c h a n g e -o f- h e a r t

• c h a p t e r e i g h t •

• m a t t y •
"as if I'd actually want her anyway"
As if I'd actually want her anyway.
As if I'd actually want her anyway.
He'd lashed out, he knew it. He'd seen the look on Violet's face as the words tumbled out of his mouth. Her eyes filling with hurt and confusion. Why had he spoken without thinking? Because he was hurt at Rose's words. Because he knew Rose was right. He never should have kissed her sister.
He had kissed Violet.
It wasn't a passionate kiss by any means. It was soft and sweet, like her. She'd tasted like tea and mint, in the sweetest way. He could get lost in her if he'd let himself.
If she'd let him.
But then he'd opened his mouth.
It wasn't his fault, he reasons with himself, it was Rose's. She'd said the things that had set him off. He knew she was right, but he was still angry. He walks to his flat, his mind going everywhere. Anger and frustration building in his chest, hating himself, hating Rose. He reaches his flat and before he can help it, he drives his fist into the wall. Again and again until his knuckles are bloody and the wall is dented.
He'd fucked up. He hated saying sorry, and he'd apologized to Violet. That has to count for something, right?
He owed that girl a million apologies, but he was too proud. Seeing her face after he said he didn't want her sent a chill through his heart. He didn't even know he still had one until that moment. He hated that she made him feel things he didn't want to feel. Things he'd tried to drown out with drunks, booze, and other women at the party after she had left.
Most of all, he hated how much he wanted to kiss her again.

Violet
It has been a week since I'd tried to attain the unattainable and was left feeling like an idiot. The parties had been moved to another member's house but neither Rose nor I went. We hadn't really spoken much since she'd found Matty and I in my room. She wasn't mad at me, we just didn't have much else to say on the matter. We're sitting down with our tea when Rose's phone rings. She checks the ID and sighs, "hey, George what's up?"
My tummy does a weird flippy floppy thing.
"No, I told you, we need a bit of space." Rose sighs.
"George, I don't want her around Matty. Not since last week."
So George knew. They probably all knew. My cheeks burn in humiliation.
"Anna's there?"
Pause.
"So he'll be all tied up then?"
I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about the way he's holding her, making her feel like she's the only one. Making her feel special.
"Oh, he's not even there. Okay, well sure then. I'll run the idea by Violet , but I'll come for sure."
She hangs up and looks over at me, "any chance you'd wanna go to a party? Matty won't be there."
She can probably guess my answer by the look in my eyes and so she sighs, "okay well I'm going to go, if that's okay with you."
I nod, "yeah totally. Have fun."
Rose disappears into her room to get ready and I hug my knees further into my body. Matty is with that Anna girl. Probably the blonde he was with at that party. My face burns in shame. Matty was right. Compared to her, I was nothing. He wouldn't, he couldn't, actually want me anyway. He said so himself.
After a while, Rose steps out into the hall, wearing a red dress and tall black heels. Her honey colored hair is curled to perfection and pinned back. As always, her makeup is perfect. Sometimes I wonder if we're even related. She's beautiful and graceful. Men want her. I'm plain and awkward. If I looked like her, maybe I could capture the attention of a man like Matty. Maybe. Rose grabs her black clutch and looks down at me, "okay I'm gonna leave, are you sure you don't wanna come?"
I shake my head.
"Suit yourself. I'll see you later!" She gives a wave and steps out into the night.

• • •
I'd lost any sense of patience I might have had. Restless, I stand up and pace the living room, trying to get my thoughts to calm down. My mind is moving a mile a minute and I can't cling on to one coherent thought. I walk to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water and then change into my cozy clothes-leggings and an oversized grey sweatshirt. I had hoped that it would calm me down, but I'm still restless. Suddenly there's a sharp knock on the door. Confused, as we're not expecting company, I walk over and open it hesitantly. The person on the other side is clearly intoxicated, a bottle of some sort of alcohol in his hand, half drunk already. He has on a leather jacket with a thin white t shirt underneath and his black jeans.
Matty.
He pushes past me into the flat and then turns around. I turn from him and close the door. I walk into the kitchen and he follows close behind.
"What are you doing here?" I'm glad that my voice doesn't shake.
He looks at me through pained eyes, "I wanted to see you."
I ignore this, "shouldn't you be with Anna?"
He lets out a low chuckle, "no, I dropped her days ago."
I've learned that Matty picks up and drops girls all the time. He'll spend some time with them until he gets what he wants, and then gets bored and moves on, leaving them with nothing. I'm sure some of them were nice girls too. Sweet girls . Didn't deserve something like that and someone like Matty to ruin them. If I let Matty in, I would become like one of those girls. Just someone else for him to use until someone better came along.
"That's terrible," I scold him, "they way you treat women?"
"I'm not one to be tied down," he shrugs and then takes another drink from his bottle.
I sigh, "I think you've had enough, don't you?"
He laughs and continues to drink.
"Matty, stop!" I don't want to deal with Matty's drunken behavior. It's too unpredictable. Too dangerous. I also just don't want him around me right now in general. His words from last week have been echoing in my mind, tearing at me piece by piece.
"Please, put the bottle down," I beg him, softly.
Matty looks me dead in the eye and lets the bottle go. We both watch as it crashes onto the floor and shatters into pieces, the remaining alcohol running everywhere, the smell filling the air. At least it didn't get on the carpet.
I sigh and bend down to begin to clean it up, but Matty stops me. "I'm sorry," he whispers.
I know it's hard for him to say he's sorry, I know he has issues with his pride, but for once I don't let that cloud my judgment, "you made a huge mess, Matty! Why?! You didn't have to! What have I done to you? What did I do to make you dislike me so much? You've been a bit of a jerk ever since we went to the coffee shop and I don't know why! Whatever it is that I did, I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry!" My face is prickling, my eyes are full of tears, "I just don't know what I did." I say the last part in a whisper.
"I don't know what you did either, what you do to me," his voice is low as he steps closer to me, "I don't know at all."
Then he crashes his mouth against mine. Hard.
Last time he tasted like mint and freshness, but tonight he tastes like cheap vodka.
Last time his lips were gentle on mine, but tonight his mouth is hungry against mine.
Last time he was sweet and gentle, but tonight he is rough and hard.
We shouldn't be doing this, I think as he nips at my lips. He backs me up against the wall, trapping me, and brings his hands to lace in my hair, holding me to him. He dips his head down to kiss my jaw and then moves down to my neck.
I can't breathe. The stench of vodka is too overwhelming.
"Matty, stop," I whisper. He doesn't seem to hear me as he moves back to my lips, pulling me closer. I place my hands on his chest and push, "Matty! Stop!"
He stumbles back and brings a hand to wipe his mouth, not taking his eyes off of me.
I can't have him like this. I want him so badly, but I want the sweet, gentle Matty from the day at the coffee shop, or the one who came into my room last week and begged me to let him take care of me. This Matty is sloppy and too drunk. He's harsh and his kisses are rough. He holds me to him as if I have no choice but to kiss him.
My voice is barely a whisper as I say, "maybe you should leave."
Matty's eyes turn cold but he says nothing.
I look down at the mess on the floor, the broken glass sort mirrors with how I'm feeling right now. The vodka still sitting on the tile floor of the kitchen. I bend down and begin to pick up the shards of glass, ignoring his glare burning into me. Once it's apparent that I won't be saying anything more tonight, Matty turns and leaves again, slamming the door behind him loudly. I sink to the floor and rest my back against one of the cabinets and for the second time within a week and a half, I cry over that stupid boy.