advice, and now she’s here, in the flesh, to do it.
“Good!” Vivi exclaims, smiling softer at me before pulling me in for a hug again, smushing my hair in the process.
I laugh, it muffled against her chest. “Did you miss me?”
“‘Course!” she says, still holding me tightly.
I let out a strangled breath. “You’ll miss me a lot more if you keep holding me because I’m pretty sure you’re killing me,” I choke out, laughing.
“Oh, shit,” Vivi says, releasing her hold on me, and then flattening my hair with her hand when I pull away. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” I reply.
I’m about to ask her why she’s here when a dark shadow falls upon us. We both glance up and see Liv standing there, red hair flowing in the wind. As cruel as it is, she sort of looks like the devil right now, with her ginger hair and bright red sweater.
“Hey,” Vivi says, tone icy.
“Hello,” Liv greets, tone equally as cold.
I’m about to break the tension, like I always do with them two, when two strong hands lift me up from under my armpits. I yelp in surprise.
“Thought I’d get you out of the firing line,” Will murmurs in my ear.
I shiver from the sound of his voice, and nod, swallowing thickly. Probably a good idea.
“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “Good idea.”
I can practically hear his smirk. “Why thank you, Weston.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, North,” I retort half-heartedly, voice still hoarse, turning my head to face him, and God I wish I didn’t.
He was wearing that infuriatingly attractive smirk on his equally as infuriatingly handsome face. His eyes were glinting with amusement and mischief, and his chocolate brown hair was messy.
His lips were still stained with my lipstick.
He arched an eyebrow when he caught me staring, his smirk deepening. “Got a staring problem, Weston?”
I manage to get out a scoff. “You wish, North.”
He hums lowly, his face inching closer to mine. The scent of his cologne fills my senses, and the feel of his hot breath fans over my face.
He looks down at my lips, and his own twitch slightly for reasons unknown to me.
And then he says, voice so low it makes me shiver again, “Damn right I do.”
Oh, God.
We were going to kiss again.
Oh, God, please let us kiss again.
Just as his lips brush lightly against mine, we’re both pulled harshly away from one another, him by Vivi, and me by Stacy.
“Ow!” we both exclaim in unison as we’re dragged off in different directions.
Stacy drags me to the tree that Will and I were kissing under earlier, and I force myself to push the memory, and the butterflies in my stomach, aside.
“Stacy, what the hell?” I ask, rubbing my now sore wrist. “Why’d you do that? I didn’t give you the signal.”
“He likes you,” she blurts breathlessly.
“What? Who, Jamie?” I ask, looking over my shoulder in his direction. I get one glimpse of his shiny, blonde hair before Stacy grabs my neck and twists my head back to face her.
“Ow–”
“Not Jamie–Will!” she exclaims, looking frustrated.
I balk. What?
Stacy’s out of her mind. Will does not like me. Will-whatever-his-full-name-is North does not like me.
Does he?
“What?” I screech, looking around, panicked and anxious. “No, he doesn’t. This is Will we’re talking about.”
“Yes, I know, and believe me when I say that he likes you.” She says the last words slowly, brown eyes wide as if imploring me to get it into my brain that he likes me.
But he can’t. It doesn’t make any sense to me. Like, what was that whole CPR thing earlier if he liked me? Was he just lying? Or is Stacy just trying to get my hopes up? Is Will trying to get my hopes up by kissing me?
No, something in the back of my head tells me. Will wouldn’t do that.
The voice is right. He wouldn’t.
“Stace, he doesn’t,” I say, but even I’m not convinced anymore. My head is scrambled and messy and I hate it.
“I’ve known him a lot longer than you, Matilda,” she insists. “And that boy likes you. Hell, even more than like!”
“Okay, look, this is crazy,” I tell her, laughing. Why was I laughing? Maybe I’m in shock. “Will doesn’t like me, and he isn’t even remotely close to…the L-word-ing me.”
“Matilda, I know this may be hard but I need you to listen to me.” Stacy’s voice is stern and serious, and her long, perfect pink nails are digging into my neck so I just nod. “Will likes you. Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic with love, but he likes you. A lot.”
I swallow and shake my head firmly, stumbling back a step.
This doesn’t make sense.
This does not make sense.
Will can’t like me. He just can’t. That’s not the plan. The plan was to fake-date him and get Jamie’s attention. At the end of a month, done. Never have to speak to him again. Or if we do then we continue like we used to. Strangers with banter and bickering.
You and him were never just strangers, a voice inside my head tells me. Why does my conscience always show up at the worst times? Where was it when I was kissing him, huh?
But now that he likes me…Now that I like him…
God, I am so fucked.
Will
“Vivi, stop,” I instruct, as calmly as I can, though irritation creeps into my voice.
Vivi does, but only to start pacing in front of me like a maniac. Her tanned skin and sun bleached hair looks so out of place in the cold, grey, early winter surroundings. Then again, I’m pretty sure this girl would be out of place anywhere. She seems to be like Matilda in that way.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” she’s muttering under her breath. “I’m so blind.”
I frown. “Didn’t see what?”
“I mean, of course it makes sense. It makes much more sense than her and Jamie,” she continues to mutter. “But I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it!” she exclaims loudly and I wince from the sudden noise.
“Vivi, stop,” I repeat. “Didn’t see what? What are you talking about?”
She finally seems to hear me and halts in her tracks, almost slipping on the wet mud. She blinks up at me, eyes wide. “Oh my God. You don’t know, do you?” It doesn’t seem like a question that needs answering, which is confirmed when she continues to talk under her breath. “Of course you don’t. If I didn’t, then you don’t. Oh my God. Good, okay,” she says, nodding, looking up at me again.
Seriously, is she okay? What the hell is going on here?
“Vivi, I’m really confused here,” I sigh honestly, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“She likes you,” Vivi says.
Sorry?
I let out a choked laugh. “Was your cabin pressurised or something? Matilda doesn’t like me.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Yes, she does, you fool.”
“Look, this is really quite cruel, if I’m honest,” I tell her. Her brow crinkles in confusion. “You know how much I like her, and lying like this, it’s really just–”
“I’m not lying!” she cries, affronted.
“Uh, yeah, you are,” I say, shaking my head firmly. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it. “She doesn’t like me like that. She’s only hanging out with me because of your plan. Which, by the way, doesn’t seem to be working,” I add, motioning a hand in the direction of Jamie and Liv kissing, really quite aggressively, in the middle of the basketball court.
Vivi’s lip curls up in disgust, shaking her head and shuddering. “Ugh, gross. Promise me when you and Matilda get together for real you won’t do that,” she says seriously.
“That’s not going to happen!” I say, losing hold of my temper. “She doesn’t like me!”
“Who doesn’t like you?” Jace asks, clamping a hand on my shoulder. He gives me a meaningful look, silently telling me that I need to calm the fuck down. I let out a long, exasperated breath and nod, running my hands through my hair.
“Matilda,” I tell him, my chest feeling tight.
“Yes, she does,” Vivi insists, face red with irritation as she glares up at me.
“Oh, yeah, she totally does,” Jace agrees, and I snap my head in his direction. Traitor.
And, he’s been totally against her liking me! What’s with the sudden change of mind?
I scoff. “Okay, if this is some elaborate joke you guys have set up–”
“It’s not a joke!” Vivi screams. “I’m not cruel. She really does like you, Will.”
Finally, I stop, breathing hard. I take in the sincerity in her tone, her words, her face, and finally something in my brain clicks into place.
Her asking me for help with Jamie, her telling me she doesn’t hate me, her wanting to come to my basketball game, her mother inviting me over for their movie nights, our almost kisses, our actual kiss, her blushing every time I compliment her, or touch her slightly. I sort of just figured she was being awkward, to be fair. That’s sort of her thing.
But it’s because she likes me.
No.
It’s not.
They’re crazy. Jace and Vivi are crazy, I decide.
Because I will not get my hopes up. I will not be delusional.
Matilda does not like me, I tell myself slowly. She does not like me.
“I don’t believe you,” I tell her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. I can’t.”
In my peripheral vision, I see Jace’s eyes fill with pity and sympathy, and I resist the urge to snap at him. In front of me, Vivi’s eyes are filled with defiance and sincerity, but still, I can’t believe her. I won’t allow myself to.
“Then ask her,” she surprises me by saying. “Ask her. If she gets all weird and sputtery, that means she likes you.”
“Matilda always gets weird and sputtery,” I say, narrowing my eyes, and Vivi’s eyebrows raise meaningfully. “Oh, shut up,” I tell her, and stalk off to where Stacy and Matilda are talking heatedly.
The closer I get, the closer I see that Matilda looks like she’s about to cry. My defences easily go up, and I walk faster towards them, question forgotten.
Stacy’s speech halts when she sees me approaching and murmurs something to Matilda, who’s about to turn her head before I wrap my arms around her shoulders, resting my chin atop her head.
“Everything okay over here?” I ask, glaring at Stacy, whose expression is riddled with guilt and anxiety.
“Yep,” Stacy answers, flashing me a smile.
Matilda doesn’t answer.
I move my head to rest on her shoulder, moving my arms to wrap around her waist. Her breath hitches and she turns to look at me, bright blue eyes wide and watery.
“What about you, hm?” I ask, keeping my voice warm and low and coaxing. “Is my girl okay?”
She’s not your girl, Willoughby! something inside me screams.
But her face flushes a bright pink, and she nods, her watery eyes flicking down to my lips for the briefest of moments. I would smirk if she didn’t look so terrified.
“Stace,” I begin, flicking my eyes back up to her, “could you give us a moment?” I don’t mean my voice or my gaze to turn so hard, but she’s said something that’s upset Matilda, and that’s not allowed to happen. No one upsets her. Not while I have anything to say about it.
“Uh…” Stacy hesitates, returning her attention to Matilda, and raising an eyebrow in question. Matilda swallows, and seems to reluctantly nod. Stacy nods back and offers me a forced smile before walking back in the direction of our gathering.
I twirl her around to face me and she gasps, her arms coming to wrap around my neck. My arms remain locked around her waist, firm but gentle.
“You sure you’re okay?” I murmur softly. “You seem a little freaked out. Did she say something to you?”
Stacy is not the type to upset anyone, but I have to be sure.
“No, sh-she didn’t. Everything’s just fine,” she assures me, but she doesn’t sound convinced. She doesn’t look convinced, either.
Her eyes are still wide and scared, and she’s clutching onto my neck like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. I can feel her hands trembling.
“Are you alright?” I ask again, because she keeps lying to me. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” I question, beginning to remove my arms from around her.
But she shakes her head firmly, and pulls me back by her death grip on the back of my neck.
“Please,” she whispers. My eyebrows furrow in confusion. Please what?
“Please what?” I ask softly, searching her face.
“Please,” she chokes out. “Please, don’t let go.”
“O-okay,” I say, feeling confused but tightening my grip on her anyway. “I won’t. I’m right here, sweetheart.”
She lets out a squeak in the back of her throat before burying her face in my chest, her hands sliding down to wrap around my torso, her grip almost as tight.
I don’t care though. I wouldn’t care if she bruised me for life.
Just as long as she’s safe.
Matilda
I have to tell him.
I know I have to tell him.
But how?
Telling your ex-enemy, current sort-of friend and fake-boyfriend that you like them isn’t something you can just bring up, is it? It’s not a casual thing. It’s a very difficult, life-altering decision.
And, say I’m not the coward I actually am, what would he even say? Does he even feel the same? And if he does, then why? How? I mean, I’m not exactly Angelina Jolie, am I?
He, on the other hand, is definitely Brad Pitt.
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that I am not the most attractive girl in the world, and he, on the other hand, is the most attractive boy. So, me and him just do not go together. Except we do. Quite well, actually.
Oh, my God, I’m going insane. I just need to take a breather. I just need some space.
“What do you think about a sleepover?” Vivi and Stacy ask in unison.
Oh, fucking fantastic.
I’m currently sitting in the middle of the grassy field in the park, Will’s group of friends, plus Vivi, surrounding me. Will and I are both sitting on his coat (because obviously I forgot mine) to avoid the mud. I’m perched awkwardly on the edge of it, though, as it’s impossible to find a position where I’m not flashing someone, because I, idiotically, wore a short skirt. So, my upper body is sort of leaning against Will’s side, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, while my legs and boots are both stained with mud. I’m not entirely sure why Will’s group chose to come here on such an awful day weather-wise.
Will’s kept his promise of not letting me go. Not once in the last hour and a half since Stacy and I’s dreadful revelation of a conversation has he let me go. Whether it’s his arm around my shoulder or his hand clasped loosely in mine, he’s not let go. It’s inanely comforting.
“Uh..” I hesitate, blinking at the two evil twins in front of me. Also over the last hour and a half, those two have become thick as thieves, whispering plots that I can’t hear.
“We can all go,” Stacy says.
“You, Will, Jace, me, Jamie, Liv. And Stacy, obviously,” continues Vee. “It’s gonna be at her house.”
“God, no,” groans Liv from a picnic blanket a few feet away. “I’d rather swallow poison.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, and keep quiet instead. Will, clearly sensing my discomfort, squeezes me closer to him. I swallow thickly in response. His proximity to me is certainly not helping my dilemma of feelings, but when he began to pull away, something inside me panicked. I don’t know why. But everything inside of me screamed at me for him not to pull away.
“So what do you think?” prompts Stacy.
“What do you think, Tilds?” Will murmurs, his hot breath fanning over my ear, eliciting a shiver from me. I can see him fighting a smirk out of the corner of my eye.
“Uh…I’ll have to check with my mum,” I say, shifting awkwardly, staring at my hands. I really don’t want to go. Sleeping over at a house with a bunch of strangers? No, thank you. But I’m a pushover, and so I say: “But yeah. Okay.”
Stacy and Vivi both grin wickedly in response.
The sight unnerves me.
“I’ll just go…call her now,” I say, forcing myself to stand. Will’s hand slips into mine, eyebrows raised slightly in question. I swallow.
I don’t want to be parted from him for some reason. Everything inside me screams that if I let go of his hand, something bad will happen. Which is ridiculous, because I have lived without holding his hand for every minute of the almost-eighteen years I’ve been alive.
Oh, my God, maybe I’m one of those really annoying clingy girls that feels like they’re going to have a heart attack every time they’re away from their boyfriends.
Will isn’t your boyfriend, Matilda.
He’s your fake one, sure, but he’s not your real one.
But still, I don’t want to end up like that couple you see in amusement park lines. That’s just embarrassing.
I force my hand away from his, offering him an obvious forced smile and scurry away from his crowd of friends. I feel his eyes burning into me all the way to the tree I hide myself under.
Hurriedly, I type out a message to my mum, to which she immediately reads and responds by calling me. I sigh and roll my eyes before I answer.
I then spend the next ten minutes informing her of plans that I don’t know if actually true or not, but going over to Stace and asking her what the ‘sleeping plan’ is seems a little ludicrous.
I then spend another five minutes talking about how me and Will will definitely not be sharing a bed, and even if we were then it wouldn’t matter, considering we’re not actually together. She told me that wasn’t the point and that boys get ‘urges’, to which I then hung up the phone.
And so I return to the group fifteen minutes later looking a little frazzled as I plop down next to Will. I inform them that she said yes, erupting squeals from Vivi and Stacy, and eliciting a wince from me.
“Did you text your dad?” I ask Will, removing my attention from Vee and Stace.
Will nods. “Yeah. It’s all good.”
He’s not convincing.
It’s obvious in the way the light in his eyes flickers and shuts down, the way his jaw ticks, the way his hand flexes slightly. It’s so obvious. It’s so obvious that I’m surprised that no one else notices.
I raise an unconvinced eyebrow. He raises a mocking one back.
“Will,” I warn.
“Matilda,” he mocks.
“You’ve not texted him.”
He clutches his chest dramatically in faux offence. “Are you accusing me of lying, Matilda Weston?”
“Yes,” I say bluntly.
His expression falters slightly, his hand dropping back to his side. His warm, calloused fingers brush against mine accidentally, and I force myself to pull away. If I don’t, then I’ll get distracted, and I’m supposed to be scolding him right now.
He flops down onto his back, his limbs stretched like a starfish, his head almost falling back into the mud, but is thankfully saved by my foot. His smirk remains, his voice filled with amusement, as if laughing at a joke I don’t understand, when he says, “He doesn’t care where I am anyway.”
I shake my head firmly. “I don’t believe that.”
I won’t.
Because how could someone not care where this beautiful angel of a human being is, let alone his own father? His own parents? It just doesn’t make sense to me. And I pride myself on everything making sense.
He looks up at me, his smirk softening into something gentler; tender, almost. His dark brown eyes study my face silently, making oxygen seem impossible and unnecessary.
“Yeah, well that’s why you’re you, and I’m not,” he replies.
I blink. What the hell does that even mean?
Before I can even open my mouth to ask, Jamie’s shadow falls over us. I blink again.
“Hi, Matilda,” he says.
“Um…hi,” I answer, brow furrowed but force myself to remain polite. I glance at Will out of the corner of my eye who’s looking equally as confused.
Jamie doesn’t look at Will when he tosses a red flower down onto the ground in front of me. My brow furrows further as I stare down at it.
“I found it,” Jamie says. “I thought you might like it.”
“Uh…thanks,” I reply, because what the fuck?
First of all, who just does that in front of who they think is their ex’s current boyfriend? That’s not normal. That’s usually how you get socked in the nose.
Second of all, who does that after they basically abandon said ex while they’re having a panic attack earlier that day?
Third of all, and perhaps most importantly, who does it in front of their own girlfriend?
I glance at Liv out of the corner of my eye whose face is red with either anger, embarrassment, or irritation. Honestly, I’d be feeling all three at that moment if I was her.
“I’m going,” Liv says randomly.
“Sorry?” I ask, startled.
“The sleepover. I’m going to the sleepover.” She looks at Jamie. “You’re going, too.”
“But–”
“I thought you said you’d rather swallow poison,” Will pipes up, arching an eyebrow at Liv. He isn’t looking at me, so it’s impossible to deem his reaction on whatever weird display of affection Jamie’s showing me.
Not that he’d care, because as I said to Stacy earlier: He doesn’t like me.
Liv’s nostrils flare as she glares at Will. His eyebrow just arches higher in response.
“Yes, well, I’d rather swallow poison than do a lot of things but I still do them,” she grits out.
Like what?
“Like what?” Will asks for me.
“Talk to you,” she retorts.
Will lets out a long sigh through his nose, rolls his eyes, before flopping his head back onto my foot.
Well. This will be fun.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Will and I are sitting awkwardly in the car, me in the passenger seat, as always, as No I’m not in love by Tate Mcrae drifts from the radio. My choice, not his. Rain pounds down onto the car roof and it’s entirely overwhelming. I stare out of the window, suddenly finding dead trees and squished, squelchy, wet leaves absurdly interesting.
I can tell both of us are thinking about the weird flower thing Jamie did. It’s resting in my palm, looking slightly withered and squished from how tight I’ve been holding it.
I just don’t understand it. It was so completely random and out of nowhere. Did he think it was romantic? Because let me tell you something, abandoning someone when they’re having a panic attack and then randomly dropping a flower onto their lap? Not romantic. Weird as fuck, actually.
“What book are you reading?” he startles me by asking. I jump slightly in my seat. He represses a smirk.
“S-sorry?” I stutter.
He does smirk now. “Your book. What book are you reading?”
“Oh. Um. It’s called Nora Goes Off Script.”
“Oh? What’s it about?”
“Well, basically, this woman–”
“Nora.”
“Yes, Nora. She’s a screenwriter, and she writes a script about her divorce, right? Anyway, it gets really popular, and her manager or whatever tells her to sell it to this big movie company and she does. So, the book starts when the movie’s filming is being started, and she and the man playing her husband, Leo–”
“The husband’s called Leo?”
“No, the movie star. Anyway, after the filming’s been filmed, he asks to stay because he wants to get away from the big movie star life, y’know? And they fall in love within, like, a day.” I pause to inhale a breath. “So, basically, where I am now is he’s just left to film another movie but he’s not returned.”
A low whistle. “Wow. And he’s supposed to be the love interest.”
I nod solemnly. “I know. Disgraceful behaviour.” A snort from him. “But at least it’s realistic,” I continue with a shrug, looking out the window. “Most romance books aren’t. It’s very irritating.”
“You don’t believe in love?” he asks, and I can sense his raised eyebrows. My face flames from his words. “I thought that was a reader’s whole deal? Waiting for your happily ever after and all that shit.”
“I believe in love just fine,” I say, a tad defensively. “I just think waiting for a love like the ones I read in books is entirely unrealistic.”
“Okay, then, well excuse me if this sounds rude, but what the hell are we doing, then?”
I blink. I’m not sure what he means. Is he talking about the kiss? Does he feel what I feel?
“With this whole fake dating thing and Jamie,” he clarifies, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
Oh.
Right.
“I think that Jamie is as close to perfect as I’ll get,” I lie.
Because if anything, the closest to perfect I’ll get in boy is the one sitting right next to me.
Matilda
I’m hyperventilating.
My vision is blurring.
My heart feels like it’s trying to beat out of my chest.
And I’m, idiotically, alone.
I asked Will to leave me alone in his car when we pulled up to Stacy’s driveway. I told him I just needed a breather and a bit of a break from people. He’d nodded and said he understood, giving my arm a small squeeze before he disappeared into the ornate front door of Stacy’s house.
Five, ten, fifteen, whatever-the-fuck minutes later,–time distorts when you’re panicking–I’m now on the verge of a panic attack. It’s not started yet; I can tell by the way air can still get through my windpipe.
I force myself to clear my brain fog, to take deep breaths.
Just think of the articles, I coax myself. Just think of therapy.
Everything is fine. You’re not dying. You’re not choking.
But it definitely feels like I am.
I can feel that choking sensation start to squeeze itself around my throat as tears prick my eyes. My nails dig into my freckled thigh, trying to ground myself.
It doesn’t work. It only makes more tears well in my eyes.
I force myself to open them, to look at my surroundings.
Rain pours down around me in heaps of misery, shattering against the windscreen, making any sight near impossible.
But I manage to look at the pine trees peeking out from behind Stacy’s house, the leaves lush and vivacious, compared to the dead ones littered all over her front porch. Probably from the neighbours houses, by the looks of things.
I wonder if Stacy and her family decorate them for Christmas.
I dig my nails further into my thigh.
Family, family, family. I feel laughter gurgling up my throat at the thought.
Families are just one big cosmic joke, aren’t they?
One moment, you’re a little four-year-old watching cartoons with your dad. The next? You’re a five-year-old watching your dad pack his bags at half-one in the morning after you’d awoken from a nightmare, then watching him scamper down the stairs like he was in a hurry–probably to get to the train station. Then, you’re asking him where he’s going and he just leaves, not caring about your tears or your heart that he’s smothering beneath his foot.
I mean, it’s just a big joke.
I let out a choked sob.
My cheeks feel wet.
