Cecilia

Chapter 27

A/n: if yall want, could you share some really good wattpad story recommendations? I'm out of stories and can't find any good or interesting ones to read :((

Also, Cecilia's header isn't loading so I'm not sure if it shows up or not- if it's not there, just know the piece after the breaker is in fact Cece's pov

Something soft and light tickles against my nose. I wipe whatever it is away with the back of my hand and it's quickly gone. But then I become aware of a light weight being pressed up against my chest.

Did I sleep with someone last night? That's the first explanation my mind comes up with.

I'm almost certain I haven't, but my brain feels foggy and my body feels weak and drained. Did I get drunk and sleep with someone?

"Of fuck," I mutter quietly, peeling my eyes open to stare tiredly up at the ceiling. Careful not to wake the girl on top of me, I slowly move under her, holding part of her body in place so she doesn't fall onto the floor.

I freeze in my place when I feel her shift, praying to god she doesn't wake up and catch me awake. Because then, it'd be the same scenario as any other one night stand: she'll see I'm up, flash me a hopeful little stare, and beg me to stay with her and accompany her to breakfast.

It's incredibly awkward rejecting them, and just as much irritating when they argue and beg harder than others.

Luckily, she stills on top of me and doesn't shift an inch again. Unluckily, her last movement ended her even more on top of me than before, and the familiar scent of...-strawberries and vanilla, is it? I can't place where I know the specific smell from. 

Exhaling steadily, I reopen my eyes, observing the room around me. Though most of my vision is blocked by a large amount of brown hair, it's easy for me to recognize my own room.

I'm not in someone else's room, that's good at least.

My eyes drift over to Cecilia's corner, dimly lit by a string of fairy lights she insists on never turning off, even in the dead of night when everyone's trying to sleep. The one noticeable thing, her bed is vacant.

Oh, God, it's even worse. I either hooked up with someone while she was in the room and asleep, which is entirely unlikely because I'd never do that, or I did it while she was out and she came back to seeing a girl in my bed. Both options could've led to her to being so disgusted into leaving and choosing to sleep somewhere else. Then where did she sleep? Is she sleeping in the library again? She's going to developed neck pains sleeping the way she does on those desks.

My mind continues to reel as the unknown lady stays dead asleep on top of me. I really have to get out of this bed. Reaching for her side again, I gently hold her in place and start to move myself again. Once I've moved a tiny inch, I stop to check that she's still sleeping before moving even more.

Finally, when my body is out from under hers, laying in a very uncomfortable position, I'm able to stand up and finally get a good look at her.

Except I really can't, because her face is faced down and buried into my pillow. The only thing now visible to me is her pile of brown hair and her white sweater.

White sweater?

Oh, God please no. There's only one person I know that wears sweaters religiously like she may die without one. And she's currently missing from her bed. I squint at her, leaning down to look at who I hope isn't Cecilia. But her long, thick brown hair poking in all directions, the smell of strawberries, her sweater covered arms wrapping around my pillows.

It is most definitely, one hundred percent Cece.

No. The realization dawns on me as I stumble back from the bed. I slept with Cecilia? How could I be so stupid? In what state of mind, drunk or high or whatever happened that made my memory of last night become so blurry, did I sleep with Cecilia?

The movement must of caused some sort of noise, one loud enough to reach her in her sleep and stir her awake.

"Hmmm?" She makes an adorable sleepy sound that I would have softened at if I wasn't so freaked out. Instead, I still and stare un-movingly at her. She brushes back her untamed hair, trying to flatten the frizziness, and blinks her tired eyes around the room. When they land on me, she stares at me in confusion for a couple seconds.

"Matteo?"

I swallow thickly. "Cecilia." Please don't be mad at me.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Why are you in my bed?" I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest almost defensively. All I want is for her to give me any answer that contradicts what I think happened.

The confused look deepens into her eyebrows before she looks down at the blanket covering her lower lap. "Oh, that."

I raise an eyebrow at her, prodding her to explain. "That...?"

"You were having a nightmare last night."

"What?" I falter, my arms falling down to my side. That's not what I thought she was going to say, and yet, it's somehow worse than what I had originally thought. I shake my head. "How did that wind you up in my bed?"

"I went over to try and wake you, but you were in too deep and..." she trails off, looking down to pick at a loose thread in her sleeve.

"And?" I prod, tilting my head down to stare at her.

"I don't know," she mumbles sheepishly, clearly trying to avoid my eyes.

I sigh, bringing a hand up to rub at the growing ache on my temples. I can't help the slow frustration brewing inside of me. Whether it's directed at her or the fact I had a tantrum in my sleep last night, it's there and it's potent.

She seems to sense the shift, because she becomes increasingly flustered and lowers her head like a scolded child. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."

"Don't worry about it." I shake my head and turn away from her, unable to hide the bitter tone in my voice.

I don't look at her for a response. Instead, now I'm the one avoiding contact as I storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

                                    .•° ✿ °•.

I'm a sensitive person. Very, in fact.

It's a well known fact to everyone who knows me, and especially my family. I cry over very small things, even when someone's voice raises just barely an octave.

So it's no surprise when my eyes start to water as I watch Matteo storm out of the room. I started to get teary eyed the second he displayed just the slightest annoyance at me, and I'm greatful he decided to leave before he saw me and recognized me for who I am, a sensitive cry baby.

I'd only been trying to help last night, truly, so my mind can't seem to comprehend nor understand his reaction.

I sniffle and hold my tears back. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I repeat the words to myself. God I really need to get a grip on my emotions and stop being sad all the time.

I shake my head and ground myself, choosing to waddle into the bathroom and to hide myself.