Acquaintances

Chapter 52: Yes

“Hey, I was beginning to think you’d died or something.” Matt chuckles, surprise written across his features as he opens the door to his apartment. I push past him with a small groan, wondering if I should’ve come here. He’s already annoying me.

“I’ve been busy.”

“You haven’t been texting me back.”

“Yeah I’ve been busy.” I repeat gruffly.

“Are you okay? You don’t look well…”

“I’m fine. Seriously everyone needs to stop stressing about me.” I slump down onto his bed, looking at him from across the room.

“Is this a booty call?” He asks with a small giggle.

“No. I’m really not in the mood. I just want to talk to someone who isn’t going to judge me.” I say quietly, dragging out the last sentence and pulling off my shoes.

“Okay. What about?”

“I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. This dress is digging into me, can you unzip it?” I stand, turning around for him to undo the zipper.

“Tease.” He chuckles and I roll my eyes, shrugging my dress off when the zip is undone.

“Shirt.” I demand and he chucks me a white shirt from the floor that I slip on after taking off my bra.

“You really don’t look well Charlotte, can I get you anything? Water? Pain killers?”

“I’m fine. Don’t act like you’re helpful and caring. That’s not what this is. We’re not in a relationship, you don’t’ have to worry about me.” I hiss, crawling under the blankets and pressing my back against the wall as I lie on my side.

“What does that even mean? Because we’re not in a relationship I’m not aloud to care about you? I love you, you know this, why are you being so weird?” He questions.

“I’m not being weird! I’m just sick of everyone in this whole fucking city.”

“Why? What happened?”

“What do you think happened?”

“Something to do with one direction.”

“Yep. But I don’t even care about that, and it’s sort of scaring me. Like I should be furious at Harry right now, but I don’t care enough anymore, and it’s a really weird feeling.”

“Well if you don’t care about it why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset over that.” I huff.

“What are you upset about?” He turns on a lamp before turning off the main lights in the apartment and sliding into bed beside me.

I bite my tongue for a second. Why does he make it so easy to turn into some psycho-analytical person who only spews out deep comments on life conditions and talks in half sentences?

“You should’ve seen the way they looked at me.”

“Who?”

“It was like I’m some big problem that they have to fix.”

“Who?”

“Gab, Linda, Louis, Harry. I don’t know.”

“Why do you think you’re a problem?”

“I don’t think I am. They think I am.”

“Why though?” He asks, his hand resting over my hand and squeezing it tightly.

I take a deep breath, saying this out loud will make it feel so much realer.

“Apparently I don’t eat enough.”