That’s weird. Why am I crying? It’s supposed to be funny.
Maybe I just don’t get it.
Vaguely, I hear the sound of the car door opening before it shuts again. I clench my eyes shut. I don’t want Will to see me like this; I’m a really ugly crier.
A few long moments of thick silence stretch between us, making the choking sensation even worse. And then I feel it. A soft hand removing my nails from my thigh.
I gasp. My eyes fly open. That’s not Will’s hand. Will’s hand is warm and calloused. This one is cold and smooth.
I’m met with the sight of Liv, worry crinkling her eyes and brow. Her plump lips press together, as if in thought. I blink back at her.
Her pale, soft hand then manoeuvres to tangle through mine, squeezing gently. I blink again.
When she speaks, her voice is firm but coaxing, as if soothing a spooked animal. “Deep breaths.”
And like a well-trained pet, I do as she says, forcing oxygen into my throat, into my lungs. She nods. “Again,” she orders.
And I do.
We repeat this process again and again; me inhaling oxygen into my lungs, her bossing me around as always. I don’t care, though, if we’re being honest. Not in a situation like this.
When breathing doesn’t seem like a task anymore, she stops her words. We both just stare at each other, her ocean blue eyes staring into my ice blue ones. They are still filled, lined, with worry, her teeth biting into her bottom lip slightly.
Carefully, she reaches over and wipes my cheek with her thumb. She shows me the smudged mascara coating it and I blink ashamedly. I don’t know why I feel ashamed. It’s not like it’s my fault that my mascara isn’t waterproof.
Liv wipes it away on her designer jeans, leaving a distinct black mark, and now I feel the familiar sense of guilt climbing up my throat.
I open my mouth to let the apology roll off my tongue like a bad habit, but Liv beats me to it.
“If you even dare apologise, I’ll bite you.”
I slam my mouth shut, blinking. She lets out a small snort, shaking her head.
Oh.
She was joking.
I mean, obviously. No sane person bites people. Then again, I’m not entirely sure Liv is sane. She reminds me of the devil a lot of the time, actually.
“Let’s go inside.” And she moves without waiting for my answer.
Numbly, I climb out of the car, the wondrous smell of petrichor invading my senses, following Liv’s curtain of shiny, soaked red hair blindly. She doesn’t even look back to see if I’m tailing her as she pushes open the door.
I step inside, wiping away the dirt and leaves stuck to my shoes before I pull them off, not even bothering with undoing the zippers.
I don’t know why I feel so empty. Usually after a panic attack I feel better, because I’ve got it all out, cried, etcetera. But I just feel detached; dazed, almost.
“They’re all in there–”
“Hey,” Will says, accidentally interrupting Liv. Her face hardens visibly but she doesn’t argue. His chocolate brown hair is messy and soft, falling over his forehead angelically. He’s put his green sweater back on, the sleeves slightly too long for his wrists in a way I haven’t noticed before.
I blink. “Hi.” My voice is hoarse and scratchy. If my puffy eyes and streamed mascara wasn’t evidence of my crying.
His eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes scanning and searching over every little part of me. Goosebumps rise over my arms, my skin burning.
Liv’s hand interconnects with mine, her thumb resting over the blood staining my nails.
Blood.
That’s weird. Why is there blood on my nails?
“Why are you bleeding.” Will’s blunt voice sucks me back into the world. The words come out more an order than a question. His eyes are fixated on my thigh, which, sure enough, a light trail of crimson is falling down to my knee.
Oh. That’s why.
“Um–”
“I’m going to go clean it now,” Liv says. It’s a nonanswer and we all know it.
Her thumb is still pressed firmly over the blood coating the edges of my nails. I’m eternally grateful for it.
“I can–”
“No,” she says firmly, cutting Will a glare. In usual circumstances, I would feel sorry for him, and I might even try to argue, but this isn’t a normal circumstance. This is a situation that Liv’s handled before, back when my anxiety was this bad.
I offer him a weak, apologetic smile before Liv drags me up the stairs. His eyes burn holes through my back.
We wind through the long, endless corridors until we reach a bathroom, and I get the odd sense of deja vu, like I’ve been here before. It definitely looks familiar.
Liv plants me on the closed lid of the toilet, walking calmly around the bathroom, collecting a flannel, wetting it, before kneeling in front of me. She cleans my fingernails first.
The silence is loud around us, just the strong beat of the heavy rain beating against the blurred glass of the bathroom window. I focus on that, instead of Liv, who seems silently seething. Her brow is furrowed, her lips pressed in a thin line, and her grip is slightly too tight on my hand.
I swallow, and move my gaze towards the window, ignoring the tightness in my chest. We’ve been here before, Liv and I. Perhaps one too many times.
She moves the cloth to my thigh after wetting it again.
“So you’re doing it again?” she asks bluntly.
My breath hitches. My entire body goes still.
“Doing what?” I strangle out.
She gives me a look. “Don’t bullshit me, Tilds. You know what I’m talking about.”
“No,” I lie, “I don’t.”
“Fine,” she grits out. “Then allow me to spell it out for you: self-harming.”
I swallow, shaking my head firmly. I feel tears push their sting against the back of my eyes, and I clench them shut. “I never–”
“Bullshit,” she hisses.
“No, it’s not–”
“Okay then,” she snaps. She drops the cloth onto the floor, it landing with a splat on the tile, before her cold, damp hand reaches for my wrist.
“Liv–” I protest, writhing in her harsh grip as she tugs me up, yanks the sleeve of my thick, brown turtleneck up, up, up, all the way to the very top of my bicep.
“What’s that, then?” she demands harshly, jabbing her nail into the thin, pale, faded scar that I used to dig my nails into.
“Liv…” I whisper.
She meets my gaze, those blue eyes hard but watery. Her nostrils are flared, her grip on my wrist still almost bruising.
“You can’t bullshit me, Matilda,” she says, her voice grim and rough. “You may have convinced Vee that you weren’t doing it but I saw right fucking through it. I know you better than anyone.” I shake my head in protest, but she continues, her words relentlessly cutting through me, deeper than any of my nails ever would. Ever did. “I know you better than Vee. I know you better than your mother. Hell, I know you better than North. So, don’t fucking bullshit me. Because I knew.” Her voice cracks slightly. “I fucking knew.”
I stare at her, my breathing heavy, my chest heaving. The sound of the rain hammering against the window seems louder now, the sound and blood roaring in my ears. My body feels numb. The knot in my chest has tightened.
All I can think of is how the fuck I ended up here, in Stacy’s bathroom, while Liv scolds me about how three years ago I used to secretly self-harm. Because yesterday…yesterday was a good day. Well, not good, but it was alright. And then this morning–it was stressful, but blissful. And now, this afternoon, everything’s come crashing down around me. And I’m just buried in piles of debris and rubble, trying to sort out the mess around me.
And I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I’m tired–tired of having to pick myself up over and over again, just to get back where I started: in a bathroom or a car or my bedroom, crying my eyes out.
“I-I didn’t do it to hurt myself, Liv,” I choke out hoarsely, gesturing to the cleaned cut on my thigh, still leaking blood. “I j-just was panicking and-and needed to ground myself. And-and before, when I was…y’know…I-I only did it a few times. It-it wasn’t a daily thing or anything, I–”
“Once is enough,” Liv hoarses out, watching me with those sad eyes of hers. “One time is enough, and I knew, and I–” Her voice breaks, a tear slipping free from her eye. My fingers twitch to wipe it away, but I don’t.
The bathroom door creaks loudly open.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Vivi’s voice asks.
Liv and I’s breath hitch, and Liv quickly tugs down my sleeve to my elbow– enough to hide the scar.
“Nothing,” we both say in unison.
“Don’t lie,” Vivi says, shutting the bathroom door behind us, blocking out the noise of laughter and joy. She swings her furious gaze to Liv. “What’ve you said to her?”
“Me?” snaps Liv.
“Yes, you,” Vivi snarls, approaching her fast and jamming a finger against her chest. “Do you see anyone else here?”
“How do you know she wasn’t just crying because she’s upset?”
“Because that’s not Matilda.”
A harsh laugh from Liv. “You clearly don’t know her very well then, do you?”
Oh, no, no, no, no, no…
I knew this would happen. I knew they would blow up at each other like they always do. And then I’d be stuck in the middle between them, like always.
Vivi and Liv are ticking time-bombs around each other; they can only be near each other a certain amount of time before they explode.
“How dare you!” Vivi hisses, looking very much like she wants to slap her ex-friend.
“It’s just the truth.”
“Guys, let’s all just calm down.” Always the mediator.
“I know Matilda better than you ever will!”
Always ignored.
Another cruel sound from Liv. “You fucking wish, bitch.”
“I’m the bitch?” Vivi screeches. “You’re the bitch, Liv. You’re the one who’s dating Matilda’s ex. You’re the one who ditched her after I left.”
“She ditched me!” I shake my head in response, tears welling in my eyes.
“As if she would do that!”
“She did it because you told her to!”
Oh, god. How I wish that weren’t true.
Truthfully, I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because I knew that Liv would move on with life as if I had never existed. Maybe because I knew their broken friendship would tear me apart as it had in the last years Vivi lived in England.
Or maybe it’s because I knew that Vivi wouldn’t give a fuck if I chose Liv over her, and would ignore me for the rest of my life. And, that no matter what, Liv would still care, even if I ditched her. Because even when Liv acts like she doesn’t care about me, I know she does.
Because just like she sees right through me, I see right through her.
I blink blearily through the tears clouding my vision, through the roaring fogging my brain, to see Vivi’s face go red with anger.
The bathroom door opens again just in time for whoever it is to see Vivi slapping Liv harshly across the face. A gasp claws at my throat. A sob escapes my mouth instead.
“The fuck is going on?”
Will.
My head snaps towards the comforting sound of his voice, and my feet move towards him without consulting my brain first. I practically fling myself against his body, his arms wrapping around my waist tightly, mine going around his neck.
“Please,” I sob against his shoulder. “Please make it stop.”
I hear his breathing grow heavier as his hand comes to cradle the back of my head, his thumb stroking my hair, wet from the rain. And then I feel his entire body go still, his grip on me growing tighter.
“The fuck have you said?”
His voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it.
Silence. Before–
“Me?!” Vivi asks incredulously.
“Yes, you,” he retorts. “What have you said?”
“Why me?!”
“Because Matilda knows better than to get herself worked up over something she’s–” I feel him tilt his chin pointedly towards Liv “--said. So come on. What’ve you said?”
“I’ve not said anything!” she yells, and I squeeze my eyes tighter shut, more hot tears stinging out of my eyes, trying to block out the loud noise. “I just came in and she was crying!”
I hate this. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it–
“No, she wasn’t!” interjects Liv harshly.
“Yes, she was!”
“She wasn’t crying like that until you came in!”
“Just shut the fuck up, Liv!”
I can barely feel myself as I push myself out of Will’s arms, vaguely hearing his protests as I pull open the door and force my feet to move down the lusciously carpeted floor.
I need to get away from the noise.
I need to get away from people.
I need to get away.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Jace
I’ve gotten fucking sick of hearing the yelling.
I’ve gotten even more sick of the people sitting in the room eavesdropping on the whole situation. It’s none of their fucking business, and I need to leave before I explode and tell them all as such.
Stalking up the stairs, following the sound of Will’s hard voice–Christ, what’s he gotten into now?--and the yelling voices of Liv and who sounds like Stacy 2.0. Vivi, I think her name is.
Then, the sound of a door flying open, Will’s voice protesting.
Two seconds later, a hard, trembling body stumbles into my chest, my hands instinctively flying out to steady them.
Brown, frizzy, wet hair, a freckled hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her sobs–Matilda.
Oh shit.
“Woahh, uhh…” I hesitate for a moment, before pulling her against my chest. I may not be as emotionally intelligent as Will, but I was raised well enough that you don’t leave a sobbing girl crying without comfort.
Matilda tenses slightly, but doesn’t pull away, her arms coming to wrap around my waist. I rub her back awkwardly.
“What’s going on?” I ask her carefully.
“It’s too loud,” is all she answers, her voice a broken whisper.
The sound of soft, patterned footsteps against the thick runner carpet over the wooden floors appears, and five seconds later, Liv appears, red hair damp from the rain, eyes clear and angry, one cheek stained red with a hand mark.
Okay, seriously, what the fuck is going on.
“Where’s Will?” I ask, tightening my hold on Matilda.
“Arguing,” she replies blankly, her eyes focused on Matilda’s trembling form.
Arguing? Who the hell does Will argue with other than the satan incarnate in front of me?
“With who?” I question, confused.
“Vivi.”
Vivi? “Why the hell’s he arguing with her?”
“Why do you think?” she snarks, her chin jabbing in the direction of Matilda’s body clinging to mine.
Damn it, Will.
Honestly, how he’s managed to get through life with two absent parents and not die is beyond me.
“Okay, uh.” Delicately, I manoeuvre Matilda’s body towards Liv–I have enough information about their relationship to know that she may be a bitch, but she’ll protect Matilda with her life and soul–and say, “You take her to Stace’s room. I’ll go sort whatever the hell’s happening.”
Liv looks like she wants to argue, but she presses her lips together and nods stiffly before resting her hand on Matilda’s back and leading her towards Stacy’s room. Matilda doesn’t protest.
Walking faster than necessary down the hallway, I follow the sounds of screeching voices and Will’s cold, hard, immovable tone.
“I don’t understand why you’re accusing me of making Matilda upset!” I hear Vivi screech as I push open the bathroom door. “I’ve never done anything that would make her like that.”
A harsh scoff from Will. “Doubtful. Very fucking doubtful.”
“Alright, then, why don’t you inform me of a time when I made Matilda do something that wasn’t in her best interest.”
“Stacy’s party.”
Vivi’s brow crinkles slightly in confusion. “What about it?”
“Hm, I dunno, maybe the fact that she had a fucking panic attack five minutes into arriving?” Will drawls, entirely sarcastic.
Vivi balks. “I didn’t know about that,” she whispers, shaking her head.
“But surely you would’ve guessed that something might trigger it?”
“Everything fucking triggers her,” Vivi seethes.
“Exactly!” Will snaps. “So why’d you tell her to go?”
“Because…Because…” Vivi stammers, face turning purple with shame.
“Exactly,” Will snaps.
Deciding it’s time to intervene, I clamp a hand on Will’s shoulder. He startles, his head snapping towards me. His jaw clenches, but I feel his muscles relax beneath my hand.
“What’s happened?” I address him, not her. Mainly because I know that Will wouldn’t snap at someone who’s clearly important to Matilda without reason.
“Did you see her?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“Yes, I did,” I reply calmly, despite the anger curling in my gut. “She’s with Liv, in Stacy’s bedroom. She’ll be fine. But you need to tell me what’s going on.”
Will sighs and runs a hand down his face. His usual happy mask has slipped, revealing his weariness. “I don’t know,” he grits out. “That’s the fucking problem. I came in and Vivi slapped Liv and Matilda was crying and I just…I lost it, lad.”
I clench my jaw and nod, the movement clipped.
One thing that is entirely different between Will and I is that Will acts on impulse, on his emotions; I hardly ever do. And while I don’t really blame him for how he’s acting, because I know damn well that if I came in and Stacy was crying like Matilda was earlier, I’d lose my ever loving shit, I also wish that he had a stronger leash on his temper, so I don’t have to keep picking up his messes.
“Vivi,” I say, turning my attention on her, but keeping my hand firmly on Will’s shoulder so he doesn’t run off and find Matilda. Liv’s got her–she’ll be fine. I hope. “What happened?”
“I don’t know!” she cries defensively.
Oh, for the love of Christ!
“Well, you know more than what we know,” I counter as calmly as I can.
Vivi swallows and slumps down on the toilet lid, her shoulders sagging. “All I know is that I went upstairs to put Matilda’s bag in her room because her mum dropped it off, and then I heard Matilda, sounding like she was crying, followed by Liv’s voice. So, of course, I went on the defensive. That’s all I know. I swear.” Her eyes are wide and earnest, and I can tell that she’s telling the truth, as annoying as it may be.
“Okay, look, I think we all need to just calm down,” I instruct evenly. “Vivi, you go downstairs, chat and whatever, just…stay away from Will for a little, alright?” She looks like she wants to protest, but she glances at Will’s hard face and nods, brushing past me to leave the bathroom. I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I turn towards Will, finally removing my strong grip from his shoulder. “Now,” I say, “are you calm?”
His eyes narrow but he nods, looking slightly petulant. Probably from my condescending tone. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m calm.”
“Good. Because I want us to go downstairs, away from Vivi, and leave Liv and Matilda to it.”
“But–”
“They need to sort it out, Will,” I interject. “And, as much as it’ll hurt you to say this, she was running away from you. She wants quiet, Will,” I inform, relaying Matilda’s mumble, “and you’re not exactly the best outlet for that.”
“I can be quiet,” Will mumbles, but doesn’t argue as I begin to lead him out the bathroom, in the direction away from Matilda.
“Sure you can, lad,” I coax. “Just leave them to it, though, alright?”
Will swallows and looks over his shoulder, in the direction of Stacy’s bedroom, where Matilda’s currently residing. His steps slow for a few seconds, but then he continues to walk ahead, eyebrow furrowed at the ground as he walks downstairs.
Good lad.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Matilda
It’s been twenty-three minutes and sixteen seconds since Liv brought me into Stacy’s room.
It’s been thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds since I’ve stopped crying.
It’s been seven minutes and three seconds since Liv started painting my nails a denim blue color.
It’s been twenty-four minutes and fifty seconds since I’ve said a word.
Counting helps me think.
But still, I don’t feel better.
I feel numb; empty.
I don’t know why I didn’t consider the cons of Vivi coming back. I always consider the cons of everything, even things that seem undeniably good. Feelings don’t get you anywhere; logic does.
I suppose my excitement just got ahead of me, and decided that we were going to let that rule my actions, over the logical thing: that Liv and Vivi being in the same town is catastrophic. And that is not an over exaggeration.
The last year that Vee was here was hell. They argued about everything: boys, school work, parties, me.
Yeah, I was the main point over their arguing. Whether it was who knew me better, or who “deserved” to hang out with me that weekend. I often tried to reason that we could all hang out, which always exploded in my face. Looking back on it, it was entirely ridiculous behaviour from both of them. I hope they both know that now.
“How are you and North doing?” Liv asks suddenly, as she blows on my wet nail polish.
I swallow. “Fine. Good.”
The truth is, I don’t know how me and Will are. Yeah, okay, we’re fine, and we aren’t pissed off as fuck with each other, but we kissed. We kissed, and we haven’t spoken about it. Haven’t even addressed that it happened. And I know it did. I remember his lips on mine. I remember his hands on my waist. I remember the feel of his hair between my fingers–
Okay, stop. Stop it, Matilda. Do not think of this. It’s not good for you right now.
Liv glances up at me for a second, studying, analysing my face, before nodding once and saying, “Good.”
I can’t suppress my dry snort of laughter. Faint amusement flickers over her face as she looks back up at me. “What?”
“You don’t mean that,” I answer, shifting slightly on Stacy’s floor. My legs are crossed, and Liv has pulled some sort of anagrammed footstool from the corner of Stacy’s room to rest my hand on while she paints my nails.
“Yes, I do,” Liv counters calmly.
“You hate him,” I argue.
Liv’s lips press together once again in that thin line, resting my hand back on my knee and reaching for the other. Unscrewing the cap of the polish, she begins to paint my right hand.
“I don’t hate him,” she replies, tone contemplative. “I think that…” She trails off, exhaling in irritation. “I think that he makes you happy, and that’s all that should matter.” Her tone is firm, as though she’s trying to convince herself, as well as me.
I was wrong earlier. Liv isn’t the devil.
Maybe just his assistant.
Will
When I walked into that bathroom earlier, I felt something cold and raging and ugly settle deep inside my chest. I don’t know what it was, what it is, all I know is that when I saw her crying, saw Liv and Vivi surrounding her…I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of rage before.
And it’s still there, half an hour later. My body is still vibrating with it.
Vivi’s tried to smooth things over more than once, with jokes, small, polite smiles that aren’t returned. I just can’t relax, can’t forgive her until I know what’s happened. What happened to make Matilda sob so violently.
To make matters worse, she and Liv still haven’t come down yet. And Jace has stayed beside me like I’m some sort of feral dog. It’s insanely irritating.
Okay, yes, maybe I do have a short temper, and for Matilda’s sake I should probably try and work on that, but that doesn’t mean he has to practically strap on a muzzle and leash me.
And another thing that needs explaining is that cut on her thigh. It didn’t look deep, and it was already dry when I went into the bathroom, but how the fuck did it get there? It sure as hell wasn’t there when I left the car. Which, by the way, was an idiotic move on my part. But she said she wanted alone time; what was I supposed to do–not give it to her? Like fuck I was gonna do that. Especially when she’s about to stay over at Stacy’s house surrounded by a dozen strangers.
I’ll wait another ten minutes, I decide. Then I’ll go find her.
As if hearing my thoughts, Jace clamps his hand down on my shoulder. My jaw clenches and I glare at him. He simply arches an eyebrow in response.
I fucking hate you, I tell him with my eyes.
He just smiles. I’m helping you.
Fuck you.
Back at you.
I scowl, and turn my attention to the glow of the TV,--Stacy insisted that we ‘emerge the room in darkness’–where a movie of some kind is playing. I think there might’ve been a vote, but I don’t remember what we chose.
Seriously though, what are she and Liv doing up there? I won’t blame her for wanting alone time, but if she does, then why is Liv still up there? Furthermore, why does she want Liv up there? I know she cares for Matilda–certainly a lot more than Vivi right now–but she doesn’t exactly scream good at comforting someone.
Deciding that I physically can’t wait ten minutes or I’ll go insane, I start to sit up. Jace just tightens his grip on my shoulder. I also decide that I want to hit him.
I snap my head towards him but he just raises an eyebrow and nods towards the door. Standing there is Matilda and Liv. My chest loosens at the sight.
But it tightens again at the sight of her appearance. Even the darkness and Liv’s obvious attempts to fix it, her swollen eyes and puffy lips are obvious. My heart cracks open at the sight.
Soft murmurs and clandestine whispers fill the room. I can see Matilda’s face flame in response. She really seems to hate attention.
Her eyes meet mine and I swallow at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes.
Jace’s hand slips off my shoulder and he stands up to move next to Stacy. I don’t even have the energy to be angry because she starts to shuffle over to me. She’s changed into her pajamas since I’ve last seen her. Nothing out there, not like her ‘I’m not opinionated, I’m just always right’ shirt–just a simple white tank top and a pair of baby blue, striped pyjama bottoms.
I begin to sort out the fallen pillows and the messed up blanket from the now vacated spot next to me, but she does something totally unexpected.
She climbs into my lap.
I let out a soft umph from the new weight, but wrap my arms around her waist to steady her while she gets comfortable.
“Sorry, am I too heavy?” she mumbles, her blue eyes red and wide.
