Boundless

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑

I don't know how Theo does it, but he just does. Whenever we're together, I slide back into old habits. It's not really his fault; he's oblivious to it all.

When I'm with him, I feel free from judgment and remorse, exactly what I've needed. With Theo, I have the freedom to make my own choices, which this year has proven to be a bit reckless.

I'm young, and I'm bound to make mistakes, particularly when there's a certain curly-haired brunette who has no idea I've relapsed into my addiction.

It started small, like last time-a smoke here and there in Theo's dorm, a few dull parties that needed livening up, then some forgotten nights in Hogsmeade.

My so-called friend Mattheo is too wrapped up chasing after girls to notice my struggles.

Two months in, and I'm back at square one. My sobriety is out the window, and it's only March.

My academic slip hasn't gone unnoticed either. Professor McGonagall has caught onto my tardiness and missing assignments. Despite her warnings, I now find myself facing detention.

As I enter the classroom, I see Mattheo Riddle is the only other student here.

We haven't talked much since we slept together weeks ago, though I know he's been checking on me through Pansy.

It's sweet, but it feels insincere. I regret letting my guard down with him.

I choose a seat at the back, but Mattheo watches, confused by my distance. "Miss Black, let's not isolate ourselves in detention," McGonagall instructs, gesturing for me to sit next to Mattheo.

I reluctantly move next to him. He looks awkward, not smug.

"I don't want to see you fail, Miss Black, not after last year. You get a redo, and I'm sure Mr. Riddle would be willing to help if you asked," McGonagall says before leaving me to grapple with my neglected assignments.

I have no idea where to start. I'd skipped classes with Theo or been too unwell to attend.

Mattheo watches me struggle. "Shall I start timing how long you'll last before asking for help?" he smirks, nodding at his watch.

I focus on the assignment, wishing I could throw a tantrum to match my frustration.

Then, a first-year interrupts, reporting a fight to McGonagall. She leaves, advising me to use my resources, which now include Mattheo.

"Teachers really trust us, huh?" he chuckles, loosening his tie.

"Black?" He snaps his fingers in front of me. I push his hand away, not ready to engage.

"Stella," he says more gently. I cave and look at him.

"Talk to me," he urges.

"I'm not feeling chatty," I reply, turning away, but he touches my face, forcing eye contact.

"Are you embarrassed about us?" he asks quietly.

"No," I answer bluntly.

"Good," he says, a hint of a smile forming.

I remove his hand. "If it's not about that, then why won't you talk to me?"

Mattheo doesn't know he poured his heart out to me after we were together; he doesn't know I promised not to go back to Sebastian or that I feel the same way he does. How can I just act like nothing's changed?

"I've been busy," I say vaguely, moving to browse the books.

"Busy doing what?" he presses, following me.

"Stuff," I shrug.

"Theo stuff," he says coldly.

I spin around, shocked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't think I see you sneaking into his dorm, or skipping class?" he challenges.

"Surprised you've noticed with all the attention you've been giving the girls," I snap back.

"So you want my attention on you?" he retorts, trapping me against the bookshelf.

"No, I'd rather you didn't notice me at all," I reply, holding back my frustration.

"I don't think that's entirely true, Black," he smirked, his breath warm on my neck.

I swallowed hard, struggling to breathe. Why does he make me feel so weak?

"I don't care what you think," I retorted sharply.

He leaned closer, his voice low in my ear, "Getting flashbacks yet?"

I hated him in that moment. I hated how he made me feel.

Shoving him away, I snapped, "Can you stop being such a narcissistic jerk for just one minute?"

His eyes narrowed, his gaze cutting through me as if I'd insulted his entire bloodline. "What the fuck is your problem, Black?" he barked.

"You're my problem! Not everything revolves around you!" The words burst out before I could stop them, and I saw his expression falter.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," I said, trying to backtrack.

He cleared his throat. "No, it's fine. I see how it is, Black," he replied coolly.

"Don't be like that. You were all over my space; I felt trapped," I attempted to explain, but he was already walking back to our desk.

"It's fine," he repeated, stuffing his belongings into his bag. "Matt?" I called out, using his name for perhaps the first time.

He turned, surprise registering on his face at the sound of his name. He looked hurt, and it made me feel terrible.

It's not like Mattheo hadn't thrown his share of sharp comments at me in the beginning, but perhaps we had softened toward each other over time.

"I'm sorry," I started, my voice barely a whisper. He gripped his bag tightly, his expression unreadable. "I don't regret sleeping with you Stella, but I do regret trying to be your friend."

My heart sank as he walked out, leaving his words hanging heavy in the air. I fought back tears, wondering if perhaps he was right. Maybe we should never have tried to be friends.