Starstruck *Matt Smith* (Editing)

Chapter 13

Remember when I said all of that stuff about how love is infinite or whatever?

It didn't last.

I glare out my window, ignoring Matt's yelling. "Stella! Please, I'm begging you, eat something, take a shower, come out of your bedroom, anything!"

I shout back grumpily, "No!"

"What are you doing, reliving your teen years?" He says frustratedly.

That hit me. Hard.

"Leave me alone, Matt, please," my yells turn into whispers as the tears form in my eyes.

He sighs loudly. "Stell, please, at least come out here."

I open my book, To Kill a Mockingbird, and read some pages. I can hear his footsteps grow fainter.

My teardrops hit the page as I read the third paragraph.

I fall asleep like that, my hand resting on the windowsill.

I wake up the next morning, to find someone sitting on my bed.

"Stella? Honey," says a vaguely familiar voice.

I open my eyes a little wider.

"Stella?"

"Mom!" I say, half angry, half happy.

She encloses me in her death grip. "Oh, how are you, honey? I missed you so so much!" She squeezes my ribs tighter.

"Mom? I can't breathe," I wheeze.

She loosens herself. "I'm sorry. But your boyfriend," she whispers into my ear, "I'd be jealous."

"Oh please, Mom." I roll my eyes. And I add, "He's not my boyfriend."

She frowns. "That isn't the can-do Stella Louise I remember."

I sigh. "Yeah, well, a lot has changed."

"How about we talk about it over tea? I saw this very quaint bistro, and-"

"I'm sorry, Mom, but I can't." I say.

"Honey, you need to leave this room. Matthew has told me you've been here for almost a week, eating maybe a cracker or two." She crosses her arms. "And I refuse to let you stay in here for the rest of your life! I'll ground you, if I have to."

"I'm a grown adult!" I protest.

"Besides, you are 27 years old. You need to be out, doing fun things, with young people."

"Um, eww!" I groan.

"We are leaving."

"Fine. But I won't be wearing shoes."

She looks at me hesitantly. "Let's get you changed, then."

She rushes into my closet, pulling out a coral colored skirt, a white blouse, and a leather drawstring bag. I moan in protest, until she's practically dressing me. Yanking a brush through my hair, I rethink this choice.

Mom shoves me out the door where a depressed Matt lays, unshaven, as if he's been guarding me.

I kick him. He stirs and rubs his eyes. "Huh?" He looks up at me.

I may look pretty, but I really don't want to be.

"We're going, Matthew," My mother informs him. "We'll be back before two o'clock."

"Mmhmm, okay...." He fell back asleep.

Mom basically shoves me into her rental car the moment we get outside.

"We need to talk," she says.

"Yeah, Mom, I need to tell you something," I start.

As Mom slams the door, her face stretches into a grin. "Matthew's going to propose!" She practically yells at me.

"What?!?" I screech. I frustratedly run my hands through my hair. My fingers became caught in some tangles.

She nods wildly. "Matthew and I have been talking about it since the moment we met!"

"This is horrible!" I screech again.

Her grin fades. "Horrible? What do you mean, horrible?"

"Mom," I grip her shoulders. "I have BPD. Maybe more illnesses, I don't know."

"And?" She raises a brow. "Honey, you're getting married."

"Married?" I exclaim. "Who left you to decide this?"

"You won't say yes?" Mom says, disappointed.

"Of course not!" I scream. "I've known him for six months. You honestly think I'd marry him? My life isn't a fairytale, Mom, and it's very far from it. I'm not going to go ruin a man's life by making him live with me for the rest of his life."

I lean back, silence filling the car. Mom starts the car.

"Girls' Day."

"What?" I ask frustratedly.

"We need to have a Girls' Day."

"Mom, we haven't had a Girls' Day since I was, like, 14."

"I know."

I sigh.

"Borderline Personality Disorder?" she asks quietly. Tears fill my eyes as I nod and hug her. "Oh, my precious little girl." She rubs my back as I sob into her shoulder.

"And they think I might have Bipolar Disorder," I whine into her fleece jacket.

"Honey, you can't give into these disorders," she straightens up.

I wipe my eyes on my wrist. "What?"

"You have to want to do things."

"It's hard, Mom. I feel like I'm going to die if I leave my room," I whine again.

"We're going shopping," she turns on the radio in the car.

I smile slightly. "Then I guess I'd better go find some shoes."