“What? No, no,” I assure her. “Just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
She blinks, doesn’t look convinced. But she doesn’t move off of me; just wraps her arms around my neck and nestles her nose in the crook of it. My arms tighten around her.
I won’t question her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Even if I’m itching to know, I also need to remind myself that I’m not actually her boyfriend. I’m not even really her friend, technically. She doesn’t need to tell me anything. Not that if I was her boyfriend or friend that I’d make her tell me it, but she’s not actually ‘obligated’ to while we’re not either of those things.
Seeing her cry, and Vivi and I’s conversation in the park, should be a wake-up call. To tell her how I feel. Make her feel better while she’s struggling. But it’s having the opposite effect. Because her break down in the bathroom shows that she’s not as alright as she seems, and I didn’t notice. For some reason, me, the person who’s noticed everything about her for the last two years, didn't notice she was struggling. And truthfully? I hate myself a little bit for that.
Because I should’ve noticed, and I was too caught up in my feelings, in the memory of her lips against mine to notice.
And so I’ve made a vow to myself not to let my feelings get away from me. I’ll keep it this time, I swear.
And so, I won’t ask her to tell me until she makes the decision to tell me herself. Or I’ll force it out of Liv. Whichever comes first.
“Are you okay?” I ask her quietly, because apparently I can’t stop myself.
“Yeah.” Her voice is still hoarse from her crying, and I force myself to stay rooted to the sofa so as to not get her a glass of water.
You need to chill the fuck out, remember?
“You sure?”
“I swear,” she says, equally as softly. “I’m fine now. I feel better.”
I nod and bite down on my tongue to stop myself from asking what happened. This vow is going to be a lot trickier to uphold than I thought.
She shifts on my lap to see the TV better, her brows narrowing in focus, and I move my hand to rest on her arm. As she does, my thumb traces over a small scar on her bicep. I frown. I flick my gaze down to it, but she tightens her grip on my neck before I even have a chance to glimpse. My frown deepens.
That was weird.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Matilda is resting on my chest, droopy eyes focused on whatever show or film that Stacy chose earlier. Plenty of others have gone to bed now, after we had pizza about half an hour ago. The only ones still lingering are Stace, Jace, Vivi, Liv, and a very anxious looking Mason, who keeps stealing glances at Vivi from his place on a beanbag.
Liv and Vivi are both having a hushed argument, much to Jace’s annoyance. If they’re trying to be secretive, it’s not working–they’re not exactly being subtle with their stolen glances at us and their stage whispering.
I’ve technically not broken my promise of not fussing over her. I asked Jace to get her the (now half-empty) giant water bottle that’s standing on the floor beside the couch, and she’s the one that wanted to lay on my chest. I was simply complying. See? Growth.
And I don’t plan on breaking it any time soon.
Vivi and Liv stand up, still having their very loud whispered argument. Jace lets out a long, loud, irritated sigh, side-eyeing them as they make their way over to us.
As if sensing their approach, Matilda’s arms wrap tighter around my neck. I squeeze her waist in comfort before raising an unimpressed eyebrow at the two of them.
I still haven’t had time to interrogate Liv about what happened. I’m waiting for Matilda to fall asleep to do so.
“May we help you?” I ask.
Liv rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, North. We’re here to…apologise.” She bites out the last word like it’s something bitter and foul on her tongue.
“Wow. New word for you, Wexler?”
Liv opens her mouth to snap at me, her eyes narrowed, but Vivi interjects before she can spew even one of the insults. “We’re sorry,” she says earnestly. “To both of you. We…I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”
I offer her a clipped nod. I’m still not going to forgive her until I know what happened. I turn my gaze to Liv. “And you?”
She huffs. “I don’t think I did anything wrong.”
“Didn’t do anything–!” Vivi begins.
“Please don’t fight again,” mumbles Matilda into my chest. Her first words in hours.
They both go quiet and share a look.
“Let me correct myself, then,” Liv grits out. “I don’t think I did anything wrong to you two. I may have overreacted towards her.” She jabs a finger in Vivi’s direction. “But I’m not going to apologise.”
“Bitch,” Vivi mutters under her breath. Liv glares at her, but says nothing.
Matilda simply stirs on my chest without answering. I’m starting to think that her being here isn’t the greatest of ideas.
Liv purses her lips, her eyebrows narrowing as she stares down at her. “Do you want me to drive you home?” she asks, beating me to it. The words earn her a sharp glare from Vivi. My jaw clenches at her response. I don’t understand how she can glare at her when her supposed best friend had a fucking mental breakdown today.
Matilda is quiet for so long that I almost think she’s fallen asleep. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world; she certainly deserves it after the day she’s had.
“I want to stay with Will,” she finally whispers, her voice tired and slurred. The words warm a tight coldness in my chest I didn’t realise was there.
Vivi looks at me in a way that says See?
Yeah, I’m not so sure I’m keen on her anymore.
Liv, however, nods in understanding, but I can tell by her crinkled brow and the tight line of her mouth that she doesn’t. Not really, anyway.
“I-I can have Daniel pick you up,” Liv says, her words choked and forced, “if you don’t want me to drive you.”
A beat of silence. Two.
“I want to stay with Will,” she repeats.
And that was that.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Matilda is asleep on my chest.
The thought should fill me with some sort of relief, some sort of gratitude.
But I don’t feel grateful. Not at all.
I swallow as I run my thumb over her scar for the millionth time. The one that she wouldn’t allow me to see. Now I know why.
I don’t need the full story to know what happened. The half-moon circles carved into her skin say enough.
Thousands of thoughts and questions and demands run through my head all at once.
When? How? Why? Is that why she had a cut on her thigh earlier? How long has she been doing it for? Is she even still doing it? And if she is, does anyone know about it?
The door creaks open just as I exhale a shaking breath. All the warmth I felt earlier has been replaced with cold, tight fear, squeezing at my throat.
Liv peeks her head around in silent question. She walks in before I even nod.
She shuts the door with a soft click and sits down awkwardly at the end of Matilda and I’s shared bed. We retired to our rooms about half an hour ago, when Matilda fell asleep.
Liv’s sad blue eyes drift to my thumb and she swallows, her lips pursing.
“How long?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“How long since she’s stopped?” Relief floods my chest. She’s stopped. She’s not hurting herself still. “I don’t know.”
She pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts, her eyes still concentrated on Matilda’s scar.
“I…She didn’t tell me,” she says softly. “I saw her once. In the school bathroom. I pretended not to notice, because I knew that she would be evasive, or tell me not to tell anyone. And–” Her voice cracks “--I had to tell someone, Will. I couldn’t…let her suffer. Let her hurt herself.” She exhales shakily, squeezing her eyes shut. “So I told her mum. I couldn’t…I knew I probably shouldn’t have. I knew that she wouldn’t want that. So I asked her mother not to tell Matilda that I knew. That I told her. I didn’t realise that she had even done that until today,” she confesses.
I arch an eyebrow, half in sympathy, half in confusion. “You didn’t realise it when she didn’t yell at you?”
She gives me a look that’s supposed to be withering, but her eyes are filled with tears, and I feel like a dick for questioning her. “You know as well as I do that Matilda isn’t confrontational.”
Yes, I do know. I can give at least three examples of times when Matilda refused to confront anyone, even people who deserve it. The only time I can think of when she confronted someone was today, when she met my mother. Still not entirely sure what prompted her to act that way, but it was pretty fucking cool.
Stiffly, I reach over a hand to pat Liv’s arm. It’s an awkward, almost clumsy movement that causes Liv to raise an unimpressed eyebrow at me. I’m not usually this rigid when comforting someone, but Liv also doesn’t usually cry. Branching out, I suppose, for both of us.
“Does Vivi know?”
Liv actually snorts. “As if she’d notice anyone but herself.”
“I think you’re wrong about her,” I say, even though I’m sort of beginning to agree. Vivi’s attitude today has been all over the place. She seems to care more about being right or proving herself to be better than caring about her best friend.
Liv narrows her eyes at me, the move one of annoyance and scrutiny. Her tears are gone now. “Vivi can be selfish.”
I agree, but I snort. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Liv glares harder at me. “I would never take advantage of people who are too polite to say no.”
Liv’s expression softens, growing to one of thought and a sort of smug satisfaction. “Come on. You know you agree with me. Even you can see that she’s acted selfishly today, and you’ve only just met her.”
I swallow. It feels illegal to speak bad about Vivi when Matilda is asleep on my chest, and it feels even more criminal to agree with Liv Wexler. Seriously, I thought that Pompeii would sooner be rebuilt than me agreeing with her. And yet, here we are. Not that I’m going to agree aloud; I’m not subjecting myself to that. But I know my silence says enough.
Liv presses her lips together, like she’s trying not to smirk with sinister delight. She stands, prolonging a look in Matilda’s direction that makes her contentment falter.
She hesitates when she gets to the door, hand lingering on the door handle. She looks over her shoulder, meeting my confused gaze with a steely, protective one of her own.
“I know this is a lot to ask of you,” she says, voice dreadfully soft, “but please, don’t let her fall again. Don’t let it get bad again.”
I swallow and blink. “What makes you think I can do that?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “Don’t let her drift again, Will.”
It’s not an answer. I don’t push the matter.
But I do say, my voice hurried, practically blurting, “It’s fake. Our relationship. It’s-it’s fake.”
I’m not sure why. It’s like for some reason, my brain can’t comprehend that I’m special to her.
I’m not. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.
Liv’s ocean blue eyes blink back at me twice.
And then a small smile twitches at her lips, looking almost pitying.
“No, it’s not.”
And then she leaves, leaving me reeling.
Matilda
My eyes are open before I even realise I’m awake. I blink around at my surroundings, forcing my drowsy mind to remember where I am, and what happened.
Panic attack.
Daydreaming about my dad.
Liv. Talking about my self-harming with her. Her crying.
Vivi.
Them fighting.
Vivi slapping Liv.
Will.
Will and Vivi arguing.
Will.
Will.
Will.
I shake my head free of my thoughts–okay, basically just one thought–and force myself to sit up. Will’s hand that was resting on my hip flops onto the mattress with a bounce. My eyes find his sleeping figure.
His hair is mussed, his breath coming slowly and deeply out of his slightly parted lips. Moonlight peeks through the half-closed curtains. It dusts over his cheekbones, highlighting his honeyed skin and the smallest of a beauty mark. His cheeks are slightly puffy, and the corners of my mouth tilt up into a tired smile.
I’m still in slight disbelief that Stacy put me and Will in a shared room. Though, she probably did it on purpose to try and coerce me into sharing my feelings.
Averting my attention away from him, my eyes fall to the digital clock on Stacy’s nightstand. Three A.M. I blow out a long breath. I should probably go back to sleep. I’ll have to be up in a few hours anyway.
But my throat feels hoarse, and I need time to gather my thoughts. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I gently pull the duvet off of me and climb up from the mattress. Carefully, I slip my slippers and cream cable knit sweater on, the midnight freeze rising goosebumps across my skin.
Tentatively, I creak the door open and click it shut behind me. I tiptoe across the floorboards, knowing there’s about a dozen people–maybe more–who will absolutely be cranky enough to yell at me if I woke them up. Not that I would blame them, of course. I’d be grumpy too if someone woke me up at three in the morning.
The stairs groan loudly beneath my feet. I thought this house was supposed to be new. Then again, everything always seems to be loudest at night, when the only sounds are the owls hooting and the trees rustling from the cool mid-November breeze.
I somehow manage to make it to the kitchen without waking anyone, and without getting lost. The latter is more surprising.
I creep through the kitchen, looking for glasses, cupboards creaking in my wake. Finally, on my fourth try, I see glasses in the dim light. Cautiously, I grab one, it clinking on a few of the ones beside it. I silently wish them to shush.
I fill it up with water, putting the tap on its lowest setting so the water doesn’t come rushing out and splashing on the metallic sink.
I take a large gulp of it, and then another, and another, until the glass is empty. I didn’t realise how thirsty I was. I quickly refill it. I swallow two more gulps and turn around exhaling.
And then my heart almost falls out of my chest.
Because standing there awkwardly in the dark, making zero sound, is Jamie.
“Jesus!” I exclaim, almost dropping my glass. My hand flies to my chest, clutching it. “God, Jamie, you gave me a heart attack. Make a noise.”
Jamie chuckles nervously, once again scratching the back of his neck. I get being awkward, but I do fear he’s got some kind of medical problem. Did he do it when we were dating? I can’t remember.
“Sorry,” he says, startling me, and I jump.
“Shhh,” I hiss, trying to cover up my embarrassment. I pray he can’t see my reddened cheeks in the dark. “People are asleep.”
He winces. He whispers, “You’re right. Sorry.”
“So, um, was there a reason why you were sneaking around in the shadows of the night?” I take another sip of water.
“Uh, yeah. I heard your door creak open, and so I sort of…followed you down here.” He winces again as he takes in the potential creepiness of that statement. “Sorry. Not in a weird way. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
I blink, taking another long sip of water, stalling for time. “Um, yeah. I’m fine. Why?” I ask, wiping my mouth.
“Well, you just seemed, um, upset earlier. Both at the bookstore and at the park and…here. Sorry, by the way,” he adds. “For leaving earlier.”
“I-It’s fine,” I say, even though it isn’t really. I can tell he means the apology, but it doesn’t take back the fact that he left when he knew I was panicking. Even an idiot or someone who doesn’t know me that well would be able to see I was distressed, and Jamie is neither of those things. But holding onto the grudge won’t take anything back.
I’m not built for being angry. Not really. It’s just not in my blood. I feel irritation, sure, and annoyance and frustration. But I never really feel anger, hardly ever act out of it.
I’m too sad for it.
“So, um, how’s sharing a room with Liv going?” I ask, because I feel pressure to keep this conversation going for some reason.
He laughs quietly, coming around to lean his hip on the counter next to me. His blonde hair is mussed, sticking up in odd angles and shapes. “It’s going good.” He leans in, dropping his voice to a low whisper. “I’d much rather be sharing with you, though.”
I blink. Twice. Is he flirting with me?
A graceless, high-pitched laugh escapes my lips and I inwardly cringe.
“I assure you,” I squeak out, “I doubt I’d be a much better roommate than Liv.”
He smiles slightly, leaning a little closer to me. “It’s more the company I’m interested in actually.”
Oh, god. Panic mode activated.
What are you doing? the logical part of my brain screams at me. This is what you’ve been waiting for. This is what you planned for.
My brain is right.
But if I’m right, then why do I feel so guilty?
“O-oh?” I stammer.
“Mhm,” he confirms, staring at my lips.
Why is he staring at my lips! Stop it!
“I have to get to bed,” I blurt. He blinks in surprise.
“Oh. Really?” He sounds disappointed. “I wanted to chat, you know? Clear the air.”
Clear the air? I want to scream incredulously. You’ve just significantly polluted the fucking air!
“Maybe some other time,” I choke out hoarsely, gulping down some more water. Quickly, I refill the glass and toss a goodnight over my shoulder as I hurry out of the kitchen and rush up the stairs. I’m too freaked out to worry about others’ REM sleep right now.
I shut the door behind me, slipping off my slippers but am too exhausted from my run up the staircase–I probably need to do some more exercise–to remove my sweater.
Sighing, I sit back down on the edge of the mattress, taking another few sips of water to calm myself down before setting it down on the bedside table.
That inane feeling of guilt is still stirring low in my gut. Which makes no sense. I’ve done nothing wrong. He was flirting with me. He’s the one who actually has a relationship. He was the one who was flirting with me even though he thinks I’m in a relationship.
And that’s the other thing: I’m not in a real relationship. I mean, me and Will kissed–which I refuse to spend more than one second of thought on–but we never clarified anything. We haven’t spoken about it. Not that we’ve had much chance to, anyway.
But the point is that our relationship isn’t real and for some reason I’m feeling guilty. Yes, I may have a teensy crush on Will, but that’s all it is. It’s gonna go away soon. Hopefully.
“Hey,” rasps out a voice from beside me and I jolt in surprise. Will lets out a low, tired chuckle and I turn my head to meet his molten gaze. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine. I was just…lost in thought.”
He nods. “What time is it?”
I check the clock. “Ten past three.”
His eyebrows raise. “And you’re awake?”
“So are you.”
“I woke up because you woke me up.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Sorry.”
He chuckles again. “That’s alright.”
He pats the mattress, gesturing me to climb back into the warmth of the covers. And I do, but he doesn’t feel close enough, even though there are mere inches between us.
I sniff as I climb into his arms. He doesn’t object, just shifts onto his back, his arms wrapping firmly around my waist. I bury my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his warmth and the faint, worn scent of his cologne. He presses a kiss to my shoulder.
“You’re very clingy,” he comments against my skin.
“You make everything better,” I whisper.
A beat of silence. “Yeah?” His voice is as rough as sandpaper.
I swallow. “Nothing bad ever happens when I’m with you.”
His arms tighten around me. “And nothing ever will,” he promises.
A wave of courage hits me. I’m not sure what it is–maybe his voice, or his arms, or the sincerity in his tone. But it rolls through me and that’s when I decide: I’ll tell him.
I’ll tell him about my feelings, and my conversation with Jamie. I’ll tell him everything. How hard could it be, right?
Turns out, very.
I pull back from his neck, forcing my anxiety and fear and What if? thoughts down. “Will?” I whisper his name like a prayer.
His eyes meet mine in the dim radiance of the moon. His hair is still messy, and his chest is falling evenly under me. His lips are slightly pink and parted.
No! Don’t stare at his lips!
“Yeah?” he asks when I don’t say anything, and suddenly I’ve forgotten everything I was going to confess.
“I-I forgot.”
Huffing a laugh, he teases, “I thought you had an excellent memory?”
“Shut up,” I whisper, lowering my mouth down to his.
“Shutting up, Weston,” he murmurs.
His mouth meets mine and a thousand electric currents shock through me, sparking me right down to the tips of my toes. I let out a half sigh–or was it a moan?--as he kissed me slowly. The sound seems to activate something inside of him because a low groan escapes the back of his throat, and with one swift movement, he’s above me, and my messy hair fans out across the pillow. My breath hitches.
Our mouths lift off of each other’s and I blink hazily up at him, my eyes fluttering back open, and Will looked hot. A lock of his chocolate brown hair falls over his brow, his brownish-hazel eyes blazing.
And then our mouths are back together, both his hands and lips more insistent. His tongue sweeps out to brush against my lower lip and my mouth easily parts, another soft, embarrassing moan escaping from my throat.
He lets out a noise as my hands tug through his hair, pulling his mouth, his heat, closer to me. Both our breathing gets more labored, and I’m practically panting now as his tongue continues to sweep over mine.
And then everything gets much, much worse.
He removes his mouth from mine, and I’m about to pull it back when it moves down to my jaw, his teeth nipping, his tongue soothing over the bite. An aggravating gasp escapes my lips. The vibration from his hum of amusement rumbles through me, and I can feel it all the way to the end of my fingertips. Which makes another irritating sound escape my throat.
I feel him smirk against my skin as he makes his way down to my pulse point, his teeth scraping against my skin again before it’s replaced by his tongue and lips.
One of his hands has made its way to my back, slipping slightly under the soft, threadbare fabric of my tank top. The other is settled atop my ribs,–and my shirt–his thumb rubbing soothing circles over it.
He kisses back up to my jaw, finally breaking the sound of our shaky breathing. “Your heart’s beating really fast,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my jaw as they talk. “You’re like a hummingbird.”
“Did you know hummingbirds can flap their wings as fast as eighty times per second?” I ask, my breath coming in short gasps, but I still fight to keep my voice steady.
He pauses, his lips pressing back against my pulse point again, causing a shiver to rack through me. “Can they really?”
“Mhm.”
“First of all,” he says, his voice soft, “how do you know that? Second of all, why is it relevant?”
“I know it because hummingbirds are inanely fascinating creatures,” I answer, voice matter-of-fact despite our current situation, “and it’s relevant because you brought up hummingbirds.”
He chuckles softly, the sound so low and honeyed that my toes actually curl. “Yes, I suppose I did, didn’t I.”
His eyes meet mine again, and his lips remove themselves from my skin. They hold for a second, a thousand silent emotions passing between us. I let out a shaky sigh as he climbs off of me, settling back down onto his side of the bed. His hands remain on my waist.
For some reason, fear claws at my throat when he pulls away, even though his rough palms are still on my waist. I go in to kiss him again, my hands on his face, and he allows me to, but it’s not like before. Just a light stroke of his lips, like he’s appeasing me.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, and that’s when I realise my nails are digging into his biceps. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”
And for some reason, all that fear melts away. It’s insanely irritating.
I meant what I said earlier, about not wanting to be the kind of girl who can’t breathe unless her boyfriend (or fake boyfriend, in my case) is near.
But I also meant what I said five minutes ago: that nothing bad ever happens when he was near. It’s like whenever I’m with him, all the awkwardness, the anxiety that’s usually a little goblin in my head, disappears, melts away like it was never there in the first place.
And I hate it. I’m not supposed to be like this with people, let alone him.
I’m supposed to hate him.
And I really, really don’t. I’m about as far from hatred as one can get.
“I can hear you thinking,” he says roughly. “Stop. Go to sleep.”
“You go to sleep,” I argue, a little more snappish and petulant than I’d like.
“I’ll go to sleep when you go to sleep,” he rebuts.
I huff and close my eyes. Almost immediately, I feel drowsiness take over again, like the adrenaline from even just looking at him goes dormant.
“Will,” I whisper, because it feels wrong to leave it like this, with everything up in the air.
“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he says calmly. “Now go to sleep.”
And so I do.
The last thought before I fully give into my exhaustion is this: I never told him.
Oh, fuck.
Will
I fucked up.
I really royally fucking fucked up.
Kissing her in the park, in a public place was one thing. Having a fucking makeout session at three A.M is an entirely different one.
Breaking a promise to yourself within seven hours has to be some sort of record, right? It certainly is for me.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t let my feelings get away from me, that I wouldn’t allow myself to add more confusion to an already difficult time for her. And I already failed. It’s just embarrassing for me at this point.
When I woke up this morning, I found Matilda already gone from the bed, her side of the mattress already taken over by the cool November chill. The ensuite bathroom’s shower was running. And that’s given me time to devise a plan: Share the plan of boundaries with Matilda.
Yes, okay, maybe it’ll make things awkward between us, and that’ll be far, far worse than the loss of the feel of her lips against mine (Okay, almost as worse), but I’m sure she’ll be glad of it, in the long run. I hope.
Besides, if I’m going to survive this fake dating torture, I need this for myself. It’s time I act out of self-preservation. I need to wake up and recognise this fake dating dilemma for what it truly is: a warzone.
The thrum of the shower halts, followed by the sound of the shower door sliding open. Anxiously, I pace around the room, muttering under my breath about the whole speech I have planned for her. Yes, I did only wake up five minutes ago, so the speech probably isn’t the best, but having a plan is better than not having one. Even if the plan is flimsy as fuck.
