Love Mattheo, your greatest love.

21 questions

A.N; if you slide over there is a song. I won't tell this anymore so just know that almost every post will have a one.

My eyes start to flutter open, as a slowly wake. I'm in my dorm now, under the soft duvet. Looking around the room, trying to find my friends, my eyes land on a figure in the dark. "Hey how are you feeling." They say. I jump a little startled by the sudden voice. "Relax it's just me." He says. And then comes out of the dark.

Mattheo.

"Oh. What are you doing in here." I say confused.

"Just making sure you're okay." He says.

"Since when do you care if I'm okay." I chuckle. "I don't." He says. "Then why are you in here." "It doesn't fucking matter. Are you okay or not?" He says getting frustrated. "I'm fine. A little tired but fine." I say. "Can I ask you a question?" He questions. "Shoot," "How did you not scream? When she cursed you, how did you not scream? It's one of the most painful curses and you didn't even cry or scream. And I want to know why?" He questions.

I usually don't share my personal life. It shows weakness. But for some reason I feel the need to share. "My mother, she used to use it on me almost every day." I say. "I shouldn't have said that," I shake my head. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. Just forget I said anything." I stutter. Standing to my feet, I'm about to grab my things and leave when he grabs my wrists, pulling me the slightest bit closer.

"It's fine," He mumbles, keeping his jaw clenched. "Why did she torture you?"

I let out a sigh. I can already tell he's not going to leave this alone. "Because she hated me," I mutter, looking to the floor. "She hated me after I came out, so she tortured me, trying to make me normal. My father didn't do a thing. He was worse actually. But she tortured me cause she hated me." I repeat. I let out a breath, one I didn't even realize I was holding. His finger dances across my skin, up my arm, and to my jaw. Lifting it slightly for me to look at him. My brows furrowed in confusion. No one has ever touched me like this before. I've never alowed it. My parents always taught me to never love. 'It is weakness' they used to say. I quickly pull away, looking to the side, and backing away slowly. He looks taken aback for a moment before his facade goes back up.

He clears his throat, looking to the side, and back at the floor. He pushes his hands into his pockets.

"I should go." He states looking off into the distance. But he stays longer. He's not leaving. Why isn't he leaving?

Im starting to get nervous, I'm looking for my knife now. I don't know why but whenever I feel mad, sad, upset, stressed, anxious, or even when I feel like slitting someones throat, I always I have pocket knife in my hand, and fiddle with it between my fingers.

It's odd, I know, but everyone has methods they use to calm them. Whether it's picking at your nails, biting your lips, bouncing your leg up and down, or even sex, everyone still does something I calm them. And this is mine.

I'm rummaging through my stuff trying to look for it but can't find it. "What are you looking for." Mattheo says. "My knife I can't find it. I didn't take it to the party because I didn't have any pockets, so I just left it here. But now I can't find it." I say.

"Damn it where is it. I knew I shouldnt have left it here." I yell.

"Is this what you were looking for?" He asks. Tilting my head up, I look at him. It's in his hands. I reach over to grab ahold of it but he puts it above my head for me to jump and get it.

"Mattheo give me my knife." I say he's so much taller then me so there is no point in trying. "Say please." He demands. "Fuck no. Give it to me now Mattheo." I say sternly. He doesn't listen, so I pull out my wand and put it to his neck.