All Over Her

Chapter 42: You

Time stops when I'm with him. As well as any reasonable thinking my brain could possibly muster in even the smallest millisecond. I take small breaths the more we kiss, as if I'm swimming around and letting myself be consumed by him. But I'm not drowning. I'm nowhere near any deepness that could destroy me in an instant. I'm waiting around the safe side, dipping my head down just to let myself experience something different. Feeling him touch even the smallest strand of my hair ignites something in me. Some type of infatuation. A raging myriad of emotions that I can never truly begin to understand but I know I want to be engulfed in it.

I open my eyes for just a second, as his hand brushes hair out of my face I see remnants of Daphne's red lipstick. I snapped back to where we are and why we're here.

I push him away softly, turning my head away, "We can't."

"Why not?" Confusion smeared all over him.

"How do you expect me to be here kissing you with her lipstick all over you."
He laughed a little, "I didn't think you were the jealous type."

I'm so not. "I'm not Mattheo. It's just honestly embarrassing."
"How?"
"What do you mean? You have another girl all over you while you're making out with me."

"And what about you? Walking in here with Weasley."

I can't believe he's bringing up Fred, again.

"That is completely different."
"How is that different? I can tell he has feelings for you. It's damn near obvious the way he acts."

"Fred is my friend. Don't disrespect him. He doesn't have feelings for me."
"Oh yeah? And how do you know?" He said, fixing the collar on his shirt.

"Because we talked about it."

"So you're just having casual conversations about your feelings for each other?"

"No, that's not what's happening. We just talked about it after the whole spin the bottle."

"Really? You had to have a conversation about a little peck he gave you during spin the bottle? When I kissed you you nearly ran away."

I was getting infuriated by the second. He acts so entitled to me when he does the same thing to me. If anything worse. At least I care about Fred.

"No Mattheo, after spin the bottle."

He relaxed slightly, "What happened after spin the bottle?"

He looked anxious. I couldn't lie to him.

"Fred kissed me."

His eyes grew darker, snarling down. "He kissed you."

"Yes. He did."

"Did you kiss him back?"

He looked at me patiently.

"No. I don't like him like that. He's only ever been my friend. And we talked about that. We established that and agreed on it."

"So you can have these raw heart-to-hearts with him. But not me."
He was more disappointed than anything. He looked lost.

"It's different with you..."

"How? How is it different with me?"

"Because how we act with each other is different than with Fred and I."

"Yeah I can tell." He began to turn away from me.

"Don't just leave the conversation!" I yelled.

"I think this conversation is over."

"Really? Over Fred?"

He paused, "No, not about him. It's never been about him."

"Then what's this about?"

"You let everyone in. Everyone. Except me. I'm far from perfect but I want to try. If not for you then for myself. But it's like you don't see any potential for me to be that way."

I get what he's saying entirely. And he's right. I have been closed off. Not because I don't believe in him. I see him try. I just can't let myself be vulnerable. To feel is to feel all. I can't feel everything. If I feel everything I'll feel pain, I'll feel what it's like without him. So I can't let him be there in the first place.

I stayed silent. Blinking at him slowly.

"Whatever. I'm gonna wash up." He looked at me up and down.

Continuing, he exhales, "You know where to find me."

He walked away. The way he always does. The way we always do. Never giving a concrete close to anything. Never allowing each other to process in the moment. Which is a horrible thing to do to another person. We're horrible to each other. We always have been. We don't want to. We each understand that. But we can't seem to communicate. I can't communicate. He can't communicate. It's easier to detach yourself. That way, the problem isn't really yours to deal with yet. It just happens to be a problem that's there. We just happen to have the same problem. With the same people. About the same situation.

He's my problem and I'm his. The only real solution is each other. I've never tested that idea out. I'm too scared to. What if we do get together? Then what? What if we see that we only work out as we were before? Whatever relationship I had developed with him would be gone? What if when we're together we fight even more? What if we grow to loathe each other? Well we did. Or we do. Or we still do. Or we have. We do. We currently do? I can't even keep track of how we feel for each other. Which is also another reason why we shouldn't be together.

Or should we. Despite all of that. I'm magnetized to him. He makes me feel fulfilled in a way no other person has before. He's consumed my mind entirely. All free thought is him. And when I think of him, it was different before, now all I think of are our moments. I do think of that night with him. The way he knew how to touch me. How he was so caring and careful with me. As if he was scared he'd ruin me. The way he looks at me too. Like he was admiring something graceful. Something he valued.

Even if I just imagined all of that. I think of the concrete things with him. How he took me to his mother's spot. A person he talks essentially nothing about. He took me to her place. A place that was special to him. That he cared about. That he understood was just some personal place. In our moments he did everything for me.

He knows me like no other person does. Or at least he knows how to understand me better than anyone else. Like the necklace. Fuck, that necklace. The way I felt when I got that necklace. Like whoever gave it to me knew exactly who I was without even saying a word. A person who knew that even in a place as far as Saturn. As far as space. I admire it. I look to it. I take solace in it. I find it peaceful and comforting. I dream of it. The silence. The darkness mixed with the glimmer of lights.

And the letters he'd send. The small things he'd right. They'd never be overcomplicated. They'd sit there in their little basket, reminding me that someone felt some sort of way for me. Felt about me so strongly that they'd take the time out of their day to write me these letters. To tell me I'm beautiful. Or that they noticed a little quirk about me. He made me feel special. He consistently made me feel special. Even when I'd hurt him so deeply he still tried to make me feel special. So in reality, whoever he was before. The Mattheo I knew as a kid, that isn't him anymore. He wasn't perfect, he knew that, but I adore him for trying.

So I've decided, after I relax a little, that I'll be honest with him.

I'll be honest with him and look him in his eyes. His ever knowing eyes.

And I'll say, "All I want is you."