There’s some small shuffling in the bathroom for about twenty minutes– during which of the time I get considerably more antsy–before Matilda finally emerges. Her wet hair is tied back into a brown, tortoiseshell clip and she’s dressed herself in a dark blue, thick cardigan and a pair of jeans. It’s considerably warmer than what she usually wears, and I wonder if she’s–in a way–trying to mentally protect herself by wearing more layers.
I repress a smirk at the small, red bite mark I left on her jaw last night.
Her eyes find mine, and they’re slightly wide, like by looking at me she’s reminiscing what we did last night.
I wonder if she wants a redo.
No, Will! Don’t think about kissing her.
Focus. You need to focus.
“Hey,” I say roughly and immediately clear my throat.
“Hi,” she replies, pressing her lips together.
“Uh…how are you?”
“Good, thanks.”
The silence is thick and heavy between us, and I’m trying to figure out a logical way to break it, a smooth way to transition into what I’m about to say, but I really can’t think of one. It’s nine in the morning, I woke up twenty five minutes ago, I’m still in my pyjamas, and I made out with the girl I’ve been obsessed with for two years last night. I don’t think you can really blame me for not having my usual charisma in this scenario.
“Okay, should we just address the elephant in the room?” I question, and her blue eyes go comically wider.
“Y-yeah,” she stammers. “Sure.”
“Great.” I stalk over to the bed and plop myself down on the side of it, staring at my feet and the carpet underneath. “Okay, so…so, I think what happened was…great. Like, you have no idea. But I think I got carried away with myself. You were sad and upset and tired and probably weren’t thinking correctly, and I, being the asshole that you thought I was, took advantage of that. It was an accident, of course–I wasn’t thinking properly either–but I still did it and it wasn’t right for me to do that.
“And also, I think we need to focus on our original goal here: you and Jamie. Because of that, I think we need to keep our relationship strictly professional. Kissing in public only, holding hands and all that malarkey.”
I’m met with a long, tense silence, and I wince as I finally decide to look up from my inspection of the carpet. Her eyes are wide and unfocused, like she’s in shock, like she’s trying to figure out how to respond. Don’t blame her–I really dumped a load of shit onto her there.
“And I’m not saying that you can’t go to me for comfort,” I add quickly. “I like that you trust me enough to share that part of yourself, it’s just the kissing–”
“Got it,” she interrupts and I wince again. “That’s-that’s fine. It’s just…a lot to process. Give me a minute.”
Yeah, Will. Give her a minute. Christ, I’m so impatient.
Silence stretches between us, the drip of the shower and the murmurs of people downstairs barely filling the silence between us.
“It’s fine, Will,” she finally says, but her brow is pinched together in thought, like she’s rethinking everything she thought she knew.
She turns to leave, her brow still slightly furrowed, her lips pressed together in a thin line. I can’t leave it like this.
“Hey,” I murmur, resting my hands gently on her hips so as not to startle her. I don’t want us to have another awkward drive, and I know after this it’s definitely going to be an uncomfortable one. But I have to protect myself, even if I can’t stop myself from doing the same for her. “I don’t want it to be awkward, Tilds. I just figured…” I just figured that I didn’t want to get my heart broken. “...that we should at least be honest with each other. Communicate, you know?”
She blinks down at my hands on her hips and swallows before nodding, a little too aggressively to be convincing. “Yeah,” she rasps out. “That-that makes sense.”
“Everything I do makes sense.”
She gives me a mockingly sympathetic look, patting me on the shoulder. “Whatever you say, buddy.”
Buddy.
Ouch.
Instead, I smile teasingly up at her, and pretend my heart isn’t panging relentlessly in my chest. “What are you talking about? My plans make excellent sense.”
She lets out a derisive snort. “What plans? You’re one of the most impulsive people I know.”
I scoff, clutching my chest in mock hurt. “Rude!”
She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand and I try my very best not to stare adoringly up at her because god she’s just too fucking pretty when she smiles.
“I’m gonna go get some breakfast. You coming with?” I ask.
“Uh, no, I think I’m gonna stay here for a little,” she replies, giving me a grim smile. “There’s still a lot of people here. I just need time to…prepare, you know?”
I swallow and nod, ignoring the insults my brain is throwing at me.
Why did you bring her here? She obviously wouldn’t like it!
She cried because you wouldn’t think things through! Like always.
“Yeah,” I force out, demanding a reassuring smile onto my face. “Of course. I’ll see you in a little, yeah?”
She nods and I stand, bringing us chest to chest. She blinks up at me through her lashes, her chest falling slightly unevenly, and even from here I can see her pulse fluttering in her neck like a trapped bird. The scent of her body wash fills my nostrils, something distinctive and sweet.
Energy crackles between us, my own breath feeling uneven.
“Will?” she breathes, so quiet that I can scarcely hear it.
“Yeah?” I ask, swallowing.
“I really think the…boundaries are a good idea,” she whispers, and just like that all the tension in the air shatters.
“Yeah.” I force down the pain and protests making their way up my throat. “Me too.”
With great effort, I make steps towards the door, making sure my breathing is even and stable as my friends are out there and they’ll definitely notice something’s up right away. Well–Jace will.
I push a small, teasing smirk onto my face, looking over my shoulder as I reach for the doorknob. “Oh, by the way, you’ve got a mark here,” I tease, and press a finger to my jaw.
Her face flames and I give her a true, mischievous grin before walking out the door.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
I’m shovelling some cereal into my mouth at Stacy’s dining room table, listening to the idle morning chatter and murmurs from the living room when Vivi stalks over to me. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Technically, I have a basic idea of what happened yesterday evening. And while I probably shouldn’t believe the devil incarnate that is Liv, I do think that Vivi acted selfishly yesterday, and that she was the one that made Matilda cry.
That reminds me, I still need to tell Matilda that Liv knows our relationship is fake. Probably should’ve done that this morning along with our other less than comfortable conversation, but I was a bit too wrapped up with it to focus on that.
“You and Matilda made out last night,” Vivi says, startling me so bad that I start to choke on my cereal. Thankfully, only a few of Stacy’s friends are sitting at the end of the long dining table, so not many people are hearing Vivi’s words or witnessing me choking on food like a moron.
“What?” I cough out, smacking my fist to my chest. “No we didn’t,” I say, you know, like a liar.
Vivi narrows her eyes disbelievingly at me. “Yes, you did.”
“No, we didn’t,” I repeat, after chugging down some orange juice.
She rolls her eyes dramatically before pointing into the living room where Matilda is sat next to Stacy, knees folded up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. “Then how do you explain that mark on her jaw?”
I blink twice. I thought she was going to cover it up? That’s why I pointed it out in the first place. Maybe she just wants to punish me.
“That’s not from me,” I say, forcing myself not to choke on my orange juice.
She raises her eyebrow at me, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, it’s not?”
“Nuh-uh,” I say, shaking my head and shrugging casually. “Must be from Jamie.”
Even the thought sets my teeth on edge, despite knowing it’s not true.
“Jamie?” she echoes. “You mean the Jamie who’s had Liv’s tongue in his mouth all morning?” she asks, pointing.
I almost gag when I see Liv perched in Jamie’s lap, very aggressively kissing him. Christ, they need to calm down.
“Uh-huh,” I say, trying and failing not to grimace.
She flicks me in the head and I let out a sharp “Ow!” while glaring at her.
“You’re a horrific liar,” she tells me sincerely, plopping down onto the seat across from me.
“So? Doesn’t mean you have to flick me,” I defend, rubbing my head. “Jesus, why did that hurt so bad?”
“I got my nails done before I came.” She flashes her long, manicured nails to me. “Anyway, we’re getting off track. You and Matilda made out.”
“It’s makeup,” I protest again.
“Stop being ridiculous! You and her made out. How do you explain that if she doesn’t like you?” she demands.
“I’m a very good kisser.”
“What?”
“Yes, and we kissed in the park earlier, so she must’ve wanted to kiss me again. Simple.”
“Simple!” Vivi screeches. “It’s not simple, you dimwit!”
“Alright, keep your hair on,” I say, looking around at the people who were staring at us. “Could you keep your voice down?”
“Right. Sorry,” she says, lowering her voice. “Just–you can’t be in denial any longer, Will. She likes you.”
I stand abruptly. I can’t have this conversation. I refuse to. If I do somehow get it in my head that she likes me, I might do something stupid– even more stupid than what I did last night. And that would make the pain when she decides she doesn’t like me after all, or decides that I’m not good enough for her so much worse than what it would be like now. And trust me when I say that the ache in my chest right now is pretty fucking painful.
“I’m going to get changed,” I say, before leaving the room. Vivi’s protests and a couple of whispers follow behind me, but I don’t pay any attention to them.
Blood is pounding in my ears as I trudge up the stairs, my chest feeling all tight and weird. My heart is thumping painfully in my chest, and the creak of the stairs beneath me and the sounds from the other room are getting louder for some reason, but they’re muted, too.
Shit.
Shit.
Was this what a panic attack felt like? ‘Cause it’s really fucking awful.
You’re not having a panic attack, Will, my brain tries to convince me. You’re all good, remember? You’re always good.
The coaxing doesn’t work. No, it feels much, much worse now.
I just have to get to the bedroom.
Yours and Matilda’s bedroom, my brain unhelpfully reminds me.
I just have to get to the bedroom and then I can panic in private. Yes, that’s a good plan. I’m full of them today.
Problem is, I don’t remember where my bedroom is.
The panic’s starting to get worse now, which seems very ridiculous to me. Having a panic attack over a girl not liking me? Pathetic.
I always knew that she wouldn’t like me back, and it’s pathetic of me to get this worked up over the fact that I’m having a reality check. Or maybe I’m having a panic attack at the thought of her liking me. Yes, that must be it.
My chest is squeezing tighter now.
My breathing’s getting harder.
I ignore it.
It would make complete sense that I’m panicking over that. That theory negates everything I’ve been telling myself for the last two weeks.
More like two years.
And that’s all it is: a theory. It’s not true.
It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true.
“Will?” a bleary voice cuts in through my thoughts.
I blink up at them from my place on the floor.
That’s weird. When did I get on the floor?
I’m clutching my chest also. I slam it back down on the ground.
“Yeah?” I pant out. “What’s up?”
Jace eyes me warily. “Are you alright?”
“What? Yeah, no, I’m fine.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” That’s the second time someone’s told me that today. “You’re having a panic attack.”
“Well if you knew what was happening, why did you ask if I’m alright?”
“Because I wanted to see if you’d admit to your feelings like a normal, functioning human being.”
“Now who’s being ridiculous?”
Jace rolls his eyes again, sinking to the floor beside me. “You need to breathe.”
“I am breathing, asshat. How would I be talking if I wasn’t breathing?”
“God, you’re so frustrating,” he mutters, but the exasperation is half-hearted. “Breathe, Will,” he orders. “Inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight. It’s supposed to calm your nervous system, or summat.”
Begrudgingly, I do as he says.
“Good. Again.”
We repeat this process three times, him telling me what to do, me unenthusiastically doing as he says.
Once my chest is loose and oxygen is successfully flowing through my lungs, I mutter, “Thanks,” under my breath.
“Sure,” he says, looking at me with enough concern to make my skin itch. “Now, then, you gonna tell me what this is all about?”
I scrub a hand down my face, blowing out a harsh breath. “It’s nothing,” I say, moving to stand up. Jace’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, yanking me back down onto the hard wooden floor. My head smacks into the wall behind me. “Ow! What the hell?!”
“Don’t give me that ‘It’s nothing’ crap. It’s not nothing. You had a panic attack over it.”
“You’ll get frustrated over me.”
“When do I not?” he asks dryly. “Try me, tough guy.”
I huff, before explaining everything. Not the make out session, of course, that would just piss him off, but all the other things that he doesn’t already know. Our kiss in the park, our several almost kisses, how I refuse to believe she likes me.
“But I set some boundaries this morning, so hopefully it’ll, you know, get better,” I explain, refusing to look at him. I’m not good at sharing shit, yet somehow the only person I feel comfortable doing it with is Jace. I don’t know why, it’s not like he’s the most empathetic person around. But he’s known me since we were young, so I suppose he’s just able to read me anyway.
Jace narrows his eyes at me slightly. “What sort of boundaries?”
“Like,...only kissing and being all relationship-y when we’re in public. Keeping it friendly,” I say.
“Good,” Jace says, clapping me on the shoulder, looking proud. His expression fills me with an odd sense of warmth. “That’s good, Will. Really. You should’ve done that from the start.”
“Me and Matilda made out last night,” I blurt, because it feels wrong for him to be proud of me. I’m not built for people being proud of me.
He blinks once, slowly. “What? His voice comes out exasperated, like a tired parent.
“Yeah. And she brought up hummingbirds.”
“What?”
“I think she was flirting with me.”
“I think you’re fucking delusional.”
“Hey! I thought you said she liked me.”
“She does,” he confirms. “But you’re still delusional if you think her talking about hummingbirds is flirting with you.”
“If you think she likes me, then what do I do?” I ask.
He sighs heavily. “Look, I’m not going to sit here and say you should profess your undying love for her, because that’s not what I am. If you think you’re doing the right thing to protect yourself, then I support you on that. Even if it is idiotic.”
“That seems contradictive, but whatever,” I grumble. Jace just huffs a laugh and claps me on the shoulder again.
“Right. After you have a shower and change and all that can you give Stacy and me a ride to my house? She wants to hang out.”
“Why can’t you just hang out here?”
“Fuck knows. I’m not one to question the things she does anymore, Will.”
I hum in agreement. “Yeah, alright. I’ll drop you off before Matilda.”
“Alright. You gonna be okay?” he asks me, standing up.
“I’m always okay,” I reply, smiling fakely.
Jace doesn’t buy it. He rolls his eyes and walks off.
Damn it.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
I’m leaning against the car, typing passive aggressive texts to my dad who only now bothers to ask me where I am. He hasn’t seen me in about two days and he’s only now just texting me? Father-of-the-Year award over there.
Stacy’s front door opens and slams shut, followed by quick footsteps on the gravel. I lift my head to see a shoeless Matilda in front of me, face slightly flushed, eyes panicked. Immediately, my defences go up.
“What’s up?” I ask, looking behind her to see the source of her panic.
“Um, well, Liv just came up to me in the hallway while I was grabbing my things and asked me why you and I were fake dating,” she explains, eyes frantic as she looks around.
Ah, shit.
I still haven’t told her. That was the first thing I should’ve done after I got out of the shower.
“Uh, yeah…I may have told her,” I say sheepishly. Running a hand through my hair, I await her reaction. She can’t be too happy about the fact that I just told her ex-best friend that we weren’t actually dating, when the reason we’re doing it is so we can steal her ex-best friend’s boyfriend from her.
Surprisingly, the only reaction I get is one blink. Then another. She averts her gaze to the ground, mouth set in a thin line, brow pinching together.
Fuck.
“Shit. Are you mad?” I ask aloud. I don’t want her to be mad at me. I can handle others hating me–my parents, Liv, literally anyone else–but not her. I don’t think I’d be able to take it. In fact, I think I might drop dead if she hates me.
She blinks up at me. “No,” she replies, unconvincingly.
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Yes, you are. Your mouth’s all weird and tight. And your eyebrows are furrowed. How do you explain that?”
“Because I’m….wrapping my head around it.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not a liar!”
“Hey, guys,” Stacy interrupts brightly, clearly oblivious to whatever pointless argument she and I are having. We both turn our heads to look at her.
“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat. “How are you, Stace?”
“Good. Jace is just getting his bag,” she explains.
Matilda turns to me with a quizzical look. “Stacy’s hanging with Jace at his house today,” I explain. “I’m giving them a ride to his house.”
Matilda’s confused expression changes to one of absolute horror. I almost snort. I know exactly what she’s thinking: she’s thinking why on earth would anyone choose to hang out with someone else after being in a house with a dozen or more people for twelve hours.
Grinning, I ruffle her hair. She huffs, batting my hand away.
Right. She’s mad at me. Very easy to forget that.
Jace comes out two minutes later,–with Matilda, who emerges with shoes on this time and her bag hanging from her hand–duffle bag swung on his shoulder, blonde hair damp and sticking to his forehead slightly. We all climb into the car silently. Well, Stacy isn’t silent, but when is she ever?
It takes all of five minutes for the topic of Matilda’s hickey to come up.
“So,” Stacy says, dragging out the word dramatically, “you two made out last night.”
Matilda chokes on air. I nearly swerve off the road.
“No we didn’t,” Matilda denies, keeping her gaze out the window.
“Oh, really? Then how do you explain that mark on your neck?”
“It’s makeup,” I lie.
“Really? You’re sure it’s not real?” Her tone is purely sardonic.
“Of course, why would we make out?” I say, forcing a laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because Matil–”
Matilda slaps a hand over Stacy’s mouth, eyes wide and panicked. “Let’s listen to some music,” she says loudly, practically slamming her finger onto the radio button. I eye her confusedly.
My playlist drifts out of the speakers, and to both Matilda and I’s dread, Glitch by Taylor Swift is playing. Matilda mutters something that sounds akin to “Oh, god”, sliding further down into her seat, while I just try and act as normal as possible.
Stacy turns to Jace and asks, “Do you know if her hickey is real?”
“No,” Jace lies.
I see Stacy narrow her eyes in scrutiny before gasping loudly. “You’re lying! Why do you always keep secrets from me?!”
“I don’t keep secrets from you, Stace.”
“Yes, you do! You’re, like, super secretive.”
“I’m not secretive,” Jace grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yes, you are. And you’re grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Jace mutters defensively.
“Is there anything you are?” Stacy teases, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re not cynical, you’re not secretive, you’re not grumpy,” she says, listing them off on her fingers.
“I’m plenty of things,” Jace argues. “I’m supportive, I’m dependable, I’m stable, I’m honest.”
I see Stacy lift her eyebrows in the mirror, her face an expression of mock seriosity. “Right. Is that what you tell yourself when you’re alone at night?”
I snort, and Matilda claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
Jace shoots us both a glare, before returning his argument with Stacy. They squabble all the way to Jace’s house, and are still bickering when they both climb out of the car.
Me and Matilda both share looks, both huffing a small laugh as Stacy and Jace’s argument disappears inside his house.
Matilda then seems to remember that she’s mad at me, because she averts her gaze from me to stare outside the window. I sigh heavily, because I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should apologise, but I also know that that won’t take away the fact I told Liv.
I pull inside her driveway, turning the ignition off.
“Hey, Matilda?” I ask thoughtfully.
“Yeah?”
“What else do you know about hummingbirds?”
Matilda
It’s been a week since the Saturday me and Will made out on, and it’s been uneventful, to say the least.
I forgave him pretty quickly over the Liv thing, but only because he shocked me by the odd as fuck, out-of-nowhere interest in hummingbirds. But that conversation did spark something inside of me: I barely know anything about him. Sure, I know that his parents are divorced, and that he lives on a farm, and that he’s very good at basketball, but other than that, he’s almost a complete mystery to me.
So, on our dates (orchestrated by Vivi), I’ve made a deal with myself to stop getting inside my head when out in the general world and focus on him instead. I keep my questions light and surface-y, of course, otherwise he’ll just get awkward. So far I’ve asked him: what his favourite colour is (green), what his favourite fizzy drink is (Pepsi, not Coke–he said he doesn’t like Coke because it doesn’t taste of anything, which I heartily agreed with), what his favourite song is (he said that he didn’t know, that it changes a lot, but his favourite artist is The Smiths), and what his favourite animal is (a sheep).
Okay, before you judge me, I did tell you it was surface-level questions. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable–I already did that with the kissing and the touching and the emotions.
Besides, we’ve only been on two dates since last Saturday–I’m not going to get his whole life story in a week’s time, am I?
As for the touching, I’ve respected his boundaries by keeping it strictly professional. Obviously we’ve held hands in public, and kissed on cheeks, his arm around my shoulder, that sort of thing, but we haven’t kissed–haven’t even brushed lips–since that night. I can’t tell whether it’s good for me or whether it’s a newfound form of torture.
As for Liv, I’ve stayed clear of her. Disappeared around corners whenever she spots me, stayed close to Will whenever she’s with her friends. She’s gladly not outed our secret, but I can’t help but think it’s only a matter of time.
Jamie has been…weird. Every corner I disappear down he’s always there, ready to strike conversations. I’m surprised I haven’t had a heart attack yet with how quickly he pops up out of nowhere. He’s also very careful to do it in the rare moments when Will isn’t around.
Although, I have noticed that he and Liv have been drifting lately, ever since the sleepover. I can’t imagine that Jamie’s told her about our conversation in the kitchen that night–I mean, I haven’t told Will–so it must be something else. Or, more likely, someone else. She’s been hanging around Daniel a lot more lately.
Will seems to think it’s great that Jamie’s been paying more attention to me, says it’s proof my plan is working. I just smile and agree, and pretend that my heart isn’t being ripped out of my chest every time he says something about it.
I’m lying on my bed right now. Vivi just left to go back to her hotel. My heart hurts to think that she’s leaving to go back to Australia tomorrow. I know the first day here she didn’t act right–not that I’ve said anything to her about it–but we’ve had a good rest of the week. We went out into the town, shopped a little, and Vivi got her favourite treat from Bree’s Bakery which she gobbled down in less than a minute.
One thing that was entirely unpleasant was the fact that everyone seemed to be staring at me. Whispering, too. Vivi said this was a good thing, that it just showed our fake-dating plan was working, but she eyed me curiously when she said it, like she was expecting me to argue. I didn’t.
My phone dings in my hand, and a banner notification from Will pops up.
Will: had enough chocolate?
I frown. Me: what?
Will responds with a picture of me with Vivi, two chocolate covered croissants in my lap. I gasp in outrage.
Me: what the hell? did you take this picture?
Will: i’m not a stalker, weston.
Me: so some random ass person from the street messaged you this?
Will: yeah. pretty creepy, right?
Me: pretty creepy? INSANELY CREEPY WHAT THE HELL.
It takes him a while to respond, and I know it’s because he’s laughing. The thought pushes the feeling of discomfort away, my chest filling with warmth.
Which irks me on many levels, because Will’s boundaries should remind me that I shouldn’t like him. That I need to get over my silly little crush.
Will: relax, i told the person to stop. along with all the other people who sent me messages about you.
I blink in shock. Me: what other people?
Will: they were all very complimentary comments, don’t worry.
Me: DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE TOWN STALKING ME?
Will: they weren’t stalking you. they were just there.
Me: THEY TOOK PICTURES OF ME, WILHELM
Will: and i told them to stop.
I huff indignantly, and throw my phone down onto the mattress. I mean, I always knew that my town was a bit odd, and I know I don’t go out all that often, but taking pictures of me is a whole different kinds of crazy.
Will sends me another message.
relax. I told them to stop, and they’ve all said they would. besides, I wasn't joking when I said the comments were nice. They were mainly about how lucky I am that you’re my girlfriend.
