Dorm 5108 | Mattheo Riddle

five.

Mattheo has placed me in a difficult position. I wasn't sure how to act in front of him afterwards, or if we were classified as friends now. If anything, what he did for me has left me in complete confusion because for my whole life, my only friend has been Pansy.

But even with Pansy, I haven't divulged stories from my past. I never thought to because it was either irrelevant to bring it up, or she could never possibly understand what I went through.

It helped talking to Mattheo about something that I have pushed down for so long, and in a way it has felt relieving. I suppose I have always been afraid to tell people because I was scared they wouldn't be able to empathise. I thought they would downplay my experiences, making it seem like living with my parents was no big deal–everyone has a sob story and this was mine. I was afraid they wouldn't believe me, and think that I was making the whole thing up for compassion's sake.

Mattheo defies my negative thoughts; he responded genuinely, bringing in his prior experiences with his own parents to help ease away the pain that rested on my heart and mind. He has left an impression that was far better than when I first met him–changing my view on him for the most part. In my post reaction with him in the following weeks, I have unfortunately done what I have always done; act like nothing happened and continue on with my apathetic and dispassionate lifestyle.

But he surprises me.

He carries on with the forehead kisses, one before classes and one before bed. I don't reject them–I let him kiss me because I've never felt true ardent emotions before him. All that I've known is animosity from family, so a part of me wants to hold onto this tiny, profound act from Mattheo for as long as I can.

I know the kisses don't me anything to him. Even with his explanation, I don't understand why he bothers with me. He could have said 'Okay, leave,' but he didn't–he didn't throw me out of his life because it would have been more convenient, he changed his behaviour for me, and hasn't been drunk out of his wits since that night. I can't say the same for his dating but at least I'm not getting phone calls at two in the morning to come and pick him up.

I appreciate his actions in helping me be more comfortable in our living area.

Flipping through the TV channels, I rest on the sofa while hugging a cushion across my chest. I spent most of my Saturday with Pansy, wondering if I should tell her about what happened with Mattheo. I have put it off for days, and then weeks, because I didn't want her to make a big deal out of it considering:

1. It wasn't a big deal.

2. I never talk about my life unless absolutely necessary

And 3. Mattheo is still very much in love with Ria.

It wasn't like he aimed for my lips and missed–though I'm certain that is how it would sound in Pansy's head.

She's a romantic and a daydreamer.

Pansy believes in true happiness and fluttering fairy tales. It's another reason why I refuse to tell her my past. I don't want to be the person that puts out her brightness and enjoyment of living.

I change the channel on the television and hear the common room door unlock. I keep my attention fixated on the screen in front of me, but in my peripheral view I see Mattheo walking through with a girl by his side. She clutches onto his arm with strict tightness that only a crowbar could tear her away from him.

"Rhi," he acknowledges as he walks his date through the living room. His strides are with purpose–slow and strong. The girl, on the other hand, is flopping all over the place and using Mattheo as a steady post. She skips a glance over at me before returning her attention to Mattheo.