don't get too attached - matt sturniolo

chapter fourteen

(a/n: this chapter was in the wrong place 😭 but thank you to those of y'all who voted on it already)

i had no idea where i stood with matt. after holding his hand during the movie and hurrying home with a grin on my face, i was anxious to see how he would treat me at school.

but he acted as though nothing had happened, and i was complacent to play along.

every now and then, when i would be aimlessly scribbling instead of taking notes or reaching for a piece of paper, i would feel the phantom press of his fingers, and i would be left breathless at just the thought of contact with him.

"can't hang out today," nick lamented, banging his head on the desk in front of him.

"why not?"

"our parents are going through papers or something and they need a ton of space, so we can't like, claim a room." he said, his voice muffled by the table.

"you can come over to mine," i blurted out.

"are you sure? we don't want to invade your space."

"it's fine. just give me some time to clean up and i'll text you when i'm ready."

"getting to see your natural habitat? this'll be fun," nick snickered.

i worried over my words until lunch. i couldn't guarantee that i would feel entirely comfortable having them there. the notion of boundaries had long faded, and i was fine going to a house that would be vacated within the season. but having them in my home, where i go every night, it seemed dangerous.

and then there was the subject of my father. i shuddered at the thought of having to explain their presence.

"we're going over to (y/n)'s," nick said by way of greeting. chris lit up immediately and he slapped me repeatedly on the shoulder. thankfully, i had gotten used to chris's physical expressions of affection and took it in stride, ruffling his hair.

matt gave me an appraising look. "are you sure?" i nodded mutely.

after school ended, i rushed home to do a bit of tidying up, which meant picking up every other room and overhauling my bedroom. i thought my closet might burst with all of the crap i had shoved in it.

with a heavy chest, i nudged my father's bedroom door open. he was once again unconscious, and i could smell the musky, fermented scent of alcohol on him.

come to think of it, i hadn't seen much of him in the past couple of days. i had been so focused on the boys that i didn't leave much room to worry over my dad.

worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, i made a note to call the doctor later, to set up an appointment.

i shot a quick text to nick and sat in the living room, nerves eating away at me.

but when they burst through the door and clambered over to my worn sofas, i realized that though the setting had changed, they had not.

and then i saw matt trailing his hand over a plastered handprint i had made in kindergarten, and i felt a twinge of sympathy. this was the first completed home they had ever seen. i took stock of the pile of throw blankets on the cushions, the dirt marks on the walls that neither of us remembered to clean, the school pictures and scattered papers around the room.

would they notice the blatant missing pieces around the house? would they see interspersed spaces in the cabinets from when she had taken her favorite cups and mugs? would they see an untouched stack of towels in the bathroom, accompanied by a bottle of shampoo that had been on its last dregs for years on end? would they see where she has picked and chose, opting materials over her family?