I huff again and roll my eyes. Me: did you tell them that they were creeps?
Will: yes.
Me: then fine.
I know it’s not his fault, really. He wasn’t the one taking pictures of me from afar while I was trying to have a peaceful day with my friend. But it is because of him that I’m getting all this unwanted attention.
My phone starts to ring. Sighing heavily, I answer it.
“Are you mad at me?” Will greets me with.
“No,” I sigh.
“Are you sure? You sound mad.”
“I’m just…tired.”
A small, contemplative silence from Will. “How’s Bart?” he surprises me by asking.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Bart. Bart the Teddy Bear. Has he recovered from Stacy's party incident?”
“He’s fine,” I say, fighting a giggle.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. I can hear it in your voice.”
My smile deepens, and a small giggle escapes my throat. “It’s just–you’re asking about the welfare of a teddy bear.”
“So?” he asks, sounding oddly offended. I laugh again, harder this time.
“So…it’s cute.”
A very long, heavy silence. I inwardly cringe.
Did I just call him cute? Why would you call him cute, Matilda, you fucking idiot?!
Still, I don’t backtrack, because that seems like a horrendous idea. Besides, it’s the truth. I’m not going to take back the truth, am I? That would make me a liar, and I’m not one of them.
Then, I can sense a teasing smirk pull at his lips through the phone. I brace myself.
“So you think I’m cute, huh?” he teases.
“Oh, don’t let it go to your head, North,” I huff back, cheeks flushing. “I said your actions were cute, not you.”
“So you don’t think I’m cute?”
“No. Wait…” He erupts into laughter on the other line. “Oh, shut up!”
He doesn’t. He continues laughing for the next minute before he gasps out between breaths, “God, you’re so awkward, it’s hilarious.”
“Oh, go away!” I say, even though I feel warmth filling up my chest at the sound of his joy.
He laughs again. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” There’s a small, thick pause before he says, “I gotta go make dinner. I’ll see you Monday, right?”
Disappointment fills my bones, weighing on me like a heavy blanket. I don’t want him to go. I want to laugh with him forever.
I swallow. “Okay.”
“Oh, and for the record,” he adds, “I think you’re pretty cute too.”
My jaw drops open, a surprised gasp escaping my throat as I stammer over my words, but he’s already gone.
The absolute nerve of that boy, hanging up like that!
I flop down onto my mattress, my arms displayed around me like a starfish as I stare at my ceiling. I’m considering calling him back and lecturing him when the doorbell rings. I frown, but think nothing of it. Sure, it’s a bit late for packages, but mum could’ve easily ordered some food or something without me knowing.
“What are you doing here?” my mum’s voice drifts up the stairs. A note of panic laces her tone. My frown deepens.
Another voice comes, this one male, but unrecognisable for me. “You wouldn’t answer my calls, Bel. What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, how about not showing up where you aren’t wanted?”
The sound of footsteps creaks on the noisy downstairs floorboards. The front door slams harshly.
“I had to come, Bel,” the male voice says, it colder this time. “I had to see her.”
I bolt upright in my bed. See who?
“Too bad!” my mother yells, sounding truly rageful for once. “I won’t allow you to!”
“I have a right to see her, Annabel!”
“No, you don’t, Tony!”
A slam of deja vu hits me. After the basketball game on Friday, Will and I almost kissed–not abnormal for us–but then he asked who Tony was, and it threw me off my game. I didn’t think about it afterwards, got distracted, or maybe I just forgot it had happened. But who was Tony?
I climb off my mattress, grab my hairbrush–it’s the only weapon-like thing in my bedroom–and open the door a sliver. The door hinge creaks loudly, but the voices downstairs continue, though my mum seems to be a little more mindful, as both her and the mysterious man’s voices are hushed. I carefully step outside the sanctuary of my bedroom, the floorboards groaning beneath me. I creep down the stairs, remaining on the bottom one, close enough to overhear their whispers.
“You can’t be here!” my mother repeats. “She’ll freak out. She’s anxious enough as it is.”
“I don’t care, I want to see her,” the man–Tony–argues.
“You don’t have a right to!” my mother insists.
“Don’t have a right to?!” Tony questions incredulously, his voice rising. “You think as her father I don’t have a right to?!”
I gasp. The hairbrush clatters to the ground.
I feel my face drain of colour.
You think as her father I don’t have a right to?!
Her father.
Her father.
Her father.
And suddenly everything makes sense.
I step out from behind the corner, my pale face in view of my mother and father. My hands are trembling, but I force myself to meet the eyes of the man I have tried to spend almost thirteen years forgetting.
His hair is a smooth, dark brown, a smatter of freckles covers his face, and his eyes…his eyes have the most likeness of all. My eyes. Or more accurately, I have his eyes.
“Anthony,” I rasp out. “Your name is Anthony.”
Anthony–I am not calling someone who left me father–seems to be in shock. His face is pale, and his jaw is slack as he gapes at me. He also seems to be trembling.
“Matilda,” he whispers. “M-my daughter…”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, but they come out hoarse; terrified.
“Tilly–”
“And don’t call me that either.”
I swing my gaze towards my mother, glaring at her traitorous face. “What is he doing here?”
“I wanted to see you–”
“Don’t speak to me,” I say to Anthony, not removing my gaze from my mum, who is white with shock. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me that he had been calling?”
“Matilda, please,” she rasps out, big brown eyes filled with tears, but I don’t feel any sympathy for her. The only thing coursing through my veins right now is pure rage. “I-I just…I didn’t know he would come here,” she reasons lamely. “I thought he would get tired eventually…”
“Like he did before?” I seethe, shooting a venomous glare at Anthony.
He seems to shrink back a little, but his voice is firm when he says, “I-I didn’t just get bored, Matilda.”
“So you left for the hell of it?”
“W-well…” He trails off looking awkwardly around the room. I hate that I got that trait from him.
I shake my head, picking up my hairbrush in a hurry and scurry up the stairs. I see my mother’s eyes widen in my periphery.
“Wh-where are you going?”
I don’t answer. I can barely hear anything aside from the roaring in my ears anyway.
Yanking my bag out from underneath my bed, I unzip it hastily, stuffing my hairbrush into it before tugging my drawers open. I hear two sets of footsteps thundering up the stairs, and a fresh wave of rage hits me.
Blindly, I grab a t-shirt and toss it over my shoulder, and I hear it land with a rustle into my bag. Guess my aim is better than I thought. I slam that drawer shut, tearing the drawer underneath it open and grab a pair of jeans.
My parents come rushing in when I’m putting the jeans into my bag, probably a little more aggressively than the jeans deserve.
My mother’s eyes drift from me, the bag and the half shut drawers. “What are you doing?” she demands.
“Leaving. I thought that was obvious.”
“Y-you can’t leave!”
“Why?”
“B-because…”
“Yes?”
“Your mother’s right,” the piece of vermin pipes up. “Don’t leave, Matilda. Let’s just calm down, and have a seat and talk about this like adults.”
“I’m not an adult!” I screech, tears pricking my eyes. “You were supposed to be the adult! You were supposed to stay!”
Anthony shrinks back slightly, his features drowning in pity. “Matilda–”
“No!” I yell, grabbing Bart and stuffing him into my bag as well. “I’m not talking about this! I’m not dealing with this!”
“Matilda, don’t leave, please,” my mother pleads, looking desperate now. “Your father is right–”
“Don’t call him that!”
“Well, he’s your father whether you like it or not!” she yells back, and she’s starting to get frustrated now.
Usually when she gets angry, I try to make myself small, and apologise, and then everything is fixed, and we’re a happy family again. But not this time. This isn’t my fault. It’s hers. She’s the one at fault here, not me.
It’s not my fault.
“I’m leaving,” I repeat, grabbing my cleanser off my desk, but not bothering to grab any of my other skincare items.
“No,” my mum says, “you’re not. We’re going to speak about this like a normal family.”
“Well we’re not a normal family, Mum, are we?!” I scream. “He fucking left us!”
My mother doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, but her face is contorted with anger and fear. Fear of what, I don’t know.
Hauling my bag up onto my shoulder, I push past her and storm down the stairs, not daring to look at the two people who created me.
“Matilda, please, don’t go.” That’s my ‘father’.
“Go fuck yourself.”
I hear my mum gasp from behind me. “Matilda Weston! We don’t speak to people that way!”
“Maybe you don’t, I do. Especially to people who deserve it.”
“Matilda!”
I don’t look at her as I stuff my feet into some random shoes and stalk to the door defiantly.
“Don’t you dare leave this house!”
I open it anyway, not caring for my mother’s approval anymore. I just want to get out of here. I need to get out of here.
“Call me when he’s gone and you’re ready to apologise,” I say, before slamming the door shut behind me.
Traitorous tears fill my vision, but I don’t stop walking. I don’t know how long I walk for, but one moment I’m stamping angrily across the wet gravel, shoes falling off, the next, I’m walking into the humid air and the yellow lighting of a bus. I plop down onto a seat in the back and unravel my headphones (I must’ve packed them blindly in my rage).
I practically slam them onto my ears, turning the volume up all the way. Tears threaten to escape my eyes, but I wipe them away hurriedly, sniffing. I won’t cry. Not until I’m at the place I know I’m always safe.
Not until I’m with the person who is always safe.
Will
I take a sip of beer as I flip the steak over in the pan. Now, before you judge me, I’m not usually one for drinking, especially not on random Saturday evenings, but my mind has been especially busy lately.
Not only are my feelings for Matilda getting more confusing, they’re also getting exceptionally more painful. Earlier this week, she just started asking me loads of questions about myself; nothing too personal, just basic questions like what my favourite animal was. A part of me thinks she doesn’t want to ask me personal questions because she knows how I feel about that sort of thing, and it makes me feel oddly seen.
On top of that, basketball is getting even more tiring. And stress-inducing. I keep getting messages from my coach, telling me to train harder. I’m already going to the gym five times a week and shooting hoops in my bedroom (I installed a mini hoop on the back of my door)–how much harder does he want me to fucking train?
Also, I keep getting messages from half of my teammates asking me loads of training and diet questions. Like, there’s a thing called Google, guys? I don’t say that to them, of course–I’m not that pissed off. But I do think it.
Dad’s been on me about it too. It pisses me off, because he’s never shown interest in it before. Fuck knows why he cares now.
I take another sip of the beer. Dad’ll probably notice it’s gone, but I don’t really care. Maybe then he’d at least pay attention to me.
Shaking my head free of that morbid thought, I move my attention back to the interaction I had with Matilda earlier. Her outraged text messages when she found out the town had been taking pictures of her and then her exasperated tone when I called her. Which quickly shifted into one of fluster when she accidentally called me cute. I grin to myself at the memory.
Honestly, it’s just a shame that I couldn’t have seen her face when I called her cute, too. I can practically picture it; her perfect lips agape in shock, eyes shining with irritation. God, I would give anything to see her.
There’s an abrupt knock on the door. I quickly wipe away my hands on a teatowel and walk towards the door. But the knocking doesn’t stop; it continues in rapid succession, getting louder and more urgent. I frown, my steps speeding up.
I swing the door open and I’m quickly attacked by a mess of frizzy brown curls.
Matilda’s arms wrap around my waist tightly, a duffel bag half swung over her shoulder, and her shoes in one hand. Her body is shaking, racking with sobs.
Fuck.
When I said I would give anything to see her, I did not mean her happiness.
“Matilda?” I attempt, alarmed.
Her cries get louder. The fact that her face is buried in my chest does hardly anything to muffle the horrific, heartbreaking sounds that are escaping her throat. Her free hand is knotted in the back of my sweater as if trying to keep herself steady.
It doesn’t work.
Her knees buckle and I barely have time to soften the blow before she lands with a small thud on the hard ground, dragging me down with her.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” It’s definitely not okay. But what else are you supposed to say when a girl slams into your chest and starts to sob her heart out?
“I’m here,” I murmur into her hair. “I’ve got you, Tilds.”
Tears soak through my sweater, but the excruciating noises escaping her mouth seem to subside a little at my words.
“Tilds?” I say gently into her hair. “I’m gonna pick you up now, because the floor can’t be very comfortable for you. Okay?”
She tries to speak–at least that’s what I think the choked sort of sounds are– before she eventually gives up, and just nods into my chest.
Smoothly, or as smooth as I can when a girl is sobbing, I pick her up. Her arms wrap automatically around my neck. More hot tears splash onto my neck as she buries her face into the crook of it.
I hesitate. I’m unsure whether to take her into the living room or up into my bedroom. On the one hand, my bedroom is more private in case my dad comes back from the pub early. On the other hand, the living room is closer. Plus I’m pretty sure my bedroom is a bit of a mess. Living room it is, then.
I push the living room door open, the old hinge squeaking, and carefully place Matilda down onto the sofa.
I don’t really go in my living room that often. My mum decorated it, so it’s all pink and florals, fake plants and books that she never read. It’s not to my taste, and it’s a little painful to be inside it, but I think Matilda would like it better than the plainness of my bedroom.
Matilda’s hands stay fisted in my sweater as I try to pull away. When I finally see her eyes, my heart aches. They’re red and bloodshot, still shining with the gloss of her tears.
“Okay, I’m just gonna go turn the stove off,” I say, voice deliberately soft, “and then I’ll come back. I promise. Can you stay here for me?”
Reluctantly removing her hand from my sweater, she nods weakly. Her bottom lip is wobbling, and a silent tear slips from the corner of her eye. She hurries to wipe it away with her hand. My heart cracks open in my chest.
All I want to do is gather her in my arms and wrap her in a thousand layers of blankets and keep her safe from everything that’s ever tried to hurt her. But I can’t.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing my eyes closed. “I’ll be right back, okay?” I whisper, voice pained.
I quickly exit the room, wanting to get back as soon as possible. Hurrying to the kitchen, I turn the heat to zero, and just as I’m about to run back to her, I catch sight of the beer bottle.
Shit.
I grab it and glug it down the sink before chucking it into the bottle bag we keep outside the back door. I shut the back door, the clank of the bottle echoing into the night behind me.
When I get to the hallway, I pause. My breath probably stinks of beer. I check, cupping my palm near my hand and fanning my breath, and my nose wrinkles. It’s not too obvious, but it’s definitely noticeable.
I dash into the cramped downstairs bathroom, looking around, panicked. I notice the mirrored cabinet. Yes, great. There’s got to be something in there.
I yank the handle open, only for all sorts of shit to come tumbling out. Objects clatter out, clanging against the porcelain of the sink, reverberating through the silence of the house.
“Shhh!” I hiss quietly to the objects, looking over my shoulder.
Luckily, Matilda doesn’t seem to have heard, so I search through the pile for some mouthwash. I find a mini travel one that my mother probably left behind and quickly unscrew the bottle, pouring a decent amount in my mouth and swirling it around. I grimace at the intense flavour and spit it out, shoving the other things out of the way so as to not get saliva on them. Hurriedly, I pack the other things away, not caring where things go. I just need to get back to Matilda and find out what the fuck is going on.
I rush back into the living room, skidding to a halt by the doorway.
Matilda is sitting on the sofa, her legs folded up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly. She’s staring blankly at nothing, and even from here I can see the unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. Then, a shuddering, awful sound breaks through her mouth. A tear drips down her cheek.
Fuck.
No, no, no, no, no.
I hurry over, gathering her in my arms and setting her in my lap, pressing her close to my chest. She lets out a sharp gasp before more sobs start to shake through her body. Wrapping an arm around my neck, she buries her face back into my chest, the thick fabric of my sweater gathering her tears.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I soothe.
It’s not okay. Nothing about this is fucking okay.
Because whatever this is? I can’t fix it. This is clearly something I can’t fix with some kind words and some pointed ones to whoever made her feel like this. This is bad.
But I have to try and fix it anyway. Because I care. Because I fucking told Liv that I would. Sure I never said it aloud, but it was something that me and Liv agreed upon. A silent promise. And I was going to try my best to hold up my end of the deal.
My mind wanders on the best way to handle this, on the most delicate way to ask. It comes up blank. This isn’t something you can just bring up bluntly– it’s something that requires careful sensitivity.
But it’s not something I could bring up now; not while she’s crying her eyes out and clinging to me like I’m some sort of saviour.
Nothing bad ever happens when I’m with you.
That’s what she said to me last week, seconds before we started making out. And I had said that nothing ever would. I had promised that nothing ever would. And I may not be all that great at stopping all the shit from happening to her, but I would be great at making sure I never hurt her. I would be great at making sure she always felt safe with me, whether she was mad at me or otherwise.
I wait until her sobs subside before I pull her back from my chest. The sight of her face makes my heart shrivel. Her eyes are puffier than before, bloodshot and filled with so much sadness for just one person that it makes me want to cry. Her bottom lip is still wobbling. Her cheeks are still stained with teartracks.
I smooth a hand over her hair. “Could you please tell me what happened?” Her face crumples. “I know that you don’t want to,” I add quickly, but not unkindly, “but I need to know what happened so I know how to fix it, or so I know what way to comfort you. Because I can’t deal with this, Tilds. I can’t deal with not knowing what’s hurt you so badly.”
Her body trembles as she draws in a quivering breath, but she nods, shifting on my lap to sit up more fully. “My…my…” She sniffles. “Sorry, it’s just–it’s difficult for me to explain…It’s, uh, complicated.”
“That’s okay, take your time,” I assure.
It takes her another few moments to gather herself properly before she speaks again. “It’s-it’s my, uh…My dad’s back.”
She blurts it out, like she’s desperate to get the words off her tongue, as if the very mention of the word dad or anything related to the fact is poisonous, like even saying the word brings toxicity into her world.
The world spins around me.
Her what now?
“Your dad,” I state flatly. “He’s back.”
She sniffles again, nodding jerkily.
I blink a few times. “Your, uh–Sorry. Y-your dad is back?”
She nods again, sniffing. “Yeah.”
Again, I just blink at her because that’s not what I expected at all. But then all the pieces start to fall into place.
Matilda’s not going to want you here.
Tony, please don’t make this harder than it has to be.
That’s what her mother said to that mysterious Tony.
Tony is her dad.
I mean, he has to be, right?
And her mother, she failed to tell Matilda that her dad was calling. Because when I asked her, Matilda, on the night after the basketball game, she had no idea who he was. And, even though her dad left when she was five, she would at least know his name.
I realise I’ve been silent for a long time, and clear my throat, meeting her confused gaze. “Sorry. Sorry, I was just, I was thinking.”
She nods, eyeing me curiously. “Were you thinking about Tony?” she asks, voice hoarse and quiet.
Swallowing, I nod. “Yeah. Th-that is your dad, right?”
“Yeah,” she confirms. She frowns at her lap, playing with the thin cotton of her pajama bottoms. “How did you know who he was? Like, how did you know about Tony? Because I didn’t.”
Her voice is soft and interested, but I can hear the hurt lacing it. She thinks I betrayed her.
Fuck.
“I didn’t know who he was,” I say quickly. “I swear, I would’ve told you. I saw her get a call from a Tony on the night you got drunk,” I explain. “She said something on the phone when I was going up the stairs about you not wanting him there, which is what raised my suspicions. And then he called her again on the night we went back to yours after the basketball game. It’s why I asked you who he was. I was going to explain to you when your mother walked in, and I didn’t want her to know I’d been eavesdropping, so I didn’t say anything. And then, I guess I just kind of got distracted. I’m sorry,” I add, squeezing her. “I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. I should’ve told you. I’m really sorry.”
She wipes her nose with her hand. “It’s fine. It’s-it’s not your fault, Will. I mean, I wish that you had told me of your suspicions,” she admits, “but this isn’t on you. It’s on my mother. A-and my father,” she adds, the last word breaking on her lips.
I swallow. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” I say softly, stroking a hand down her arm, my touch catching her self-harm scar. My breath hitches. She still doesn’t know that I know. Considering her reaction when I didn’t tell her about the Tony Situation, I can’t imagine her being pleased that I know something so deeply personal about her. Her self-harming is not something even Vivi knows, hell, Liv isn’t even supposed to know. I don’t have a right to know this about her, and I know for a fact that she will agree with me on that.
But I wouldn’t talk with her about this now–I would tell her, at some point, but not now. Dumping that bomb on her could wait until a better time, when she’s less hysteric.
“Let’s watch a movie, yeah?” I suggest. She nods, clambering off my lap to sit snugly next to me, close enough to still cling to me, but not so much that I’m suffocated.
It takes me a couple of minutes to find the remote, considering I’m hardly ever in here, but once I do, I hand it to her, allowing her to pick the film. Which then leads to another five minutes of arguing about her not wanting to pick the film because she’ll be too distracted anyway, and me insisting that she’s the guest so she has to pick. Finally–probably after she got so sick of me repeating the same thing–she snatched the remote and started to flick through Netflix. She chose the first Harry Potter movie, because she said she’d seen it like a million times, so it doesn’t really matter if she’s focusing anyway.
And we sit there for the entire 152 minutes in complete silence, her eyes unfocused as she stares at the screen, arms folded up around her for warmth. I don’t think she’d even notice if she was cold, anyway. Her arm remained pressed against mine, her chilled skin seeping through the snug fabric of my sweater. Halfway through the film, I decided I finally had enough and grabbed the throw from the back of the sofa and placed it carefully over her legs. She had jolted slightly, but offered me a small, grateful uptick of her lips.
The end credits roll on the screen, and we both just sit there staring at it, not knowing what to do or say.
Then finally, I have an idea.
I stand up and walk into the foyer, and I can feel her eyes on my back. Opening the coat closet, I begin to rifle through the stacks of jackets, searching for the one I want.
“Will?” she calls. She must’ve heard me rustling through the coats. “What are you doing?”
“Come on,” I say, not answering her question.
I hear her pull the blanket off of her, her soft footsteps padding toward me, until she stops behind the door of the coat closet. “What are you doing? Why are you getting coats out?”
“Because we’re going on a walk,” I reply, finally pulling out the dark green coat she wore the day we went to the mall. She had looked good in it, and she didn’t have any complaints about it, either.
I can sense her frown. “Why? Where? It’s past midnight.”
“Oh. Are you tired?”
A small pause. “Not really.”
“Then let’s go on a walk.”
There’s no rebuttal this time, but I can hear her arguing with me in her head.
I hand her the coat and a lost grey sweater I found, grabbing my coat from the hook as well. She frowns down at the items in my hand, brow pinched, before she reluctantly grabs them and starts to pull them on over her pajamas. I grab a pair of my mum’s old wellies, too, placing them down by her feet; it’s muddy outside from a week of rain, and her clean converses will get wrecked.
As soon as she’s slipped them on, I grab her hand and begin to pull her away. It’s the first time I’ve held her hand privately in a week, and even though it shouldn’t–and I probably shouldn’t be thinking of this right now because I’m trying to make her feel better–it feels different from when we do it for show. It shouldn’t–it’s the same hand–but it does.
She lets out a small meep sound as I drag her out of the back door, turning right away from the stables and towards the fields.
