Fools in Love

24. A Whole Other Level of Overbearing

Matt's apartment is quiet, save for the soft rummaging in the kitchen. He gets us drinks, like I'm some sort of royal guest that he has to serve. Even going so far as to placing the cup in front of me with a tray of snacks. He's stalling. Understandable considering his reactions. Shaking. Eyes whipping this way and that. Scratching at the top of his thumb nail until he accidentally tears the flesh below.

I grab his hand before he can walk away, before he can do more damage. He eases into the couch, hand cold and clammy in mine. I don't know if he's ready to talk. I don't think it's right to force him, but I don't want what happened to be a recurring incident either.

"Are you ok?" I smooth over his hand, interlocking our fingers. "If this is bothering you too much--"

"It's not that," he interrupts. "I don't want to scare you off."

That's worrying to hear. What Matt has kept to himself must be more than what most believe. That's usually the case with everyone. There's always more to the story because only those directly involved know the full truth. Whatever Matt's truth is has managed to shatter the typically blunt actor.

I hope to help him along by asking, "Does this have to do with what you said before, how Marceline is controlling?"

The mention of her name is enough to invoke a reaction, a flinch and tense jaw.

"It all began with that," he whispers, taking his hand from mine. A chill invades from his absence, but he leans away, buried into the corner of the couch like a cowering child. When next he speaks, his eyes harden to ice.

"The girls don't remember Dad, not like I do, and they don't remember the fights. It wasn't just us Marceline tried to control, but him too. Dad had enough, walked out on us to never be heard from again. You think she'd catch the hint, see what happens when you push someone too far, but without him around she just found another victim."

Matt, the one she already had her claws into based on what he has already mentioned thus far. He was a child actor, possibly even before his Dad left. I'd ask, but Matt continues on, gaze distant. A thousand miles away.

"She determined everything; what I ate, when I ate, what I played, when I played, what I wore, where the clothes were from, how I talked and even who I hung out with. Every detail of my life was measured to better hers. The food and the clothes and the friends, all were somehow business connections or another way to make her look good. It got to the point where, if she wasn't around, I didn't even know what to do. I'd sit and stare, unclear of what I was meant to do because I rarely had any choice myself."

Violence has never been on the forefront of my mind, but I would very much like to punch Marceline in the face, or preferably much worse. Controlling was an understatement. She was brainwashing him, turning a child into a machine to work for her benefit. How any of her children managed to escape her grasp is beyond me. A miracle if I've ever heard of one.

I'm surprised Matt has chosen to start so far back. Surprised, but grateful. To understand his tale, to understand anyone's, it's best to start at the beginning.

Matt's voice shutters when he says, "It was like I was a bird in a cage, my wings clipped so I'd never soar. She wanted it that way, for me to cling to her, and it worked...for a while."

He grows quiet, cheeks flushed. From rage or embarrassment, maybe both, I'm not sure.

"What changed?" I ask, guiding him along.

"I met someone," he answers, arms crossed. Trembling fingers grip his arms, nails nearly piercing the skin. "Andrew Miath, son of the CEO of MiaCon."

MaiCon? Why does that name sound familiar?

"MiaCon was a chemical manufacturing company that had some big ties with Forever Beauty."