NOTE: This story was tough to write, because it required me to get inside the head of Matt Camden – not a very pleasant place to be. Please do not believe that I share Matt's opinions about women. When I look at the character that was created on the show, this is how I see him.
As you probably know, I do not own any of these characters or anything else having to do with the show. Those are solely the province of Brenda H. and her minions. With those caveats, please read and enjoy.
Marry in Haste …
Chapter Three: Into Temptation
When Lindsey answered the door she had composed herself a bit, but he could still see the telltale signs that she had been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy.
"Hi," she said, her voice throaty with unshed tears. "Come on in."
Matt stepped into the tiniest studio apartment he had ever seen. It looked smaller than the inside of his parents' minivan. But Lindsey had done her best to make it seem bigger. All the furniture was light-colored and of a style that made it appear to be floating like dancers on tiny wooden feet. A large mirror on the back of the door gave an illusion of space. Her kitchen area was spotless, with no dishes or food visible anywhere.
Matt thought of the one-bedroom apartment he and Sarah rented with what seemed to him an astonishing amount of Sarah's money. The rooms were crammed with knickknacks, stuffed animals, and other items that Sarah couldn't bear to leave behind with her parents. Every drawer and cupboard and closet was stuffed with possessions, especially in the kitchen, where they had to have two sets of everything – one for meat and one for dairy. You'd think an exception could be made for Jews who had to live in New York City, Matt sometimes thought. As it was, you couldn't open a door in the place without risking a flood of objects pouring out on you, and the tables and counters were constantly cluttered. In contrast, Lindsey's place seemed light and airy, despite its tiny size.
Lindsey closed the door behind him and took his coat. "Thank you so much for coming, Matt," she said. "I hope I didn't take you away from something important."
"No, I was just getting off work."
"It's just that I don't really have anybody else to talk to." Tears began to spill over the edges of Lindsey's eyes. "You see, Bobby called tonight and he … and he …"
Matt had always hated seeing girls cry. He had even felt that way about Sarah the first couple of times. But Sarah cried so often and so easily, it began to feel like a practical joke she was playing on him.
Lindsey's tears were obviously not a joke.
Matt did the only thing he could think of to do. He took her in his arms and held her, feeling the sobs racking her shoulders.
"He dumped me," Lindsey said, her voice muffled against his sleeve.
Matt led her gently over to the sofa, sat her down, and handed her a box of tissues he found on the coffee table. They were almost gone. He sat next to her, curling sideways to face her, and took her hands. "Tell me what happened."
"I don't know! I thought everything was fine! I called him last week and we even talked about maybe having the wedding this summer. I thought he was happy about it." Lindsey took her hand out of his to wipe her eyes with her tissue. "Then tonight he calls, he says that he doesn't want to go through with it. He's not so sure anymore. I thought he was kidding, so I laughed. But he wasn't kidding." Her voice broke on the last word, and her fragile composure fell apart completely. "Then he tells me it's all my fault. He still wants to get married, just not to me."
"That's ridiculous," Matt said firmly. "Any guy would be happy to have a girl like you." It was his father's voice, his father's words coming out of his own mouth, and Matt thought about how much he had always hated it when his dad spoke in meaningless clichés like that.
"But it's true!" Lindsey sobbed. "I'm the one who insisted on moving to New York. I could have gone to Georgia State and seen Bobby every weekend, but when I got the acceptance from Columbia, all I could think about was how wonderful it would be to live in New York City. I'd never been anywhere before. Bobby and I had been going out for so long, ever since junior high school, and I thought he'd always be there for me."
Matt felt a little uncomfortable. The truth was that Lindsey was very pretty, even when she was crying, and he felt like a typical male jerk for thinking about that at a time like this. He tried to concentrate on what she was saying.
"I should have known better! Now he thinks I must be cheating on him. He accused me of moving here so I could run around behind his back." Lindsey fought off a fresh volley of tears. "How could he! He knows he's the only guy I've ever been with, ever!"
"Been with?" Matt repeated faintly. Did she mean …? Somehow he had always thought of Lindsey as pure and perfect, like an angel who lived on a higher plane than all the people around her.
Lindsey renewed her sobs. "He's the only guy I've ever loved!" she wailed. "How could he think that I'd do that to him!"
Matt heard himself murmuring words of comfort to her as he stroked her hair, which was smooth and smelled like strawberries. He hardly knew what he was saying, but eventually the words seemed to calm her down a bit.
"Oh, Matt, thank you so much just for being here," Lindsey breathed, curling up against him.
Matt could hardly hear her anymore with her face pressed against his chest. His heart was pounding dully and his head felt thick and gauzy, leaving him unable to think of anything to say. She felt so good next to him. Her body was so soft and seemed to fit so perfectly around his. Lifting her head from his chest, he tried to tell her that she would be all right, that he would be there for her.
Instead, he found himself kissing her.
Impossibly soft lips pressed against his, then opened, and he breathed in her scent of soap and tissues. In an instant his arms were around her. She gasped as his hands reached under her bathrobe and found the crescent of bare skin between her pajama top and bottom. Then they seemed to be moving of their own volition, sliding under her pajama top and up her back, reaching her sides and her arms and then past them. Without separating their mouths he leaned her down into the side of the sofa and lay on top of her, his hands caressing that warm soft flesh, wanting only for the kiss to last and last, as long as possible.
Faintly, as if from far away, he heard her voice muffled against his mouth. He ignored it.
She turned her head away from his, freeing her mouth. "Matt, please stop."
He barely heard the words, involved as he was in nuzzling her cheek, kissing her jaw and her neck.
"Matt, we can't do this. Stop. Stop it!"
She gave him a little shove, and he finally drew back. It was testimony to how far gone he was that for a minute he only wanted to grab her again and keep going, ignoring her pleas. But then his senses returned, and he realized what he had been doing.
Lindsey was looking at him in a way she never had before. "I'm sorry," she said. "I never should have called you, it was wrong of me."
Matt was speechless. What was she apologizing to him for, after what he'd been about to do -- after what he'd wanted to do? He should be the one apologizing. What if he hadn't stopped? And then he remembered Sarah at home, waiting for him to get back from work, and the magnitude of his transgression hit him like a blow to the chest.
Lindsey was still staring at him, wrapping her bathrobe around herself. "I think you should go," she said.
Matt could only nod and slide back, away from her, trying not to meet her eyes. He got up off the sofa and picked up his coat. But he had to say something – he had to try to make things right, even if it was hopeless, even if the pain in his chest threatened to make speech an actual impossibility.
"I'm sorry," he finally managed to say. "I'm so sorry. Please believe me, I didn't mean to do it. I didn't plan it. It just happened." He heard the pathetic, sniveling tone in his voice and despised it.
"I know," Lindsey said stiffly. "I just think you should go now."
"I'm going," he said. The words piled up unsaid: all the things he wanted to tell her about how beautiful she was, how Bobby was crazy for dumping her, how she had been the only thing he looked forward to in his whole life. He couldn't say any of it now. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung on her closet door, he was overcome with such self-loathing that he was nearly sick. Yet he still managed to walk over to the door, open it, and let himself out.