“Will, I don’t understand,” she confesses from behind me. “Where are we going?”
At last, I give her an answer. “Stargazing.”
Her steps hurry to catch up with mine, mud squelching beneath her feet. “Stargazing?”
“Stargazing,” I confirm.
She doesn’t reply, silence stretching between us, but I can hear the questions swirling around in her head.
We’re both quiet for a long while, wind rustling the trees around us, whipping at our faces, our boots imprinting in the brown sludge as we walk.
“Do you help with the farm?” she breaks the silence by asking.
“Sometimes,” I say. “Not as much as I used to, as basketball has gotten pretty busy. It’s mainly my uncle and my dad who tend to it.”
She nods. “Does your uncle live close, then?”
“Yeah, he lives a couple blocks away from you, actually.”
“Ah.” She pauses, thinking. “Do you have any cousins? On your uncle’s side, I mean.”
“Yeah, two. Twins. They’re younger than me, though–about eleven.”
“And do you get on with them?”
“Yeah. I mean, the age difference obviously sparks a difference, but we don’t not get on.”
She hums softly in answer, and we continue the rest of our adventure in silence, climbing over puddles, trudging over rabbit holes. It’s nice, the peace is. Although, I’m sure Matilda would disagree; not just because she seems to hate silence, but because she’s got a lot more to think about than I do.
My goal is just to distract her with something nice, like stars, before she begins to hyperventilate. Her asking me questions seems to be helping her, too, which I suppose is why I’m not avoiding them.
Trees narrow in on us as we pass the animal pens, leading to a grass pathway, weeds growing through the unmowed grass. Eventually, we reach a hill, and I squeeze her hand and start to tug her up it.
She groans. “Will, I don’t understand where we’re going,” she complains, panting. “We could’ve gone stargazing anywhere–your back garden, your porch– you’ve got an exceptionally nice porch, actually–and now you’re hauling me up a big hill and I don’t…”
She trails off, her mouth falling agape as she stares at the field atop the hill we just climbed.
Lush green grass is decorated with flowers; hellebores the colour of fuschia, lemon yellow and magenta pansies, blotched blue violas. They’re scattered all throughout the field, covering every square inch of grass. Trees line the back of the field, the flowers disappearing through them, the colours fading through the blackness.
But peeking through the leaves and branches, the stars sparkle above, winking and twinkling at us in the midnight sky.
I smile at the image.
I’ve been going here to relax for about a year. The funny thing is that I discovered it completely by accident. It was after Christmas and me and my dad had gotten into an argument about something or other, both of us pissed off and angry but couldn’t aim it at the person we really wanted to because she wasn’t there. It had gotten heated, and I’d slammed the back door in my dad’s face, and in a blind rage, I just kept trudging up past the animal pens, through the short woods, and up the hill. I’d only stopped because the white of the snowdrops had caught my attention.
After that, it’s where I came to escape. A place where no one could bother me or ask me questions that I didn’t want to answer. It was a place that was just my own. And even though Dad must know it’s here as it’s his land, he’s either unaware that it looks like this or he just simply doesn’t care.
I didn’t tell anyone–not even Jace–because it felt sacred in a way.
But I want to show it to Matilda because she deserves it. Because she needs it right now, to stop the spinning in her head.
My smile morphs into a full-blown grin as I turn to look at Matilda. Her jaw’s slack, and her eyes have gone impossibly wide.
“Come on,” I say softly, tugging on her arm to get her attention. She snaps out of her daze, but doesn’t say anything as I drag her towards the field to get the clearest view of the stars.
It’s a little cloudly–of course it is, it’s England–but it’s clear enough to see the brightness of the stars. Clear enough for Matilda to watch them and relax.
Removing my coat, I splay it on the ground carefully, giving us enough fabric for us to both squeeze onto. Matilda frowns disapprovingly at the action, but says nothing as she settles down onto the corner of the coat next to me.
I snort. “I don’t bite, you know.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, the moonlight illuminating her halo of messy brown hair. And even though this was entirely the wrong moment for it, my heart groans in response. Because fuck I just want to kiss her.
But I wouldn’t. Last time I kissed her while she was hurting (which was only a week ago), I ended up hating myself for it. I wouldn’t do it again, not even if she wanted me to.
Her lips press together as she shifts backwards further onto the expanse of the coat, her hand brushing the outside of my thigh. Even through the loud wind, I can hear her breath catch at the light friction. Fingers flexing, she places her hands in her lap as she stares up at the stars. My gaze on her doesn’t falter, though. I continue to study the side profile of her face, her freckles glowing even in the dark.
“Do you ever wish on shooting stars?” she asks after a few minutes of crickets. “Or something else. Like eyelashes, or birthday candles.”
Swallowing, I avert my eyes to the stars. “All the time.”
“What do you wish for?”
You. “Just whatever’s on my mind.”
She nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Just continues to watch the night sky, and I can hear her mind quieting with the tranquility of it all.
“Speaking of things on my mind,” I start, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She turns to look at me, interest piqued, and I turn my gaze away from her. I swallow. It’s now or never, really.
“I…I noticed a scar,” I say thickly and I see her flinch in my periphery, “on your arm. I just…wondered what it was.”
I know what it is. Of course I know what it is. But if I tell her that I already know, she’ll get either sad or angry, and that can’t happen now.
Silence charges between us, like a dam of cold water on the nice moment, but I know that if I talk to her about it when she’s feeling better, or whenever her asshole of a father leaves, I’ll ruin it, her happiness.
Besides, I really don’t think there is a good time to mention you saw someone’s self-harm scars.
She turns to me, her eyes watery but earnest. “You know what they are, Will.”
I look at her and nod, sitting up. “Yeah,” I say quietly.
She inhales deeply, her mouth parting to speak, but I interject before she has the chance to. “You don’t have to talk about it. Not now, and not with me. But…I just thought that you should know that I know, because it felt, I don’t know, wrong, I guess, to know something so personal about you when you didn’t know that I knew. And if you ever do, you know, wanna talk about it,” I say, voice soft, “I’m here. And I’ll listen.”
She stares at me, lips still parted, as though her mind can’t comprehend it. I just offer her a small smile, turning my gaze back to the sky. A swarm of clouds has covered the light of the moon, and I’m grateful for it; I don’t want her to see what my face looks like right now. Something between trepidation and anticipation mingled with relief. I’m glad she knows I know, but I can’t deal with what she might be thinking right now. Thinking of me right now.
“I do want to talk about it.” Her voice is so quiet and faint that it carries away with the wind, but her words linger, staining the air between us. “Now. With you.”
I blink at her, surprised. I honestly just expected her to stay silent, even if the silence was awful.
She offers me a nervous smile. “If that’s okay.”
“Yes,” I blurt, a little louder than I meant to. She blinks. “Sorry–yes. Yes, I want–I want to hear you. I-I want to listen,” I amend, quieter this time.
“Okay.” She exhales a shaky breath. The wind seems to stop. The branches around us still, listening in too.
“I don’t do it anymore. My first therapist, she gave me tips on how to stop or distract myself from the urge. I was wary at first–I didn’t understand how distracting myself was supposed to help, especially when it didn’t work the first few times I tried it.” Her throat bobs, and she looks up at the midnight sky. “But it ended up working. Sometimes, I still catch myself doing it,” she confesses. “Not on purpose, but to ground myself when I’m having a panic attack and I don’t even notice I’m doing it until my fingernails are already carved into my skin.” She holds out her left hand, and I inspect it in the darkness. Finally, I spot it. The half-moon circles sliced into her palm. They’re so obvious that I can’t believe I haven’t noticed them before.
I don’t have enough time to even choke out an I’m sorry before she’s talking again.
“But these–” she strokes a hand over the scars on her bicep “–these were purposeful. I was just so sick of feeling dead inside. Everyday, I woke up, and I had a panic attack, but I felt so numb–like I was just going through the motions. And I just, I sat there in my room one evening after school, thinking and crying because I couldn’t feel a thing. And I just remember feeling the sting of pain and there was blood on my fingernails, and I know I shouldn’t have, but all I felt was relief.” She withholds a sob. I swallow down the lump in my throat. “All I felt was relief because I could feel again. I could feel the duvet beneath my bare legs. I could taste the smell of my mum baking cookies. I could hear the windows rattling against the wind.
“So I started to do it consistently. I did it everywhere, too–my house, coffee shops. Even school. Anywhere people didn’t see me. I was invisible, so it really wasn’t that hard.”
Finally, she turns to me, her eyes and cheeks wet and the sight almost breaks my heart. “P-please don’t t-tell anyone,” she hiccups, wiping another tear that escapes her eye. “No one else knows except my mum. And Liv, but I don’t really know how she found out.”
Guilt wells in my chest. I know how Liv found out, but I can’t say anything. I want to say something, but I can’t–it’s not my place. Luckily it’s dark, or otherwise I’m sure the guilt would be plastered all over my face.
“Hey, I won’t tell anyone,” I vow, voice scratchy. I reach out a hand and place it on her arm, soothing my thumb over her skin. “I swear, I would never do that.”
She smiles a little, tears still pouring down her cheeks. “I know.”
I lay down on my coat, Matilda following suit and resting her head on my shoulder. Her silent tears are dripping onto my sweater.
“I used to want to be an astronaut,” I say randomly.
Her shuddering pauses. “What?”
“I used to want to be an astronaut,” I repeat. I’m not sure why I’m telling her this, but it’s stopped her crying for the most part, so I’m just gonna roll with it. “When I was younger, in, like, Year 3. I remember just being really fascinated with it. Space, that is.”
She blinks up at me, her wet lashes brushing my jaw. “What changed?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. “I started doing basketball in Year 6, mainly because all my friends joined, and I wanted to be a part of that. I was good, I guess. Really good. I still wanted to be an astronaut, though. Must’ve just changed along the way.”
“Do you enjoy basketball?”
I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before. They just assume the fact that I’m good at it means that I like it. “Yeah. It’s…stressful,” I admit. “And I wouldn’t say it’s really fun anymore because of that. But I don’t not enjoy it. Like when I play at the park, that’s fun, because there’s no pressure. Whereas with the games, everyone’s just telling me I need to be the best, or I need to do this or that. I don’t like that part of it.” I swallow. “But at the end of the day, if I do end up becoming a professional, and be in the EuroLeague or the NBA or whatever, I’ll still get to do something I love for a lot of money.”
“Do you ever wish you did go down the path of being an astronaut, though?”
I look down at her, my brow furrowing. I don’t like to focus on the past because it just makes my future and my life right now so much more complicated. I hate complicated.
“I suppose I’ve never really thought about it,” I answer thoughtfully.
We sit in silence after that; saying and doing nothing except for looking at the stars. It’s not uncomfortable though–the silence. It’s the opposite, somehow. Like we’ve both said everything we need to say and there’s no need for anything else.
Time passes, I’m unsure how much, and we stand. I take her hand in mine, hers squeezing mine as we begin our journey back to my house. On the way, she asks me soft, inquiring questions, like what my favourite Christmas movie is (Home Alone–or Home Alone 2, to be specific). It’s a distraction for her, I know it is, so I answer all of them without protest.
We reach the back door, and we take our wellies off, leaving them outside to not trek mud all over the place. I’m not sure if my dad’s home yet, and if he is he’s probably snoring drunk in his bedroom, but I can’t imagine him being happy if we did leave bootprints all over the place.
I grab a hold of Matilda’s bag that I left by the front door and begin to walk upstairs. Matilda follows me, footsteps soft. Once we get to the stop of the staircase, I hesitate.
“Do you want to sleep in the spare room?” I ask.
It’s not that I don’t want to be close to her, it’s just that last time…well, you know what happened last time. I kissed her while she was vulnerable and sad, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve tried to be so distant with her–I don’t want to make that mistake again.
She blinks. “Do you want me to sleep in the spare room?”
“I just…last time we shared a bed, we…” I trail off, and she swallows. “I don’t want to make that mistake again.”
Something flickers in her eyes at that, but she pushes it down before I get a better read on it. “Right,” she rasps out.
“But if you want to share,” I add hurriedly, because her face looks so sad, “then we can share. Like, if you think it will…help you, somehow, I don’t mind sharing. Really.”
She stares up at me, and I can hear her mind moving, overthinking everything I’ve said. “I-I would like to share,” she admits, “but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You won’t,” I promise.
She nods. “Okay.”
I smile. “Okay.”
We spend the next twenty minutes getting ready, her in the bathroom, me in my bedroom. I also spent a heavy amount of that time clearing the floors of my bedroom from dirty clothes and random thingy-majigs that I thought I’d lost. The first time Matilda saw it was just after I’d cleaned it, and she’d said that it’s clean; I don’t want to change her impression of it.
She enters, teeth brushed, hair pulled back into a ponytail, Bart in hand, just as I chuck the last t-shirt in my wash basket. It arcs through the air, and her eyes focus on it.
“Hey,” I greet, now in my pyjamas also.
She sniffles. “Hi.”
I gesture to the bed, and she hesitates for a moment before shuffling beneath the covers. I follow suit, careful to keep a good distance away from her to give her some space. She stares disapprovingly at the small gap between us, but says nothing, just leans further into the pillow. I huff a laugh despite the situation, and gesture her closer.
She doesn’t waste time; she scuffles closer, her head resting once again on my chest. Though the move is so familiar to me now, my heart still seems to quicken.
She sits up abruptly, Bart flopping down, lifeless, on the mattress. I secure him on my lap, and my eyes follow her as she shuts the curtains before quickly climbing back into the safety of the duvet.
She settles back down, her ear pressing to my beating heart, hand going to hold onto Bart, that little piece of home keeping her grounded as she falls slowly asleep.
God, I love her.
There was no sense in denying it anymore.
I love Matilda Weston.
I wish she loved me.
Will
“Will!” hisses a voice in my ear.
My eyes flutter open, vision blurry. I groan groggily as I rub the sleep from my eyes, causing a warm weight to stir atop my chest. I blink down at the mess of curls and freckles and I feel my lips twitch a little. However, my smile is instantly sobered when I remember all the events of last night.
Matilda’s dad returning.
Stargazing.
Her self-harm.
The thought of that has me curling my arms around her tighter. Pain shoots through my heart. The raw emotion in her voice will haunt me for years to come.
But confusion quickly follows. Matilda’s asleep. So who said my name?
“Will,” hisses the voice again, and my eyes snap towards my dad.
Who…does not look happy.
Shit.
In a way, I can’t really blame him for being suspicious; a girl in my bed does not look good.
“Dad, it’s–”
“Kitchen, now,” he says, voice low, jabbing his chin in the direction of my door before he slips out of my room.
I scrub a hand over my face, blowing out a harsh breath. Squeezing Matilda’s body gently, I press a kiss to her hair, mumbling promises to come back despite her sleeping state.
Maneuvering Matilda carefully onto the mattress, I climb out of bed, running a stressed hand through my hair. This isn’t going to go well.
I dawdle downstairs, knowing I’m in for a lecture.
In fairness, I didn’t really think he would care to come check on me, which really says more about his attitude than my own. Yes, I probably should’ve texted him that Matilda was staying with us, because it is his house, but when would I have the time? In between her crying her eyes out and her telling me about her self-harm?
Stepping into the kitchen, I watch as my dad angrily slams the mug cabinet closed, the ceramic clanging against the counter, the whistling of the kettle in the background.
“Dad, it’s not what you think,” I explain as he begins to pour the boiling water into the mug. I crack my knuckles anxiously. “She came over, late last night, and she was really upset.”
“So you took advantage of her while she was upset, then?” Dad snaps. I flinch.
Because he couldn’t be serious. Could he?
Did my father–my own flesh and blood–really think that little of me? Really know that little about me?
Hurt is quickly replaced by rage, however, because how the fuck dare he? How dare he come in here and yell at me for taking advantage of a girl–which I would never in a million years do to anyone, let alone Matilda–when all he’s done since the divorce is go on dates?
“As if I’d fucking do that,” I spit.
“Oh, please.” Dad scoffs. “You’re you, Will.”
“Yeah, I am me. So I’d never fucking do that.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he continues like I’ve said nothing. “Your attitude’s been all over the place.”
I narrow my eyes. What the fuck was he on about?
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you spoke disrespectfully to your mother,” he says. I balk. How did he know about that? I hadn’t told him Mum had been to see me last week. I haven’t even told him that she’s not messaged me for months, other than when she’s been berating me with calls and text messages for the last week.
“So the only time you two can talk like civilised humans is when you’re talking about what a horrible son I am?” I let out a hollow laugh. “Real fucking nice, Dad.”
“Could you stop with the swearing?” he says harshly.
“No, I fucking won’t. Besides, even if I did sleep with Matilda, why the fuck does it matter to you? You don’t care about anything else I do.”
I see a flicker of hurt flash his features, but his jaw clenches. “That’s not true and you know it.”
“Do I? Because I’m hardly ever here, and you never send me a message asking where I am. Although, I can’t say I’m surprised,” I continue, another harsh laugh bubbling up my throat, “considering you’re never here either. Tell me, Dad, did you just get in from the pub, or have you been sleeping it off elsewhere at your latest hookup of the week’s house?”
A vein in my dad’s neck throbs. His grip tightens on his mug. Expression hard, he grits out, “Your attitude is appalling, Will. I always thought your mother and I taught you–”
“The only thing you and mum ever taught me is to be independent by the age of eight,” I interrupt. “Considering all she ever did was cheat and party and all you ever did–do–is drink.”
His hand slaps against the marble counter top, the smack echoing in the silence that follows. I flinch despite myself.
My dad’s never hit me. He has a temper, sure, and has some issues with alcohol, but he’s never hit me. I don’t think he ever would, either. But still, sometimes it strikes me right in the face, how quickly he can erupt.
“How dare you,” he spits. “How dare you accuse us of being bad parents. We did all we could for you, and yet you’re the same as you’ve always been: ungrateful.”
The last word is a bite, meant to slice right through me, and, god help me, it does.
I’m not ungrateful. I’m not.
I’m a lot of negative things, but I’m not that.
Throughout my life, I’ve always been aware of everything around me. What I had and what I didn’t.
For example, I know that I have good friends that care for me. I know that I’m a lot wealthier than most people. I know that I’m better than most people at basketball. I know that I’m not a dickhead who uses women for his own enjoyment.
And I know, deep down, that, while I was growing up at least, I had parents that tried their best. They have issues. A lot of issues that I know–knew, even when I was younger–that my friends’ parents didn’t have. Because of that, I’ve always tried to keep out of their way, be independent, say my pleases and thank yous.
And now he was accusing me of being ungrateful?
An insult forms on my tongue, but a soft voice breaks the silence.
“Will?” Matilda says behind me, voice tentative and gentle. Immediately, I feel my hackles go down, spinning around to face her.
Her ponytail has fallen loose over the night, curls messy and wild and all over the place. Her striped pyjama bottoms were low on her hips, and my grey sweater that I found last night dwarfs her. She blinks blearily between my dad and me. Her eyes linger on his face for a few moments, brow furrowing with anger mingled with a dash of confusion.
“Hi,” I say softly, avoiding my dad’s burning gaze as I pad over to her. “Sorry. Did we wake you?”
She shrugs. Eyes flick back to my dad. “Sort of,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”
I blink. “Yeah. Fine.”
I know that her asking me whether I’m okay or not shouldn’t be a big deal, but there’s something about the way she says it–so earnest and soft–that does something to me that makes my heart beat a little faster. Because fuck how does she see right through me?
Her brow furrows, like she doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I swear. Can you go upstairs while we finish our conversation? We won’t be long, I promise,” I say, watching every flicker of emotion that passes over her face.
She swallows. Looks unsure. I don’t know how long she’s been standing here, but the hesitancy to leave me tells me she’s at least been here long enough for my dad to lose his shit on me.
Resting a hand gently on her bicep, I press a kiss to her forehead. Her breath hitches, hand knotting in my shirt. “I’ll be just fine, okay? I promise you.”
She looks up at me for a few seconds, our breaths mixing in the short space between us. She nods, just once. Breath held, chest heaving, I watch as she disappears upstairs, footsteps soft on the creaking staircase. When I finally hear my bedroom door shut, my lungs loosen.
“You love her,” my dad states from behind me.
My head snaps in his direction. His eyes are solemn and wide with realisation, like he can’t believe that I actually have feelings for someone. Like he can’t believe that his son isn’t a fuckboy.
“How would you know who I love?” I seethe.
He says nothing, just blinks at me, brow creased.
I shake my head silently and, throat tight, turn back around and head up the stairs.
Arguing with my dad isn’t like arguing with my mum. I don’t feel guilty because, the truth is, I’ve always known who my dad is. I’ve always known that my dad’s a shit dad; I’ve always known about his problems with alcohol; I’ve always known that he’d rather muck out an animal pen than take an interest in me.
When the divorce happened, he started to care more. Not because he wanted to, but because my mum wasn’t here anymore to take up all his attention.
With Mum, however, it was different. It wasn’t until I was about eight did I realise who she truly was: a selfish, manipulative bitch.
I didn’t always hate her–I still don’t hate her, really. I don’t think I have it in myself to. But she used to be my favourite person in the world. She’d buy me gifts every Friday, things that I didn’t even know I wanted. Like a book of the solar system, or a CD of a singer I liked. And then we’d watch a movie together. Dad would be sorting out something on the farm, or down the pub with a mate (I didn’t realise he was an alcoholic at the time–why would I?), so it would be just us two.
It was nice. It really was.
But then, when I was around maybe six or seven, she started to miss it. She’d press a kiss to my hair and tell me that she had to go out with a friend.
“I just never get any free time, Billy” (that was her nickname for me),” she’d say, pulling on a pair of very dangerous looking high heels. “You understand, don’t you?”
I didn’t. Of course I didn’t–I was seven. All seven-year-olds had was free time.
But I’d nod, smiling through the pain. I didn’t want to make her sad.
She’d come back, early morning, hair mussed, clothes askew, makeup smudged, reeking of alcohol. I’d sit in the living room, blinking confusedly, but made sure to make myself small so she didn’t notice me. I knew even then that that wasn’t something I was supposed to be seeing.
But of course she never did. Notice me, that is.
Mallory North never noticed anything but herself.
Then, over time, she stopped apologising to me all together. Just disappear into the night, lips red, false lashes on. I still remember the first that happened, the way I stood by the door, waiting for her to come back and tell me that she was sorry for missing out again.
Jesus, I was so fucking pathetic.
Sighing, I reach the top of the landing. My hand flexes at my side.
I don’t want to go in there.
I don’t want to go in there and talk about what the fuck just happened down there with Matilda, who’s already suffering with her own parental bullshit.
But dealing with Matilda’s pitying looks is far better than talking with my dad about my feelings.
I push my bedroom door open.
“You’re a liar,” she accuses immediately.
I balk, because what the fuck? “Sorry?”
Matilda points to some books on my book shelf (singular because I don’t have very many books), eyes narrowed but completely focused on me. My brow furrows. I walk over to her and I rub my tired eyes as I see what she’s pointing at.
