Broken Souls (Souls #1)

Chapter 28 - Destiny

I follow him up the stairs quietly, not saying a word. When we get to his room he closes the door and walks across his room to sit in a chair. I stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. I've been to his room before, but didn't really have the chance to properly take it in.  Now I have that time.  I stare at his dresser that has his laptop and speakers spread out on top of it.  In the corner of the dresser sits a can which holds pens and pencils.  At the bottom of the can has a few pens spread out.  Sticky notes scatter across the desk varying in colours from bright yellow to pastel blue with words written in blocky lettering with a black pen prompting him of important reminders and notes.  My gaze strays to his neatly made bed and then his carpeted floor - which is surprisingly clean. I imagined in my mind that his room would be a mess like Hayden's is with socks, boxers and unidentified junk littering the floor. Matthews' voice snaps me back to reality.

"You could take off your bag and sit on the bed," Matthews says quietly to me.

I slip my school bag off my shoulder and quickly walk over to the bed. When I sit down on it I draw my knees up to my chin. We sit in together silence for a while, staring at each other. Each one of us gathering our wits to speak.  Finally I find my voice and decide to break the ice. "Nico was in on this, wasn't he?" I ask Matthews as I tuck stray strands of hair behind my ear. "To bring me to you?" I clarify.

Matthews nods.  "Yes, he was. He was in on it as well as some of the football team and Jasmine."

"Jasmine," I say dully.

"Yes," he says. "She told me what happened." He swallows hard before continuing. "She wasn't here for the reasons you thought she was here for."

I furrow my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I can't tell you the whole story, it's hers to tell, but the gist of it is that she is having problems at home and she needed a place to stay. Mine just so happened to be next best place to Nico's. She can't stay at his anymore."

"So, you were letting her stay here for a while."

"As a favour for Nico."

"Oh. I thought-"

"I know what you thought. But, it wasn't that."

I breathe in deeply, taking in the information. I spent useless time hating Matthews for nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry, Matthews."

"Sorry for what?"

"This whole mess," I answer.

"It doesn't matter. It was all just a big misunderstanding."

"That I created," I state.

"We all had a hand in it," he says. "But, Destiny, you need to understand something. I don't just want the title of 'boyfriend.' I want to be the one person you run to whenever you're in need. I want to be the one you come to when you want a shoulder to cry on. I want your trust. Your heart. Your love. I want you. All of you." He takes a deep, shaky breath and continues. "You already have my trust. My heart. And my love. All of it."

I swallow hard as he says this. Love. It's a destructive and beautiful word all at the same time. A word that makes my heart do funny things when he says it.

"All of me?" I whisper, "Even the broken bits?"

"Especially those. I'll mend your soul as you have done with my broken soul." Matthews shifts in the chair. "What do you say?"

I lick my dry lips and open my mouth to answer him, but before I can his bedroom door swings open and I see the silhouette of his father standing in the doorway. 

"Madison, who are you talking to? You better not have a girl up here!"

"Like you're one to talk," he says to his father boldly. At that same moment I notice the bone thin woman standing close behind him. 

"What's wrong Harry?" The woman asks in a hushed whisper. Her voice sounds somewhat familiar and I realise that it is the same voice I heard on Matthews' cell phone that day when he gave me a ride home. This must be the woman who his father is with. She takes a step forward and my eyes widen when she is fully in view. Her face is lined with age, her blue eyes look irritated and her hair isn't a natural glossy colour, but looks rather dry and dull. If I push past all that though and try to picture a youthful face with clear blue eyes and glossy, healthy hair I paint the picture of the person who I haven't seen in around thirteen years.

My mother.

"Mom?"