These last episodes have been so cruel to my poor shipper heart and I needed an outlet for the pain. I'm lazy and mad, so I didn't bother proofreading. Sorry for all the mistakes.
Ok, now back to sobbing and screaming.
She shouldn't be here. She should be on her way home, like a good daughter, not in a dimly lit storage closet at the Jam & Roller.
Matteo's lips move from her jaw to her neck, and she stifles a gasp, her hands clenching the soft material of his shirt tightly on their own accord.
The feeling of his hot breath on her skin and the loud and rapid beating of his heart against her chest make her dizzy. She's grateful for his strong hands holding her against him and the cold surface of the wall she's pinned against; her knees are too weak to hold her own weight and she's sure she would have collapsed on the floor otherwise.
Luna can't quite remember how she ended up in this position: they'd been arguing, there'd been shouting... then they were kissing.
After all the lies and all the fighting, they had agreed they couldn't be together anymore. It had been a tough decision, but Luna had been sure it was for the best. He's hurt her too much, and her heart can't handle any more lies or false promises.
Still, she never imagined staying away from Matteo would be so hard. He's everywhere: at school, at the Roller, in her dreams and nightmares. She sees him even when she closes her eyes, she hears his voice in the wind. His scent stays with her every moment of the day and the memory of his touch plays on repeat on her brain. No matter where she goes, he follows, and it's driving her insane.
The worst part is that she actually enjoys it, his constant presence in her life. She lingers on her thoughts of him, indulging on the bittersweet memories of his lips on hers. Every time he is physically near, she finds a way to move closer. She even goes out of her way to get into any sort of stupid argument with him, just so she can see the fire in his eyes every time they are at each other's throats.
In no way does that mean that she hasn't tried to forget him; she has, with all her might. The problem with trying to stay away from Matteo is that it makes her feel like she's tearing a limb from her body; it's too difficult and messy, and it hurts. She doesn't know what's more painful anymore: Staying with him and his lies or trying to be apart.
She's come to the conclusion that Matteo is a drug, and she's an addict suffering from withdrawal. She needs him like she needs oxygen, and she'll have him any way she can get him, even if her heart breaks even more in the process.
Matteo's lips have returned to hers, and he moans against her mouth as one of her hands moves to the nape of his neck, grabbing and pulling at his hair. His reaction makes something in her snap, so she does it again, pulling hard enough that it probably hurts.
Matteo pulls away from her, a confused look on his face. Luna can do nothing but stare at him, rage boiling inside her.
She's mad, furious even: at him, at herself, at the universe. Why did everything between them have to end up like this? Why can't she just forget about him? Why does she keep coming back after all the pain they've caused each other, after everything he's done?
Tears start to blur her vision, but she can still see the flame in Matteo's eyes dimming until it turns to smoke. She knows then that he'd been fighting it too, the anger and disappointment, but his defeated gaze tell her that he's given up as well. They are both sick and tired: of fighting, of each other, of trying to ignore the pain.
So when his mouth comes crashing against hers desperately, she kisses him back with all she has and when he bites on her lip so hard that she whimpers, she lets him. He doesn't complain as she angrily takes off his shirt and proceeds to run her nails against his back, tearing at his skin, and she doesn't even flinch when her back hits the wall even more forcefully than before.
She feels hot tears running down her face, and when she opens her eyes, she notices Matteo is crying too. It is a sight so heartbreaking that if feels as if she's been stabbed in the chest; even if some tiny, cruel part of her feels satisfaction in knowing that he's just as devastated as she is.
His hands burn as they run along her skin and his kisses sting, but she is too exhausted to even try to pull away. So she lets him roam her body and lets herself touch him in return.
She knows that when they finally walk out of this forsaken closet, there will be bruises on her neck and scratches on his shoulders, their eyes will be red and dry from crying and their minds will be numb to the world. Right now, she doesn't care; right now she just needs to feel the pain. So she lets him break her, and he lets himself be shattered, and they both let themselves hurt.
