infatuation // m.h

48

I woke up on the kitchen floor with Matty's head in my lap. I groaned, my head pounding and my vision blurring a little bit. The hangover from last night's drinking was rearing its ugly head.
"Shit." I groaned, running a hand through my hair.
"Shhh. You're so loud." Matty mumbled, half-asleep.
"What happened last night?" I mumbled groggily.
"We came home. It was hot, so we came and laid down on the tiles." Matty mumbled with a laugh, opening his eyes to look at me.
The kitchen blinds were open, allowing the piercing morning light to flood in. I shielded my eyes and blinked the sleep out of them.
"What time is it?" I yawned, leaning over to grab my phone that had been discarded on the kitchen floor. 12:07pm.
"Jesus." I laughed.
"Why? What's the time?" Matty asked.
"Midday." I giggled. Matty chuckled softly.
"I have to go." I said quietly.
"Why?" Matty asked, pouting.
"I haven't painted in weeks and Jo needs stuff for the next auction." I explained, getting up off the kitchen floor. Matty was still lying there, not moving.
"Please don't go." He pouted again, getting up to kneel in front of me. He grabbed my hips to stop me from moving, hugging me against him.
"Matty, I have to." I said, rolling my eyes with a laugh.
"No you don't." He mumbled against my waist.
"It's my job, Matty. I have to go." I said.
"Yeah, but it's not a real job." He said.
My eyes widened. "Not a real job? Wow. Thanks for the support, Matty." I spat, shoving him away from me and walking towards the door.
"Nikki," he said quickly, grabbing my hand. "You know that's not what I meant." He frowned. He pulled me to look at him.
"Fuck off." I seethed, jerking my hand out of his grip.
I slammed the door behind me.

I took the elevator up to Jo's. She opened the door with a welcoming smile. She could instantly see that something was wrong.
"Come on. Paint." She said as I followed her to the studio. I smiled. She knew me well.

"So what's gone on?" Jo asked once we were settled with canvases and easels and palettes.
"Matty." I sighed.
"What about Matty?" She coaxed.

"He said this," I gestured to the painting in front of me. "wasn't a real job."
Jo sighed. "People will say that all the time. You just have to live with it."
I bit my lip. "It's - It's not even about that." I said.
"What's it about, then, love?" Jo asked, throwing me a curious look from behind her painting.
"I adore him. I love him so much. But I feel like all we do is argue and then make up. When I'm with him I forget anything that's happened between us, even if we're fighting. I hate that one of us is always jealous. I hate that I can't imagine not being with him. I hate how empty I feel when he's not around. I want to get married, eventually. But I know he doesn't want that, not really." I poured my thoughts that I'd bottled up for weeks out to Jo.
"You're addicted." She murmured.
I sighed. "Yeah. I guess you could call it that."
There was a pause as we both took a moment to think. "I love him so much, but I know it's going to kill me in the end." I whispered.
"Oh, honey." She said pityingly.
I ignored the tears brimming in my eyes. "I feel like everything's slipping. Crumbling." I admitted, finally saying what I really wanted to say.
Jo tutted and urged me to speak more.
"I guess there's no major problems with us. But I'm constantly finding myself saying 'what's the point?', you know? I feel like it's ending, all of it. And I don't want it to." I said, allowing a sharp sob to rack my body. Jo walked over to me wordlessly and enveloped me in a tight hug. I let tears roll but suppressed the sobs aching in my chest. I didn't want to cry. I was sick of crying all the time.

I painted for a good hour or two, finishing one painting and starting a second, before I decided I'd had enough. I'd just needed time to cool off.
"Thank you, Jo. Honestly." I said, giving her another hug.
"It's fine, Nikki. You know you can come and paint here any time." She smiled at me affectionately.
I thanked her again and then left her apartment.

I took the elevator down. I felt this bubbling, strange anxiety in my stomach, like I wasn't sure if I wanted to go home. Before I could doubt myself any more, I opened the door.

Matty was sitting on the couch, on his phone. His guitar was resting on the couch next to him and a bottle of red was sitting, half empty, on the coffee table.
"Nikki," He said as I walked in. He placed his phone face-down on the lounge. I couldn't deny that there was still tension between us. "I'm sorry." He apologised.
"Yeah. Me too." I said, feeling the obvious awkwardness between the two of us. I walked towards him and lingered at the edge of the couch for a second.
"C-Can I sit here?" I asked quietly, pointing to his guitar taking up the opposite end of the couch, next to him.
"Yeah." He said, moving it. I could feel the strange, quiet, awkward tension between us. I felt like it was the morning after a one night stand. Things felt weird. Stilted.

I noticed we were avoiding eye contact. I wanted to ask why, but I didn't want to make things even worse. So I ignored it.
We sat together for a bit. I pulled out my phone, since he was back on his. We didn't speak. There was a heavy, empty silence that hung over us. I wanted to ask him if he felt it too. I didn't.

Our hands touched and I noticed that I pulled away slightly out of instinct. Matty's face flickered for a half a second but resumed its blank expression afterwards. I didn't get the butterflies or sparks like I used to when we touched. What was wrong with me?

Things didn't feel comfortable like they used to - we used to be able to sit silently together, and it came so naturally. We used to be able to talk for hours. I used to look at him and feel weak at the knees. He used to look at me like I was poetry. Why wasn't it happening now?

What had changed?