slide away {lorenzo berkshire}

52. right where you left me

"I'm not totally mad at you. I'm just sad. You're all locked up in that little world of yours, and when I try knocking on the door, you just sort of look up for a second and go right back inside."
- Haruki Murakam

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Lorenzo Berkshire

I'd always thought Cassie would be the one person who wouldn't let anyone walk all over her.

She'd hex a boy for talking down to her, laugh in the face of anyone who dared to tell her what to do, and hold grudges so fiercely it was almost impressive. I'd been on the receiving end of it enough to know.

But that was before Mattheo.

I'm not sure what I expected when he showed up at Hogwarts, silent and unreadable. But it was so much worse than I could possibly ever have imagined.

I'd seen the way he looked at people. At her.

I hated him.

Not in the careless way you hate a rival Quidditch player or someone who talks too loud in the library when you have a History of Magic assignment due the next day. I hated him in that quiet, bone-deep way where you can feel your jaw lock every time they walk into the room, where their voice sets your teeth on edge before you've even thought about why.

There was something behind his eyes - something unhinged. He didn't just get angry - he snapped. I'd seen it at breakfast when he went after McLaggen, seen how fast he'd turned from quiet and calm to pinning him to the table, ready to smash his face in over Cassie. Yeah, McLaggen was a cock, obviously, but Mattheo didn't even know her back then.

I'd started watching him more closely after that. The way his jaw clenched whenever someone so much as glanced at her too long. The way he positioned himself between her and anyone else, his hand on her arm like a warning. It wasn't protective. It wasn't even possessive. It was territorial. Like she was something he owned, something he would kill to keep his hands on. And from what I had observed already, that wasn't outwith the realms of possibility.

I'd seen him snap over nothing - tiny things most people wouldn't even notice. But with him, it was like every little thing was life or death.

I'd seen the pattern forming. The late-night arguments that spilled into the corridors - sharp words, Cassie storming past, eyes flashing but wet at the edges. By morning, she'd be right back by his side, like nothing had happened. Sometimes smiling. Sometimes quieter than usual.

She forgave him so easily. Too easily.

That wasn't Cassie. She didn't fold like that.

But with him, she did.

I'd noticed the way she'd flinch when someone brought up his name, like she didn't know how to explain why she was with him. I'd noticed how she didn't talk to me about anything anymore - no jokes, no teasing, just small talk that tasted bitter on my tongue.

He's a psychopath. That's what I kept thinking. A ticking time bomb wrapped up in casual smirks and that quiet voice of his. And every instinct in me screamed that she was getting pulled into something dangerous.

I told myself to stay out of it, to stop watching, to let her make her own choices. But I couldn't. Every time she walked in with him, his arm brushing hers, that little smirk on his face like he'd already won... it burned in me like acid.

I hated seeing her with him. Hated knowing what he was doing to her, even if she didn't see it yet.

But I couldn't walk away from her either.

Because no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how much I told myself she'd made her choice, I still cared. Too much.

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