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Twenty Eight

Songs For This Chapter:

John Mayer - Stop This Train

Berlin - Take My Breath Away

The Police - Every Breath You Take

- Matty's POV -

My fingers looped around Andrea's curled hair, the pull in her black hair showing where her hair tie clamped onto her head. I smiled lightly, my eyes adjusting to the way she looked under the light and to how she felt against me, the covers being the only barrier between our bodies. She seemed to nuzzle into me, and I brought my thumb up to stroke her cheek. She looked serene and extremely tired, and I nearly laughed at how much of a contrast that was to last night. Last night she was wild and full of energy, but she made me feel things in ways I didn't know could be felt. She was so fucking sexy while going at it too, and she had the best looking body is ever seen, despite the small bit of stomach she had, but that was completely natural. I didn't blame her for it, I just thought it was one of her perks.

Slowly, I rise out of bed to grab the purple shirt I was wearing yesterday off the floor, lightly lifting her so I could place it over her shoulders. I didn't think she'd appreciate being so open with me, at least not when it was morning, and that thought upset me for a moment. But then I thought about Ben and all she hadn't told me, and maybe there was a reason for her secrecy. I most definitely wanted to know however. That I was sure of.

The sheets ruffled as I moved, however and that seemed to disturb Andy, her eyebrows crunching inwards and her breath staggered. I thought I woke her up, and I paused, not even daring to breathe too hard in case that bothered her. But her eyes seemed to snap open, and she didn't even notice me, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. Her hair was teased up on one side and her makeup was smudged, the residue left on my white pillow case (why anything I had was white confused me, but that's besides the point).

She attempted to swallow, a crease forming in her forehead as she removed her hand for long enough to squeak out, "where's your bathroom?"

I pointed to a small door in my room, that bathroom only used by myself but she looked in dire need of it. She looked so sick, and she felt hot against my skin. She seemed to leap out of the bed, ignoring the fact that she was nearly naked and wearing my shirt loosely, the buttons half done so most of her stomach showed. My shirt covered lower than the middle of her thigh however, and I couldn't remember seeing anything as she bent in front of the toilet and heaved the contents of her stomach into the white ceramic. A piece of me was repulsed, but she didn't stop, and it wasn't until her hands clenched around her hair to keep it back that I realized she was crying as she did so.

Despite her pain, I looked more terrified than she did and I was by far more uncomfortable. I'd need seen someone so small release so much in such a small amount of time, and it scared me. She was so frail and skinny compared to how wide her hips and shoulders were, that I couldn't help but notice the loss of weight on her. She was much skinner than she should've been, and she looked sickly, and I watched her reach her hand up and click the handle of the toilet. That was the only sound for a while, the turning of the water wash away her food from previous nights, until it because quiet and I realized Andrea's breathing was irregular, and her hands were shaking. Frowning, I slipped on my boxers that were left on the floor last night and watched her close the lid over the seat slowly. Her legs were bent under her, and she was previously leaning forwards, but she bent back so her thighs touched her calves and her arms crossed over the front of the seat. Dipping her head down between her arms, Andrea's back raised and fell slowly, then grew in pace until a sob escalated her mouth and I hurried my pace, kneeling next to her.

"Andrea," I whispered lowly, trying not to scare her in case she was ashamed, my hand reaching out slowly to brush her hair from her face, but she flinched and positioned herself away from me.