Four books about space; two about astronomy, one about astrophysics and another about planetary science. I frown, because how does owning four books about space make me a liar?
“You said that you’d never thought about being an astronaut again,” she clarifies. Ohhh. “But these books are evidence that you have.”
“Three of them were gifts,” I answer. The other one I bought last year, after I discovered the spot her and I went to yesterday. Not because the other one about astronomy wasn’t good, I just wanted to learn more about them.
“From who?” she asks skeptically.
“Jace.”
“Oh.” She blinks. Ponders. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Thank Christ.”
I’m about to turn away towards my bed, pull on a hoodie, when I’m yanked back by the back of my shirt and hauled into a hug.
“Jesus, you’re giving me fucking whiplash today,” I say. “First you sneak up on me–”
“Didn’t sneak up on you.”
“–then you’re pissed off with me–”
“Not pissed off with you.”
“–and now you’re pulling me into a hug like I’ve been missing for two weeks and you thought I was dead in a ditch somewhere. Makes no sense.”
“Yeah, well, I’m tired and was woken up by your yelling at six o’clock in the morning, so I think I have a right to be grumpy.”
This time I do feel guilt rise in my chest. Matilda’s been through enough in the last twelve hours without me waking her up at the crack of dawn.
“Sorry for waking you,” I apologise again. “I was just tired and pissed off and–”
“I’m not mad at you, Will,” she assures, but my eyebrows furrow at the tightness in her tone.
She’s not mad at me.
But she is mad at someone.
“Do you and your dad argue like that a lot?” she asks, tone purposely light.
He’d have to be around to argue, I think of saying, but that won’t make the pity any less aching.
“Not really,” I say, non-committal. I shrug, or at least as much as I can with the force she’s holding me. “I mean, we do argue a little, but it’s never anything major.”
She hums softly, and I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
I try to pull away, but she clings onto me.
For some reason, it’s only now that I’m realising how close we truly are. Heat seeps through my t-shirt from her body, and if I concentrate hard enough, I can smell the very faint scent of her familiar vanilla perfume.
You’d think I’d be used to it–her proximity–by now, but I’m really not.
How could I ever when every time she touches me, it feels like my heart’s exploding?
“I don’t think you’re ungrateful, Will,” she whispers, her warm breath hitting my ear. “I don’t.”
I swallow. Jesus. “No?”
“No.”
“And what makes you say that?”
“Because you’re aware that you’re still privileged with your career options, even if you don’t like it,” she says, knocking the wind out of me. “You’re aware that you’re gifted with more natural skill than others.”
“That’s not called being grateful, Matilda,” I force out. “That’s called being aware.”
She hums in disagreement, but says nothing else as she finally releases me from her iron grip.
I scratch the back of my neck, her fingertip warmth still lingering.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Do you want to go back to sleep? It’s still really early.”
She frowns a little, blinking at my bed for a second, thinking. Then, she shakes her head, a grim smile forming on her face. “No. Once I’m awake I can’t really get back to sleep. Plus, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep anyway.” She looks back at me. “You know?”
I swallow. Yeah, I do. And I really wish it wasn’t true.
I hate that she’s going through it right now, and I’m really starting to worry whether this fake dating thing is even a good idea.
Last week, she had a mental breakdown about…whatever the fuck. Something to do with her shit friends. All I know is that she was sobbing her eyes out and it caused me great physical pain, so whatever that was about, she wasn’t in a great headspace.
And then, the very same night that happened, I was fucking asshole and kissed the shit out of her. Which was…all sorts of bad. Not the kiss–the kiss was good–but the time of the kiss was horrific.
And if that’s not bad enough, her deadbeat dad returned last night.
So, to sum it up, her head’s probably not in the right place to get her ex-boyfriend back.
But when I try to get the words to come, they stick in my throat.
Because I’m selfish, apparently.
Because I don’t want us two to stop hanging out.
Let’s face it, we only really hang out when we have to. Last night I think is the only time we haven’t hung out for other people’s benefit. All the other times it’s been for Jamie, or my friends, or the people of the town.
And, I don’t mean this to sound narcissistic or anything, but I know she likes hanging out with me, and being near me. But if she gets Jamie back, what if that changes? What if she doesn’t have time to hang out with me because she’s too busy hanging out with him?
Adding onto that, how can I watch them two together? I know our plan is working, because he’s been hovering all week, trying to talk to her. Matilda seems to think it was weird, and it was, seeing he just jumps at her from behind corners, but it shows he’s taking an interest in her. And when it finally does work, when he starts dating her, how can I watch that? How can I even be near her when my heart will be tearing out of my chest?
So when it does work–and it will–I’ll have to distance myself.
I’m prepared for it.
And so I’m going to soak up as much Matilda Weston time that I can.
Besides, our deal ends in a week; not much can happen in that time.
Can it?
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
I’m drying my hair after my shower when Matilda pushes the door inwards. She freezes.
We went our separate ways after that short conversation. My dad had left already (I don’t know where, and I don’t care) so I offered her the shower on the second floor while I used the one on my floor.
She’s been gone a little longer than I have, and her eyes look a little red. I wonder if she’s been crying in there. The thought makes my heart pang painfully in my chest.
“Sorry, I should’ve, um, knocked,” she mumbles, cheeks pinkening as she averts her eyes.
Her sudden fascination with my ceiling is, of course, to do with the fact that I’m not fully dressed yet. My jeans are on, but no shirt.
I grin crookedly at her. “Oh, yeah?” I murmur. “Why’s that?”
Matilda looks at me. Tries to look stern. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” I ask, smirking.
“That!” she cries, cheeks flushing crimson.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Put on a shirt!” she screeches finally, hand slapping over her eyes.
Still grinning, I shake my head. But dutifully, I do as she asks.
“Is this better?” I ask, my clean black t-shirt now covering my chest.
She peeks through her fingers. “Yes,” she says and removes her hands from her face.
“Glad to see it’s got your seal of approval, Weston,” I say. “I even put on a hoodie for good measure, so you’ll have extra protection from my abs.”
She scoffs, looking away from me, blushing once more. “What abs?” she huffs under her breath.
I arch an eyebrow. “I can…show you them again, if you’d like?”
“No!” she yells resolutely. “Absolutely not.”
“Are you sure? You just seem to have a hard time remembering–”
“No, I remember perfectly, thank you!”
“Perfectly?”
“Yes!”
“Are you absolutely–”
“Yes, it’s seared into my memory, thank you!”
I tilt my head, a teasing smirk playing at my lips. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Say, ‘You have the most amazing abs I’ve ever seen, Will.’”
Her mouth falls agape. “I will not, you egotist.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“Shut up.”
“Say it.”
“Fine!” She inhales sharply, nostrils flaring. I repress a smirk. “You have the most amazing abs I’ve ever seen, Wilbert.”
“Why thank you, Matilda. I’m so glad I could bless your eyes with the sight.”
She shakes her head, but I can see her trying to suppress a smile.
“Prick,” she mutters under her breath, trying not to laugh. My grin widens.
Her face softens to something sad and sorrowful. The smile that was making its way onto her lips fades. She stares blankly down at her feet, brow creasing, shoulders slumping.
I feel my chest tighten. I fucking hate when her face looks like that; all broken and wrong.
“Hey.” I brush my knuckles over her arm. “Where’d you go, Tilds?”
My touch startles her from her trance. She blinks up at me. “Sorry, I was just…” She swallows, blinking the haziness from her eyes. “I was thinking.”
I nod understandingly. “Were you thinking about your dad?”
Her eyes meet mine. Heavy tension fills the little space between us. She nods slowly.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I just…I don’t understand why he came back. Like, why now, you know? It’s been over a decade since he left. Over a decade since he ripped our family into pieces and now…” She swallows, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she says. My brow furrows. “This isn’t…your job, to listen to me rant about my stupid family problems. It’s not–”
“No, no, I-I want to listen. I don’t mind. Really,” I promise.
“But it’s not your job,” she insists.
“Well, maybe I want it to be my job,” I rebuke.
She balks. Blinks. Doesn’t respond. I take that as my cue to wrap my arms around her. As soon as my fingertips brush her shoulder, relief loosens her body and she folds herself into my chest. I swallow.
This, right here, it will all go away in a week’s time. All the hugs. The dates. The midnight makeout sessions. The forehead kisses. It’ll all be taken away by someone who doesn’t deserve her. Someone who won’t treat her right.
I tighten my grip around her at the thought.
Exhaling a shaky breath that ruffles her hair, I press a kiss to her hairline. “Do you want to stay here again tonight?”
Her breath shudders as she replies, “If that’s okay. I know your dad is–”
“I don’t give a fuck about what my dad thinks,” I say fiercely.
“Okay, but–”
“No. I don’t give a fuck.”
“It’s his house too,” she tries to reason.
“Yeah, and he’s hardly ever here.”
I don’t mean to say it. I don’t want to say it. It’ll make the pity in her eyes so much worse. And I can’t handle it. I can’t handle her looking at me like I’m something broken. I can’t handle her looking at me when she’s the one who’s been through so much.
So I squeeze her tighter to my chest, not allowing her sympathetic eyes to meet mine.
“Will we need to go back to yours?” I ask airily. “To get more of your stuff?”
There’s a thick silence. Then she sighs. “Yeah, I suppose we’ll have to, won’t we?”
“Is there a time when your mum’s not at home?”
“No, not on a Sunday.” Her body leans more heavily against mine as her eyes flutter shut. “Unfortunately we’ll probably have to face them.”
“You say that like you’re preparing to go to war,” I joke, but I know it’s not funny. Nothing about this situation is.
“Yes, well,” she muses, “I might be.”
We leave for her house twenty minutes later, her hair now brushed and clipped back and her face washed.
I exhale sharply as I take the keys out of the ignition. Leaning back in my seat, I stare at the unfamiliar car parked in front of mine.
Tyre marks are skidded onto the pavement of the driveway. The red Honda is wonkily parked, the left front wheel almost slipping onto the dewy grass.
White-hot, blinding anger rises up in my chest. For some reason, I’ve been too in shock to process what’s really happening. Like, her dad’s back. Her dad who disappeared thirteen years ago has returned. For real.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The thought of him coming here, no warning, makes me want to smash his car up. Maybe I could, if I had a baseball bat in the boot.
Tearing my eyes away from the ragebait of a car, I pivot to watch Matilda, who’s also glaring at the car. Maybe I will buy a baseball bat, then.
I poke her arm gently. She turns to look at me, eyes burning right through me.
“You ready?”
She swallows and nods. “Yeah. I think. I mean, it’s not like I have to talk to them,” she thinks aloud. “I can just ignore them.”
I nod supportively. That seems a better idea than mine: going in all guns ablazing. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
She nods back. “Okay,” she says, voice quivering. She unbuckles her seatbelt. I don’t have time to protest before she’s opening her own door and slamming it behind her. I huff, climbing out of the car myself, hurrying after her already retreating figure.
We reach the doorstep and pause. Matilda’s breathing is shaky beside me, her breath condensing in a cloud in front of her. Then, she does something totally unexpected.
She grabs my hand.
I don’t think she’s ever grabbed my hand before. Not while she was fully sane, at least. Sure, she’s never wrinkled her nose, or pulled away from me when I’ve grabbed hers, but she’s never initiated that contact.
No, Will. This is the wrong thing to be thinking of.
But I’m still freaking out a little as we enter the house.
We curve around the corner, shoes removed to keep our footsteps as quiet as possible.
Unfortunately, our efforts are in vain because as we pass the kitchen doorway, we hear a loud clink of a mug hitting a wooden countertop. A hitch in breath. A clearing of a throat.
Shit.
Matilda’s shoulders are tense as she turns to face the two adults in her kitchen. Reluctantly, and only because she did, I do the same.
Annabel Weston is the first person my eyes land on. Huge blonde curls, messy and wild, like she’s been tossing and turning all night. Brown eyes red and puffy. Nose red, too.
She’s still dressed in her pyjamas, her bright pink Strawberry Shortcake t-shirt blaring at me. A mug of what I assume is tea is steaming in front of her.
Finally, my eyes travel to the man next to her.
I feel the wind knock out of me.
It’s almost terrifying how much he and Matilda look alike.
His eyes are the same azure blue. Copious freckles cover every inch of his pale skin. His thick hair is short but possesses a small wave to it. Cheekbones as sharp as knives carve his aged face, a greying beard covering half his face, but he’s young enough to see that he had been more than handsome once.
But what strikes me more than that is how even his mannerisms seem the same as hers.
His hands are shaking as they grip tight around his own mug, and his eyes jerky as he looks at anything but the girl who holds half of his genetics. He swallows before he decides to bite the bullet, but he cowards out at the last second, his eyes going to me instead.
He smiles kindly but anxiously. I don’t smile back. His own wavers.
“So,” her mother shatters the silence with, “you’re back.”
“Not for long,” Matilda replies curtly. “Come on, Will.”
Annabel’s eyes catch on me then, and I see about a thousand emotions go through her in the span of a second. Shock, anger, realisation, and, finally: fear.
Anthony seems to notice this and he clears his throat, guiding our attention back to him. He doesn’t seem to like it when his eyes land on us, shrinking back slightly.
Add ‘hates attention’ to the list of similar attributes.
But he steps forward, leaving Annabel reeling behind him. He holds out his palm toward me to shake, his hand trembling.
He clears his throat. “Nice to meet you. I’m Anthony.”
Matilda looks like she wants to snap her father’s outstretched hand. I squeeze her own reassuringly.
“Mhm,” is all I say.
Matilda’s breath shakes as she breathes out and she squeezes my hand back in gratitude. I don’t know what she expected me to do, though. Hug him and act like we’re best buds?
Anthony blinks, pressing his lips together like he didn’t know what he expected me to do either, and steps back again, going back to holding his tea like a lifeline.
“W–D-did you sleep at his?” Annabel at last manages to stammer out.
Matilda’s eyes sharpen, all her built up anger exploding out of her towards the wrong person.
Her hand slips out of mine, stepping closer to the battle.
“Did he?” she demands, pointing at her father.
“Don’t speak to me like that,” Annabel quickly snaps back, fear seemingly replaced.
“Then don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to!” Matilda yells.
My eyebrows raise in surprise. I’ve only seen Matilda angry once, really. Well, three times, technically, because she looked pissed as fuck this morning at my dad. But I’ve seen her yell only once, and that was rather terrifying.
Her mum’s nostrils flare, her hand tightening around her mug so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter into chunks. “Matilda, I’m not the one who has caused this–”
“No, but you didn’t tell me that he was calling.” Her mother swallows. “You didn’t tell me that he wanted to see me again.”
“I thought that it would be better for you if I didn’t tell you. You were already struggling a lot with things, and I…I just wanted to protect you. Matilda, please…” Annabel steps closer, her hand held out to stroke her daughter’s hair, but Matilda backs away, returning to the protection of me.
“Come on, Will,” she repeats, quieter, grabbing ahold of my hand again.
“Wait, where are you going?” Annabel questions. Matilda ignores her, dragging me up the stairs.
Her usually meticulous room is a mess. Clothes are thrown around all over the place, spilling out of drawers. Her desk is in the same state, half of her things knocked over or lopsided in their specified homes.
She grabs a tote from the inside of her wardrobe, angrily shoving things inside; skincare items I don’t have time to read the labels of, makeup, a sweater, a pair of black jeans. I don’t think she’s even aware of what she’s packing.
Cautiously, as though approaching a wild animal of some kind, I walk toward her, and carefully remove the bag from her hands.
She looks up at me, offended.
“I think for the sake of your future outfits, and fashion, I should pack your bag,” I suggest, voice lightly teasing.
She huffs what I think (hope) is a laugh and nods. She perches herself on the end of her bed, playing with the sleeves of her (my) coat.
We spend the next ten minutes, undisturbed, picking out her outfits. She’s decided she’ll stay at mine until Tuesday, just to make a point, before she returns home. Personally, I wouldn’t care how long she stayed; she can stay for a whole year and I wouldn’t mind. I think her mum will want her home before that, though, based on her reaction.
I don’t understand why she’s so freaked out about Matilda staying at mine. She knows we’re not really dating. I’ve also pressed the issue pretty hard about her daughter and I being just friends.
Which isn’t a lie, by the way. We’re just friends that hold hands. And have occasional dates. And share beds. And had a makeout session last week. And I’m madly in love with her.
See: just friends.
Anyway, it just doesn’t make sense to me why she’s panicking over it. She’s not spent enough time around us to figure out my feelings, so why the hell is she being weird?
Bag now full with her skincare products, two pairs of jeans, some tops, a new pair of pyjamas (her other ones got a little muddy on our trek yesterday) and other accessories, we make our way to the front door.
Her parents intercept us, though, her mother standing in front of the way to the front door, arms and legs spread wide to stop us from getting past. Matilda cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Could you move, please?” Matilda says.
“Oh, wow, a please. That’s surprising,” her mother drawls. “And no, we won’t.” I’m not sure why she’s referring to herself as we, as Anthony’s standing in the kitchen doorway, clearly not knowing what to do with himself. “We need to talk about this, Matilda. You can’t just run off every time something gets difficult.”
Matilda’s eyes flash. My brow furrows.
“And on that note,” says Matilda bitterly, grabbing my hand and tugging me around and away from her parents. I offer them both awkward smiles as I pass.
Matilda is grumbling under her breath, unsuccessfully trying to pull her shoes on. Her temper is not allowing her to do much today, is it?
Once she’s finally managed to lace her shoes up, she reaches to grab my hand again, hauling me back towards the door.
“Wait, Tilds…” I sigh, running a hand over my face.
Matilda pauses, looking back at me, her eyebrows narrowed. “What?”
“Just…don’t you should at least hear them out?” I suggest, bracing myself for the backlash.
I know that my attempts will be useless, that my aims for her to hear her parents out will be denied and will only serve to make her more agitated.
But I can’t help but think about their faces when I passed them.
Annabel’s face, it was angry, sure, but I could see the fear there, that if Matilda left she might not come back. And it’s just making me think that maybe her husband leaving her took a lot more out of her than Matilda’s possibly considered. I know that it would fuck me up if my partner left in the middle of the night.
With Anthony…I don’t know. All I know is that his face was sad and resigned, like he’d already made up his mind. That he’d already chosen to leave, that that’s what’s best for everyone.
And maybe I’m a horrid person for thinking this–or maybe just a pushover– but if my dad returned after over a decade wanting to speak to me, I’d want to know what the fuck that’s about.
Just as I expect, her eyes narrow and her mouth sets into a thin line. But there’s a look on her face like she’s willing to hear me out, so long as my explanation is good.
However, her voice is as sharp as I originally anticipated when she says, “Why should I?”
I sigh again, elucidating the looks on their faces, that her mother really didn’t mean for this to happen, that her father looks like he’s going to bolt if she doesn’t speak with him. I also add that it can’t harm her to just listen. If she gets uncomfortable, she can just get up and walk away and I won’t push her into anything. I won’t push her into anything now, either.
She ponders for a few moments, her parents voices quiet and hushed as they talk in the living room. They must know we’re still here, as the alert of the door slamming hasn’t sounded.
Then, finally, she sighs, shoulders slumping. “Okay,” she accepts softly. My eyebrows raise in surprise. In my image of convincing her, I did not picture her accepting.
“Good.”
“Could you come with me, though?” she asks tentatively. I blink. “I’ll feel better if you’re there.”
“Yeah,” I blurt, before I even realise the word’s even out of my mouth, “sure.”
She smiles hesitantly, reaching for my hand with her own shaky one. I take it, squeeze it gently.
Carefully, I lead her to the living room. She enters first. Anthony and Annabel’s quietened voices silence. From where they’re sat on two armchairs, they both turn to blink at us.
Annabel clears her throat. “Yes?”
Matilda huffs, looking at me in a way that says Please don’t make me do this.
I just smile reassuringly back at her.
“I’ve come…to hear you out,” Matilda says finally, glaring at the ceiling.
“Hear us out?” Anthony asks. He’s blinking in shock, like he’s just been told the world’s going to end.
“Yes.”
“Why?” Annabel asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Because,” Matilda huffs, “I can’t make a decision unless I’m…informed.”
She turns to her father. “Well?”
Anthony blinks, clearly unprepared for this. That’s clearly one of the traits they don’t share; Matilda would never do something so impulsive without a plan.
“Um, why don’t you and your boyfriend sit down?” he rasps out finally, gesturing to the sofa.
“They’re not actually dating,” Annabel mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.
Anthony blinks again, this time at Annabel. He doesn’t seem to understand what she means by that, but doesn’t open his mouth to question
Matilda, now sitting down next to me, shoots her mother a look. “Could you stop being so childish?”
“Oh, I’m being childish?”
“Yes, you’re being petulant.”
“Says the person who ran out of her own house yesterday.”
“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just fucking talked to me!” Matilda snaps.
“Tilds,” I say tenderly, setting a careful hand on her arm, “we were going to hear them out, remember?”
Matilda looks at me, and the anger in her eyes softens, the crease in her forehead dissipating. She swallows, nodding. “Right.” She turns back to her dad. “You were speaking.”
Anthony nods. “Right. Um, just, I want to say how sorry I am,” he says quietly, voice hoarse, “for leaving. That-that was wrong of me. E-especially when you saw me leaving.” My brow furrows. What the hell does he mean, she saw him leaving?
Annabel clearly shares the same thought. She looks between her daughter and ex-partner, confusion painted over her face.
However, she clearly understands this is a conversation for later, as she leans back in her chair, arms folded.
“I-I was very young, when I had you. We both were.” He looks at Annabel. “Of course, that’s no excuse, but I-I thought th-that maybe there were other opportunities out there for me,” he explains. “I had a good college degree, and I could get a good job somewhere, but I couldn’t do it here. Not in this town,
where there were hardly any jobs available–not ones I was qualified for, anyway.”
“And did you?” Matilda asks. “Get a job?”
Anthony, who’d been staring at his shoes, looks up. He nods. “Yeah, I did. I worked my way up. But I was never happy. Not like how I was with you.” He swallows. “With your mother.”
Annabel’s breath catches, and she flinches, like the news is a shock to her.
“But when I realised my mistake, I knew th-that it was already too late. You’d have been eleven already, and you’d have your own life. You’d have started secondary school. I would have missed so much.” He shakes his head, averting his eyes to the wooden floors.
“So why now?” Matilda pushes. “If you’d come back then, you wouldn’t have missed as much. Why now?”
Anthony sighs. “I-I don’t know. I just, I wanted to see if I had even a chance, that you wouldn’t hate me. Wishful thinking, clearly.” He lets out a small, self- deprecating chuckle. The sound is so close to Matilda’s that my chest aches.
“But I called your mother anyway,” he continues. “I pictured myself if she said no: I’d say fine, and then I’d be left to wallow with the consequences of my actions. I wish I could say that’s what I did.
