Dorm 5108 | Mattheo Riddle

two.

I'm not much of a conversationalist–no, scratch that. I'm not a conversationalist at all. It's not that I can't talk to people, it's just a preference to avoid it as much as I can. Most people have a problem with this. An example would be my old dorm mates back at Durmstrang, but I never felt the need to justify my behaviour to anyone. I believed my uncaring personality didn't affect anyone; no one cared enough to be bothered.

The problem with conversing is, the more I talk with another person, the more they want to know about me. They want to dwell into my life and pry open every locked door. They want me to expose my inner thoughts and darkest secrets. They expect me to have the same responsive attitude and have me ask about their lives–past, present, and future.

I'm aware of the persona I exude; insensitive, uncaring, heartless. But it's not that I don't care about other people, it's more that I don't allow myself to bring about a connection between the two of us so I would care. It's a protective barrier from the future hurt that could come to fruition. I wasn't born like this–I was moulded into this. I was shaped into this kind of girl because of the environment I grew up in. The shut door inside my head is full of terrible conversations and memories that I don't want to think about, let alone talk about, for a second.

I feel if I do, I will unravel. Every layer of my being will disintegrate and I won't be able to face even the sun.

It is why I am the way that I am.

I am this way so that I can hide my haunted past. I am this way so that I can still wake up in the morning and focus on my education. I am this way so I can try to live another day.

As I dip my spoon into my morning routine of peach yoghurt, I close all of the negative thoughts out of my head. I don't live a miserable life (at least, not anymore). I live an apathetic life and sometimes, when I really sit down and think about it–I'm pretty sure I know which one is worse.

"Morning. Rhi, right?"

I look up from my small breakfast and almost do a double take. When I first met Mattheo, he resembled me physically in my natural state. He didn't look put together. His hair was amok, had an odour that made me think he spent 23 out of 24 hours with an alcoholic drink in his hand, and reminded me of a person from my past I don't care to remember again. He was unattractive and I don't mean unattractive visually. I couldn't care less for apparences because I have no right to judge.

Alcohol free Mattheo is a different story.

To say Mattheo cleans up well is an understatement. A complete and utter understatement; an enormous lie, even. If I were to see Hungover Mattheo next to Monday Mattheo, I would say they were two different people. Polar opposites. Monday Mattheo is well adorned. His hazelnut curls fall onto his forehead–messy, yes but put together. It complements his honey coloured eyes, seen clear as glass and shine under the light of the common room's kitchen. His uniform is intricately tailored to every corner of his stature, fitting in all of the painfully right places from top to bottom. Every crease is ironed, every piece of dust is gone, and every button is firmly affixed to the clothes on his lean body, putting most top models to shame.

Someone upstairs was generous in the looks department when creating Mattheo.

Extremely generous.

I am reminded of words, telling me I came from a leftover pile of rejected parts. I'm sure I can attribute that to my present day problems.

Mattheo is confident, not cocky. There's a difference. It's a humble confidence not making me dislike him. He knows he's attractive but he doesn't look down at me because he thinks he's more appealing than I am. Many people I meet do; they turn their noses and don't bat a lash at me, finding me unworthy of the slightest attention. Mattheo's not like this. Years of experience with people gave me this innate skill to read someone by watching them for a second. I almost want to sigh at his appearance. Maybe because of envy or maybe because of something else.