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Chapter Eleven

I hesitate before knocking. My heart is beating wild from the run here. My stilettos are in my hand, dangling from my fingers.

My fist is tight, inches from the door and I force myself to knock. I knock hard.

I don't care what I look like, how ridiculous I am being. He told me to leave him alone but I can't. I won't let him push me away, not knowing how much he needs me.

The door opens, mid-knock, revealing a man shaken to his core. He's eluding emotions I've never seen, just by looking at me. I stand there, staring at Matteo, breathing heavy.

We move towards each other at the same time, roughly. He clasps my face as his lips come down upon mine forcefully. I gasp, dropping my stilettos, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, my fingers curling into his hair. Our teeth clash, our pace quickens and he lifts me, easily, turning back towards the apartment.
                                   
                                              ****

My eyes close tiredly as warm, gentle fingers comb through my hair. My cheek is ablaze against Matteo's large chest, my body wrapped around his, my leg draped across one of his. We're quiet, really quiet.

In a very intimate move, much unlike him, I feel his lips against my hair. I briefly wonder if this is the first time he's ever held someone like this...

Jesus Christ, Emma, of course not. He's not that bad.

I run my fingers over his chest, lightly, over the dark hair there, descending over his ridiculously tight abdomen. My eyes catch sight of the burns across his ribs running upwards. I reach out hesitantly, touching the damaged skin lightly. He tenses as his chest expands and my hand freezes.

"Do you not like to be touched there?" I whisper in the quiet comfort of his bedroom.

"I'm not used to it. Usually... women don't want to."

I blink, shaking my head. "Why? It's just skin."

"Deformed skin, Em. Come on, it's not fun to look at."

"I think scars are beautiful, in their own way. No matter the size, they show how much pain a person can take and keep moving forward," I declare gently, looking up at him.

His eyes, usually dark and brooding, are rather soft. My chest is full, my emotions gathering all into one place. I smile softly, reaching up to caress his face. He closes his long, dark lashes as my fingers glide over his pale cheek. Still clean shaven from this morning, I'm able to feel the sharpness of his jaw against my palm.

"I'm feeling so much right now that I don't really know what to do," he confesses as his eyes open slowly. "I have to keep reminding myself that we've just met."

"At this point, does it matter how long we've known each other?"

"Yes, because a week ago, I was fine without you."

"And now?" I whisper, resting my chin on my hand against his chest.

He exhales with difficulty. "Now, don't think I could ever go back to the way I lived, not having experienced what I... what I feel when you touch me." He looks up at the ceiling. "Emma... I want to tell you everything, I do-"

"I won't leave."

"You don't know what it is. Don't make that promise, Emma," he dejects, sternly.

"Then, tell me... Let me prove it to you."

"I've never said it before, ever. Not even to myself. I won't know how to push it back again."

"I think you need to tell someone about it," I whisper, bravely. "I think it's important you have someone you can go to. You don't have to tell me today or tomorrow if you feel you can't. When you trust me, I'll be here to hear it."

He lets out a delayed breath and turns his face towards mine, pulling me in tighter. His cheek rests on my hair.

"I don't deserve you," he whispers, letting me hear the raging emotions that are usually expertly held back behind his shield.

                                            * * * *

Didn't have the heart to wake you. Have a rehearsal before the show. Won't be gone long.

-M

I rest the note back onto the pillow and sit up, smiling to myself. I can still feel his hands on my body, his lips on my lips. My fingers glide across my swollen mouth and I close my eyes, reveling in the pleasure of, well, of falling for someone.

I know this isn't just a crush. This is something else entirely. What we have is far too serious to dismiss as lust yet a part of me can't bring myself to think of the word love.

Until this week, I've always believed love at first sight to be a romantic notion that is meant to provide hope when waiting for love. But I can't imagine caring for him more than I do now... so it has to be love. Doesn't it?

I stare at the ground, blinking, feeling fear. I have never loved anyone before. Not because I haven't wanted to or haven't tried. It just never happened. And now that I feel it's happening, I'm scared to lose it. I'm terrified he'll push me away.

I won't make him tell me his past but I pray he does it on his own, soon. I try to stop myself from overthinking, from trying to figure it out on my own, not wanting to scare myself with the millions of possibilities.

I run my hand through my hair, remembering suddenly that I need to plug in my phone. With everything that happened yesterday, I never got the chance.

I walk to my purse, pulling out my charger and phone and look for a outlet. I sit on the wood floor, waiting for the darn thing to start. It's been dead so long that it takes minutes just to turn on.

Pangs come in as soon as my home screen appears and I grimace, opening up my messages.

Honey, it's mom. I know you had to leave but Danny is here. He showed up to surprise you. Call me.

Shit. I go to the next one, from my sister.

I told you to go to him, not fall off the face of the earth! Pick up your damn phone! Danny just told mom that he's thinking of proposing to you? What the fuck?

My stomach drops as I re-read her words. Propose? Propose?

There's one from Danny from today.

Babe, where are you? Veronica said you had to go. I'm here, I got in last night. Why has no one heard from you?

Oh god. Oh god. This isn't good. This is not good. Why the fuck would he show up? I haven't talk to him in days. We're basically friends who occasionally fuck. Why now?

The next is from Abigail, sent an hour ago.

Emma, as your boss, I expect you to have your phone on you. Call me back.

Fuck. I press call, holding the phone to my ear.

"I need you to come in," Abigail says, immediately picking up on the first ring. No hello, nothing.

"What? Abigail, I'm on vacation. What do you need me for?"

"You fucked up, that's what and now I'm cleaning your mess. I need you to come in."

I stand up, eyes wide. "What did I do?"

"We will talk about it when you get here."

She hangs up and I immediately feel the need to vomit. I've never heard her that mad, ever. I run for the bedroom.