“I just got more desperate. I wanted to see you two so badly that when she said no, I got angry. I shouldn’t have.” He shakes his head, and repeats, “I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have come here. Your mother keeps saying that you’re already going through enough, and I’ve not gotten specifics–of course, I don’t deserve any–but she’s right. I’ve just made things worse for you, and I’m sorry. I was selfish, and I’m sorry.”
He goes quiet then, and the ticking of the clock appears louder than before. The hum of the heating seems to intensify. Annabel’s cracking of her knuckles amplifies.
Matilda sighs, breaking the tense silence. “As much as I hate to say it,” she says, “I…understand why you did it.” Anthony’s head flies up, blinking in shock. “But there were other simpler ways to fix this mess. You could’ve told Mum how you were feeling, that you weren’t happy here. This didn’t have to happen.”
Anthony nods, still dazed. “Believe me, I know. I’ve thought about that every day since I left.”
“You could’ve called,” Matilda says, so quickly that I don’t think she even means to say it. Her nails dig into her thigh. My hand moves before I recognise it, clasping both her hands in my own.
Matilda blinks down at our interlinked hands, before squeezing both of mine gratefully.
Whether Anthony notices the interaction, his face doesn’t say.
“I know,” he answers, swallowing. “I should’ve called earlier than a few weeks ago. I’m sorry.”
Matilda leans back against the sofa cushions, staring at her father. Once again, an uneasy silence takes over the room. Every little shift of fabric, every little movement against furniture seems to enhance. It makes my skin itch. Usually, I’ve always been fine with silence. I mean, I didn’t like it by any means, but it was fine.
This one is different.
This one is terrifying.
The silence doesn’t seem to be affecting Matilda, though, too lost in her thoughts to hear the deafening sound of nothing at all.
Then, finally, after what seems like hours, she speaks.
“I need time. To think.”
Anthony blinks. I don’t think he even expected that she would consider forgiving him at all. Neither did I, to be honest.
“Of course,” he chokes out, voice thick. “Take all the time you need.”
Matilda and I take our leave after that. There’s no messy, awkward goodbyes. She just gives her mother a small nod before we leave together, hand in hand.
I don’t take her back to mine, though. She needs to be somewhere else, where the thought of it isn’t looming over us. Although, I’m not being entirely selfless–I know my dad will be back already. I don’t want to speak to him. I don’t want him to ask questions. I just want him to leave me alone.
He’s got enough practise, after all.
So, I take her shopping.
Not to the mall–I don’t have a deathwish–but to a couple of charity shops. The streets and stores are mostly empty, thanks to the onslaught of rain and just general November weather. We see a couple of people from school, who I say hi to, but Matilda is pretty much silent the whole time.
She sees a coat she likes, one of those woolen trench coats, but she doesn’t buy it. Doesn’t even try it on. Still, I make a mental note about it.
Just in case.
We’re sitting on a bench now in the line of trees in the park, eating ice cream. The wind whips at the almost completely bare trees around us. A tendril of Matilda’s hair blows out of her face, baring her wind-burned cheeks to my view.
“We really shouldn’t be eating ice cream, Wilbur,” she informs me huffily. Her first words in twenty minutes. “It’s far too cold to be eating something frozen.”
“Yes, but then it won’t melt,” I say. “Who likes melted ice cream?”
“No one,” she concedes, “but it’s still too cold to be eating something frozen. I’m becoming a human refrigerator here.”
“So you admit that it’s cold.”
“Yes, I’ve already said it’s cold, about thirty seconds ago, Wilhelm.”
“Well, I was under the impression that you were immune to the cold. Wearing skirts without tights, wearing shorts and, of course, your aversion to taking a coat anywhere,” I say. “One would think you’re already a human refrigerator.”
She glares at me over her tub of ice cream that’s cupped in her gloved hands. But I see a small, begrudging smile tug at her lips as she shovels another spoonful of rocky road ice cream in her mouth.
We finish our ice cream, and I go to toss them in the bin across from us. I return, resting an arm around the back of the bench.
“So,” I say finally, “what are you thinking?”
She glances at me. “About Anthony?”
“Anything, really. But that was the area I was sort of specifying, yes. Although, you could talk about anything that’s on your mind if you want. Or anything that’s not on your mind, too. Like cats. We could talk about cats.”
She giggles, the sound warmth to my chest, and she settles back against the bench, her hair brushing my arm. You’d think with the amount of layers protecting my skin from her that it shouldn’t affect me, but it does. Electric currents snake across my forearm, right up to my shoulder, up to my neck.
Probably just the cold.
“I’m just…re-evaluating,” she admits quietly.
“Meaning…?”
“Meaning that…” She sighs. “...That I’ve spent a long time blaming myself,” she confesses, “for him leaving. I’ve always been angry, of course, but there was always this nagging thought at the back of my mind. I’ve always thought that-that maybe, if I was just a little quieter, just a little less attention-provoking that maybe, I don’t know, maybe he’d have stayed. Like, maybe…maybe there was a world where he didn’t leave, where he…loved me enough to stay.
“But this conversation today, it’s just changed everything. ‘Cause I’ve spent so long thinking that it’s my fault. B-but it’s not.” She turns to me, eyes red and teary. “Is it?”
My chest aches as I lean in close enough to press a kiss to her temple. “No,” I murmur against her skin, “it’s not.”
Matilda
I sit at my bay window, a blush blanket draped over my lap as I stare out of the glass panes. My room is almost in complete darkness, just a candle flickering on my desk, filling the room with bare orange light. I flick the lighter in my hand, once, twice–sparks. The flame scintillates, and warmth brushes my cheekbones.
I shouldn’t be up at this time. It’s three in the morning on Thursday. Well, Friday, technically.
My thumb slips off the button, and the flame extinguishes, like it was never there at all.
My father is leaving.
Again.
Without saying goodbye.
Again.
To some extent, I understand why. I’ve not exactly given him a definite answer to whether or not I’ve forgiven him. If I was him, I would take that as a no. Which irks me beyond belief, because I don’t want to share that trait with him. I don’t want to share any traits with him.
Over the last five to six days, he’s stayed at a hotel. I’m not sure which one, but I know it’s one out of town. If he stayed at one in Maplewood, I’m sure the gossip would’ve gotten out quicker than it already did. But he's pretty much spent his days here, usually eating awkward dinners with us. I’ve mostly avoided him, to be honest. Organising “dates” with Will, going over to his house, exploring the farm with him.
Mum’s liked having him around, though. I think this week I’ve heard her laugh more times than I have in my entire life. I think that’s the only reason I feel sad about his leaving: her joy disappearing as well.
But still, even if I have steered clear of him throughout this week, don’t I deserve a goodbye? Surely I deserve at least that?
As if operating by themselves, my legs kick off the blanket, hand leaving the lighter behind. Stairs creak from my weight as I walk down them slowly. I’m not sure what my plan is exactly, but apparently I’ve got one.
Cold wind brushes and burns at my bare legs as I open the door. I huff in irritation when I remember what Will said to me last week.
I wasn’t a human refrigerator, he was just a human radiator.
Okay, yeah, I’m definitely sleep deprived because no way am I getting pissed off with him for worrying about my health.
I walk to the edge of the porch, peering around the corner to not be noticed. Curls blowing, I try to hear their conversation over the wind. My attempts are unsuccessful on both parts, because not only do I fail to hear anything, Anthony’s eyes find me. I’m tempted to retreat back behind the corner and slip back up to the sanctuary of my blankets, but I know that’s not a good idea. Gathering my courage, I walk over to him.
He gives me a shaky smile, and my mum turns, eyebrows raising in surprise.
I feel so bare, in only my shorts and baggy t-shirt. I’m not wearing shoes or socks, either. The gravel bites into the soles of my feet as I stop before them both.
There’s a long silence, only the roaring of the wind speaking between us. I look to the back seat of his car, seeing his bags already packed. A tupperware sits in the passenger seat, and I recognise my mum’s famous blueberry muffins. We used to eat them all the time, back before he left. Back when we were still a family.
“So,” I decide to break the silence with, “you’re leaving again.”
Anthony swallows, his hand twitching with the sleeve of his sweater. Mum looks between us both, sighing.
“I’m gonna give you two a minute,” she says slowly. She gives Anthony a tentative smile, which he returns, before she brushes her lips over my forehead and departs inside.
“I–” my father starts, before he cuts himself off with a swallow. “I wanted to say goodbye to you,” he says carefully. “Truly, I did. But you have been avoiding me all week, and I just didn’t want to give someone a goodbye who didn’t seem to want one. And you were asleep too, and I doubted you would’ve thanked me if I woke you up just for the sake of an awkward goodbye. How did you know I was leaving, anyway?” he inquires.
I huff a laugh, but nothing’s funny. “Apparently I have a…sixth sense for this sort of thing,” I say wryly.
He flinches just as I expect him to. I push down the guilt rising in my chest.
He doesn’t deserve my pity. It’s not like he gave me any.
Thirteen years ago, my father looked me dead in the eye and left anyway.
I’d woken from a nightmare of some kind, one that’s unimportant now, and I had climbed out of bed, tears falling down my cheeks. I wanted to crawl into the warmth of my parents bed. Carrying my stuffed animal with me, I shuffled down the hallway. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw my dad hurrying down the staircase, duffel bag smacking into the picture frames hanging on the walls. Frowning, I had followed him, wanting to see where he was going. Oh, how I wish I could go back.
I’d called for him, hands rubbing the sleep and tears from my eyes. I remember his gasp, sharp and cold in the hot, sticky summer night. His eyes that were so like mine met my own. He’d swallowed, crouching down in front of me.
Hands holding my small one, he’d whispered, “Go back to bed, Tilly.”
I didn’t understand at the time why he looked so scared and upset. Now I know: he was afraid of getting caught.
“Where are you going?” I’d asked.
“O-on a train.”
“Can I come?” I remember being so excited at the fact. I’d never been on a train before.
His hands squeezed firmer around mine. “No, Tilly. You go back to bed.”
I frowned, but nodded. Teddy bear dangling from my hand, I turned around to go back. I was still scared of the monster in my dream, but I didn’t want to make him sad. So I went.
But not before turning around and asking, “Daddy, will you be home by morning?”
He swallowed. “Of course, Tilly.”
And then I’d went back up to bed, scared but happy, because my dad would be returning from his mythical train journey.
I blink back to the present, to see my father standing awkwardly, obviously trying to find the right words.
Finally, he chokes out, “I’m sorry. I–When I saw you, I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve carried you back up to bed and soothed you after your nightmare. I should have stayed.”
I try to act unmoved when I say, “Yeah. You should’ve.”
“I really hope that…that someday, you can forgive me,” he says.
I cross my arms, mainly to stop myself from fingernails digging into flesh. “Me too,” I say back.
He blinks a few times, as though my answer’s unexpected, like he thought I was going to reject him.
Averting my eyes to the sky, I hold out a hand for him to shake. I know handshaking died, like, four years ago, but I’m not giving him a hug, and just walking away seems rude.
In my periphery, I see him look at the hand, before carefully shaking it. It’s weird and awkward and awful, yet it feels important. This is the first step in us repairing our fucked up, non-existent relationship.
I release his hand and Mum comes out of the front door. I have a feeling she’s been watching at the living room window just to see when our conversation ends. She wraps an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me into an odd sort of side hug.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” I say, borrowing my mother’s line from earlier. Ducking out from under my mother’s arm, I disappear back inside. But not before glancing over my shoulder to see my mother and father talking, his hands on her arms, mouths very close together.
I don’t want to watch them, so I step into the foyer, shutting the door behind me. I hurry up the stairs to my room, shivering. Warmth greets me when I shut my bedroom door behind me, the cinnamon scented candle still flickering at its place on the desk.
Shakily, I approach my bay window again, careful to keep my eyes away from my mother and father. My hand reaches for the lighter again. Flipping it over, I catch sight of the monogrammed Dad on the side of it.
I still remember the day I swiped this from the kitchen table. My mum had asked me where it was a week later, and I’d told her I didn’t know. To this day, I’m pretty sure my mother still believes it’s lost in a kitchen drawer somewhere.
When Anthony first left, I’d asked to hear the story of how my mum had told my dad– I’d still called him dad back then–they were going to be parents a million times. She’d given him this lighter when he asked for a cigarette. He’d read the monogram, and they’d hugged and kissed and they were both so excited.
Now that I’m older, I know that this didn’t happen. If someone told me I was going to be a father by giving me a fucking lighter, I’d freak the fuck out. Especially if I was a twenty-year-old in university. But still, I treasure the story to this day. Even if I know it’s not true, I like to hold on to the make-believe that he wanted me. At least at first.
I blow out the candle, and darkness engulfs the room. Sniffing, I climb under the covers, pulling on an extra blanket over the top of the duvet for more warmth. It’s almost December, after all.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try not to let the tears come as I cling to the lighter. Its edges dig into the ridges of my fingers, but I don’t care.
A sob escapes me.
I hear the front door slam, and a car speeds away.
Burying my face into my pillow, I try to muffle the sounds escaping my lips.
My door creaks open, letting a small sliver of light enter the room. I try to steady my breathing, so it looks like I’m asleep. She can’t see my face, or the lighter in my hand, or the tears running down my cheeks.
After what feels like forever, the door clicks shut.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Mum’s gone out tonight. I think she’s still grieving the fact that Anthony’s gone again. I feel sorry for her, really, I do. But I don’t understand how she can forgive him so easily. He left with no goodbye, no text, not even a note. It was like every trace of him was erased.
I vaguely remember the aftermath of his leaving. I remember being sad that he was no longer there; I remember being angry that I hadn’t stopped him; I remember that our house completely changed after that, dull colours replaced with pastels and pinks. But most of all, I remember the sobs coming from my mum’s room every night. I pretended I didn’t hear her, because, well, I was five and what was I supposed to do? And I thought she didn’t want me to hear her, anyway.
I remember never getting up after a nightmare again, though. I didn’t want another real-life nightmare to happen.
Anyway, I’ve taken advantage of my mum being out and invited Will over for a movie night. While they haven’t been forced into close proximity together since last Sunday, I can’t imagine his and my mum’s interactions being particularly pleasant. There’s always been an awkward vibe between the two–whether it’s because he’s the first boy I’ve brought home or for some other reason, it doesn’t matter. It’s been awkward. I don’t want to put him in a position where he feels uncomfortable, because I know firsthand what that feels like.
He said yes, he just had to get ready first because he was already in his pajamas after he came home from practice late. I’m sort of scared he’s overworking himself, but I don’t want to say anything. Will’s really the only sort of support I trust lately, and I’m scared that if I bring up anything too personal with him, he’ll freak out.
So I’ll leave it, for the time being.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection. Since I wasn’t planning on inviting Will over, I look a little rough. A lot rough, actually.
My nose is red from sniffling, and my mascara that I put on this morning has run down my cheeks. Soaking a cotton pad with micellar water, I remove the makeup clinging to my skin. Tossing the third cotton pad in the bin, I look myself over once again in the mirror. I still look bad, but not as awful as I did before.
I’m not even sure why this is so important to me, anyway. I’m not planning on revealing my hideously inappropriate crush on him tonight anyway, and I know he would be completely understanding if I looked horrible. But still, the thought of looking bad in front of him makes me irrationally embarrassed.
I’m applying tinted lip balm when I hear a ring of the doorbell, followed by a knock at the door. I jolt in surprise.
Smoothing down my hair with my hands,–which does nothing to help, by the way–I hurry down the stairs.
I fling the front door open, breathless.
“Hey,” greets Will, before giving me a once over.
“Hi,” I breathe out. “How are you?”
He looks amused as he meets my eyes. “I’m alright. Did you run down here?”
“Um…” I feel my cheeks flush. “Maybe?”
He grins then, and his eyebrow twitches. “Oh? Were you that desperate to see me?”
I roll my eyes. “Would you like to come in?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t judge you if you were,” he continues as he steps inside and begins to remove his jacket. “My face is very handsome. If I were a regular looking person, like yourself, I would want to rush to see me, too.”
“Please stop.”
“And you haven’t seen me in, like, a day. You must be suffering withdrawal pains from how long you’ve spent without looking at me.”
“Would you like some skittles?” I ask, bored.
“I would love some, thanks.”
I roll my eyes again, turning around to go to the kitchen. But I see out of the corner of my eye his grin widening from my annoyance.
The collection of goods isn’t as widespread as from a few weeks ago, as the invite was short notice. We have Haribos, and jelly babies and skittles and a banana bread that I baked this morning. I’ve also got a group pack of Pepsis; we’re not gonna drink them all, but we needed to stock up anyway.
We grab two Pepsis, all the sweets, and migrate to the living room. He throws the sweet packets down onto the table before flopping onto the couch. I carefully place the plate of banana bread down, and put the Pepsis down on two coasters before also flopping down next to him.
We both stare at the blank TV screen for a solid thirty seconds before Will breaks the silence.
“So,” he says, “how’ve you been?”
“Fine.” I know what he’s getting at, but it feels like lately, all we’ve been talking about are my issues. When we’re at school, we don’t really talk much, because we’re surrounded by people so we have to keep the act up. Because of that, we mainly just stand and hold hands and talk about lessons, or shit that doesn’t really have any substance. When we’re in the car on our way home from school, we just listen to music, trading turns over who gets to be in charge of the radio.
“Tilds?” he prompts.
“Can we please talk about this later?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “I just, I feel like all we’ve been talking about is me lately, and I don’t want to anymore. So could we just…watch the movie?” I ask, softening my voice.
I see his head tilt in my periphery, before wrapping an arm loosely around my shoulders. “Sure,” he concedes, voice gentle. “What movie are we watching?”
“I was thinking…” I pick up the remote, turning the TV on. “Little Women?”
“2019 version?”
“Obviously.”
“Then put it on already.”
I scowl at him, clicking on Netflix. I mutter, “Bossy,” under my breath.
He makes a sound that’s half-scoff, half-laugh, but says nothing. I know what he’s getting at anyway: he’s saying I’m bossy. Which, I suppose, isn't unwarranted.
We turn on the film, and we sit in silence for the majority of it. The rustling of sweet packets and cracks of Pepsi cans opening are the only things that interrupt the sounds of the film.
Then, during the scene of Laurie with Amy–you know, the one where they’re in the park, and Laurie tells Amy not to marry Fred?
“I have been second to Jo my whole life in everything,” Florence Pugh as Amy says, “and I will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her.”
I feel Will tense beside me. Chewing on a Haribo, I glance at him, but still keep my eyes on the screen.
“I won’t–I won’t do it. I won’t–Not when I have spent my entire life loving you,” she continues.
My heart’s always ached for Amy in that scene. I’ve always been more of a Beth girl myself, mixed with Jo, but over the years I’ve found myself relating to all four of the sisters a little.
But that’s not what matters right now.
Will’s jaw is tight when he removes his arm from around my shoulder. I look at him properly now that the scene is over.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he answers, but his voice is far away, and he doesn’t look okay. His brow is creased, like he’s had some sort of epiphany. He’s shifting on the sofa cushions, like he can’t get comfortable, which wasn’t a problem a few minutes ago. His grip is tight around his Pepsi can, so much so that the side has a small dent in it.
“Just a bit hot,” he adds, when he notices me staring. He gives me an uptick of his lips, which isn’t convincing in the slightest. But still, I don’t want to push him, so I just nod like I believe him and turn back to the TV.
If we’re being completely honest, I almost forgot about that moment. Of course I was aware something was off with him, but I got dragged back into the movie so easily that the moment was sort of pushed to the back of my mind.
End credits roll across the screen, and I turn to him, still as tense as before.
“I can turn the heating down?” I offer. I’m not naive enough to believe that he’s actually hot, but what else do I do?
“No, that’s okay.” He stands abruptly. I blink. “I think I’m gonna get going now.”
I blink again. What? “Oh. Uh, okay. Sure.”
I stand as well, and we walk together to the door. Stiffly, I watch as he pulls his shoes on and slips his arms into his coat sleeves. He doesn’t zip it up as he makes his way to the door, which strikes me as odd because he’s always telling me to wear a coat, and zip up my hoodies.
I remain silent as I unlock the front door and open it for him. We give each other awkward sort of smiles and he disappears into the black of the night.
I shut the door behind him, but I don’t go upstairs. I just sort of stay, staring at the door.
I don’t understand. I’m trying to figure out what happened between now and the two and a half hours before we watched the movie. We didn’t talk or anything, so did he get a text and I just didn’t notice?
I can’t handle not knowing, and before I know it, my hand’s reaching for the door handle and the door flies open. I don’t care that my socks get wet when I go outside.
“Will!” I call, while he’s a few feet away from his car. Even in the darkness, I see him freeze.
The wind is loud and harsh as it blows around us. My hair flies into my face, and I push it out of the way. I won’t let the weather of all things distract me from this conversation.
He doesn’t turn around when he answers, “Yeah?”
“H-have I done something?” I ask, approaching him. The cold bites at my bare legs, goosebumps rising over my skin. He’s right–I really should wear more layers.
Something in my voice must startle him, because he turns around quickly, so quickly that it surprises me.
“Um…I guess you could say that, yeah,” he replies. He huffs a laugh, like laughing at a joke I don’t understand.
“What is it?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know. The thought that I’ve hurt him makes me want to die.
“Jesus, fuck, it’s–Is it not obvious?” he questions. “No, of course it’s not,” he answers for me. “Of course everyone sees it except you. Of course everyone but the person who actually should know, doesn’t know.”
I frown. I would think he’s intoxicated if he hadn’t been sitting beside me all night stuffing his face with jelly babies. “I don’t understand,” I confess.
“Fucking hell, I can’t believe I’m doing this?” I scarcely hear him mutter. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Will–” I reach for him. I’m getting worried now.
“I love you!” he explodes with. “Okay? I’m so mindlessly, unforgettably, undeniably in love with you.”
I stagger backward, clutching my stomach. I feel like I’ve been stabbed or shot or just got some horribly bad news.
Will loves me.
He loves me.
And the thought terrifies me.
Because he can’t love me. That wasn’t the point. That wasn’t the plan.
I feel nauseous, and my head’s spinning and I can’t breathe and I can’t focus. I can’t get my mouth to form a response, other than a choked sort of sound that sounds like a sob.
Through the blur, I can see his hand flex, like he wants to reach for me but can’t. Won’t let himself. His face is pained and screwed up, like he’s just realised he’s made a colossal mistake.
I want to say something, but I don’t know what. My brain isn’t working properly, everything awful and uncooperative in my time of panic.
“Yeah,” I hear him say quietly over the roaring in my ears. Or is that the wind? Everything’s so confused now. “That’s what I thought.”
His car door opens, and he climbs inside, and I need to so desperately say something, but all I’m left doing is standing there like an idiot while tears run down my face.
I don’t understand why I’m crying. I’m not the one who’s hurt. I’m not the person whose heart just got smothered. I need to snap out of it. I need to go after him.
But Will’s car is already long gone and I don’t have a car or a driver’s license.
When did my life get so fucked?