Monday morning came too soon and not fast enough. I got to school early and entered the gym hoping (even knowing that it was probably futile) that Matthew would be at school.
I had come to the conclusion over the weekend that the reason I was so abnormally obsessed with him was because of the horrified look he'd given me as he'd left. If I could just find out why he'd left - which was undoubtedly a very reasonable and normal answer - this crazy fixation would end.
I was the only one in the gym, of course. Was I really so daft as to think - what - that he'd be there waiting for me? Ha! Besides, even if he was going to show up in school that day, I was way too early to find out.
With a sigh, I leaned against the folded-up bleachers and closed my eyes, the now-daily disappointment coursing through me. Of course he wouldn't be here today. I shouldn't have let my hopes up.
"Hey," murmured the most musical and masculine voice I'd ever heard, near my ear.
My eyes snapped open and I jumped in shock. There, less than a foot away, leaning towards me and gazing intently into my now wide-open eyes, stood Matthew Black. He was so much more gloriously hot than I'd remembered; my breath caught in my throat, my heart thudded painfully against my ribs, and I would have liked nothing better than to stand there and ogle at him like an idiot for the rest of my pathetic life.
I quickly regained my composure.
Had I despaired of ever seeing him again? Certainly. Was I aware that my utter and probably unhealthy obsession with him was both abnormal and incredibly creepy? Yes. Did that knowledge stop me from instantly becoming both euphoric and feeling that everything was suddenly right in the world the instant I'd heard him speak? Of course not.
"I apologize," Matthew began, "I was incredibly rude last Monday. Unexpectedly and unexplainably running out and all."
His voice! It was so much better than I'd remembered. How was it humanly possible to look and sound that good?
But then I suddenly realized that (as if they weren't enough) it wasn't just his voice and looks that drew me in. There was something more - something that I had subconsciously noticed a week ago; something that had intrigued me; something which had kept him foremost in my thoughts. I couldn't really explain what this something was.
There was just some unexplainable pull I felt toward him. Maybe it was something in his eyes, something in the way he looked at me. Maybe there was just something in the way he carried himself: reserved, yet at the same time confident, smooth, and masculine. It couldn't have been his personality - I didn't know his personality. I didn't know him. Yet - I still wasn't quite sure what it was - but something deep inside me - maybe instinct - was telling me that if I got to know him, I would fall deeply and hopelessly in love with him. And that scared me. It was in my nature to shy away from anything that had the potential to cause me pain. And this scenario was brimming with potential pain.
If I was completely honest with myself, I'd have to say that despite the amount of people that cared about me, I really didn't love anyone. Not one person. If I let myself truly, deeply love someone, and then something happened to them - well - I already knew that pain. And I didn't want to experience it again.
So I don't let myself love anyone. I mean, I like my friends and family. I'm very, very fond of them. I like them so much that yes, I would be hurt and depressed if something happened to any of them. I'd bawl my eyes out. But honestly, I don't truly love them. Not to the point where it would cause me physical pain if I were to be separated from them. I'd be crushed, yes, but it wouldn't kill me. The fact that every fiber in my being yearned to get to know and maybe even love this boy - that they were so ready to do so - absolutely chilled me to my core.
"I didn't even properly introduce myself," Matthew continued lightly; my revelation hadn't taken more than a few seconds, "So... Introducing Myself; Parte Dos:," he cleared his throat, "Hello. I am Matthew Black - or normally just Matt." His warm brown eyes sparkled.
"And I'm Paige," I replied, and half-smiled, "Paige Turner. My parents were musicians with a wry sense of humor."
He grinned, getting it.
"Really?" he asked. I couldn't help but grin back; Matt's smile was so radiant, it was contagious - in fact, it seemed to me to bear a striking resemblance to the sun.
No," I laughed, "My dad was a journalist and my mom was a high school drama director."
His eyes flickered with sudden curiosity.
"Were?" he asked, his voice soft, all traces of teasing instantly gone. I was slightly disconcerted by how quickly and drastically his demeanor had changed. Was it real, or was I only imagining the intensity I thought I was sensing behind his every word?
"Yeah. They died," I said swiftly and lightly, ignoring the deep sorrow threatening to pull on my heartstrings.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he sounded so sincere and sympathetic that he must have experienced the same. Hadn't Nichole said that him and his sister lived with their cousins? So his parents must have been dead too. He probably felt the same way as I did. Or maybe he had known and loved his parents longer than I had mine, and so his pain was even worse than mine.
"It was a long time ago," I reassured him, "I was only in fifth grade. I immediately moved in with my aunt and have lived here ever since."
"I see," he murmured.
"How did they die?" His voice was soft; his gaze was incredibly intense and gently penetrating almost as if he was trying to probe or glimpse into my soul. I instinctively recoiled from the imagined intrusion and looked away.
"Same way the majority of parent-less kids die, I'm sure," I chuckled bitterly, "Car crash. They went on a date for their 11th anniversary, leaving me behind with the babysitter. When the date was over, they began to drive home. They said the kid was a seventeen-year-old drunk driver. He was going 75 miles an hour in the wrong lane. My dad died instantly, the boy after a few hours, and my mom the next day."
I knew I sounded blunt and bitter, and I felt rude for it, but I really didn't care.
He was speechless for a minute.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated, and I could almost hear and see the concern seemingly resonating from the depths of his soul.
My heart ached for his pain - I didn't care about my own anymore. He must have been through hell, whatever had happened to him.
"Like I said, it was a long time ago. It's not like I'm the only orphan out there. Plus, I lead a pretty good life. I'm not complaining," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "So why did you run out last week? Your sister wouldn't tell me."
"You asked my sister?" he asked, slight humor creeping back into his expression.
"Yes. And she was no help at all," I mock-pouted, crossing my arms huffily.
"Yeah, she has a tendency to be rather hostile." His voice was back to its airy lilt, but his eyes maintained their intensity.
"I'll say," I laughed.
"Matthew Black, I presume." Ms Laboreli exclaimed from across the gym, catching sight of us. She had just walked in. I jumped. "Welcome back. We barely saw you last week. You have a lot of catching up to do. Come with me, while we wait for your fellow classmates."
Matthew turned away from me and followed her. Did I imagine his reluctance?
I watched him travel his short jaunt to the prep room. He moved so - fast. It wasn't really inhuman, persay, but something about the way he moved just seemed - weird.
After he disappeared, I fell back against the bleachers again. Had I really just had the conversation I thought I had had, and with the intriguing and impossibly hot guy that I had come to suspect was a figment of my imagination?