Each time, a hiss leaving his lips as he said unrepeatable things about what he expected from me as his fiancee, as his future wife. Things I’d never been exposed to in my sheltered life.
And who knows what else he would’ve done if Matthias hadn’t shown up?
God, Matthias.
What was he even doing there? Why did he say that thing about being his fiancee to Patrick? And why the hell did he almost kiss me?
Did I… want him to kiss me? No. No! I refuse to believe that, but the fact is that I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t.
There’s a soft knock on the door and fear floods me, my breath stilling in my lungs. It can’t be Patrick. Even in my haze, I saw what he looked like when Matthias dragged him out of the room. He wasn’t in any condition to be knocking on my door.
Another knock.
“Clarissa, it’s me. It’s Matthias.”
The realization doesn’t bring me any more comfort.
I’m not sure I’m any more ready to face him.
“Clarissa. Open the door.” This time, the knock is harder. More insistent. “I just want to check that you’re okay.”
I take a step away from the door, a mistake when I hear the wooden floor creak under my feet.
“Clarissa. Open the fucking door.” There’s a pause. “Please.”
My chest lurches. The way he said “please” sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth in the twenty something years I’ve known him. That’s been happening a lot lately. Being surprised by Matthias. and not in a negative way. Has he changed? Or have I? That’s a scab I definitely don’t want to be picking at.
“Clarissa.” His voice is gentle, kind, as he says my name. More surprises. “I don’t want to ram this door down after what you’ve just been through. But I’m worried about you, and you might not know this, but I’m not good at controlling my actions when my emotions take over. So, if you don’t open this door within fifteen seconds, I’m going to break this door in. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Please. Open. The. Fucking. Door.”
Part of me wants to see how he’s going to react. Surely, he’s not actually going to ram the door down. As he said, he only would do that if his emotions take over, and there’s no reason for him to be feeling any sort of emotions about me. He’s probably feeling nothing.
But I know that’s not true.
It’s not nothing.
“Five more seconds, Clarissa.”
I reach for the door handle and slowly turn it, wondering what I’m going to find on the other side.
Hands shaking, I pull the door back a few inches.
A hand shoots through and Matthias pushes it open, pushing me back with it.
“Oh!” I gasp, tripping over my feet as the door almost rips my arm out of my socket.
For some reason, it doesn’t occur to me to let go.
I’m halfway to the ground when I feel myself pulled upright and up against a firm chest.
A warm, strong, heaving chest.
“Let go of the door, Clarissa,” I hear, and a rumble spreads over the chest.
Unclasping my hand, I glance up to see him looking down at me, something burning in his eyes.
Not nothing.
But I don’t know what it is.
He takes a deep breath and says, “You alright?”
“Um, yes,” I mumble, my brain completely blank. “Thank you for catching me.”
There’s an almost imperceptible shake of his head that makes his fringe fall over his eyes. “No, I meant from before. Are you okay?” His hands contract around my biceps as he asks the question.
“Oh. Um… sure… I’m just fine…” I can’t think with him touching me. The two of us have never voluntarily touched each other before. And now, in the space of twenty-four hours, he’s touched me on my hands, my arms… my cheeks.
“You’re lying,” he accuses.
I wouldn’t know if I was. My blank brain was not yet working.
He opens his mouth and then closes it, rethinking what he was going to ask. I do the same, opening my mouth, wanting to know what he was going to say, then clamping it shut, suddenly remembering who he is.
A fucking Baxter.
I step back, shaking him off me. “I said I’m okay,” my voice cold.
His hands, still hovering in the air where I stood, clench. Then, as if he notices, he drops them and shoves them into his pockets. A scowl plants itself firmly over his face.
“Fine,” he mumbles, but the confusion in his voice is clear. I can’t blame him. I’m fucking confused about what’s going on as well. And not just about him, here. The entire last fifteen minutes have been one giant headfuck.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, taking another step back, brushing the hair off my face.
His eyes follow my hand for a split second and then back to my face. “I… er, I left my phone here last night. I came to get it.”
That’s not a surprise; in the last week, I’ve already collected a healthy pile of belongings left behind, such that one whole desk drawer has been dedicated to the lost and found.
Just last night, after I’d come back from taking the trash out, Clementine had handed three phones to me.
My spine freezes over, remembering the conversation Matthias and I had had in front of the club last night. And how, after I sent James out to clean up the mess of scattered cans, he had come back telling me that all the cans had been gathered, piled into the ripped bag, and placed on the curb. It could only have been Matthias. It had been only minutes after I’d run away from him.
“Have you got it?” Matthias asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Have I got what?” I snap, embarrassed that he’d caught me in a daydream about him.
A little smirk pulls at his lips. “Have you got my phone? I left it here last night. It must’ve been on our table.”