BEAUTIFUL FLOWER | MATTHEO RIDDLE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

"Fuck," I mumbled to myself, almost whimpering, and stared down at the bed, my eyes fluttering closed; his hand parted my legs from the back, and soon after I felt his finger slide into me, making my mouth hang open.

"Calantha," he said, but I said nothing, my mouth open but words not coming out. He went fast, pumping his finger in and out of me before putting another one in.

"Calantha," he whispered again, but still, I said nothing, my eyes shut, my arms trembling, my lip quivering.

Faster, he pumped, the knot in my stomach only growing. I let a moan escape my lips and he put in another finger, making my back arch.

It felt amazing, knowing it was he that was making me feel like this. I looked back at him, and ultimately, the pleasure only grew when I saw his face.

There, he kneeled behind me, his mouth agape with his eyes locked on mine—dark and hungry—beads of sweat on his forehead as he breathed faster, just slightly smiling at the corner of his lip.

"Wake up," he said.

I furrowed my brow, staring at him.

"Please, wake up, Calantha." he said.

And then, I turned forward, and there I was, in my mind again, the only solace the echo of his voice, bouncing off of the walls of my own empty mind, concealed by whatever mysterious presence that was blocking me from my solicit consciousness.

+++

MATTHEO

I never thought I would care for another person as much as I did for Calantha. She was the one thing that I had to myself, I had her entirely, and after only just realizing that, my world had begun to spin, and it wouldn't stop.

I tried so many times to push her away, and almost every time she didn't let it bother her, or simply, I couldn't keep away from her. I realized eventually that I couldn't be away from her, for whatever reason it was, I was drawn to her.

I sat with her in the hospital wing, right beside her bed, and held her sleeping hand. She was cold, her skin pale, her cheeks a bluish gray. There was bruising around her eyes from the fall, her beautiful skin now torn in places with broken blood vessels surrounding her shut eyes.    

It pained me so much to look at her, but for some reason, I couldn't look away. I never understood why I watched her for so long but continued to watch her to figure out why.

It was her laugh, the way she smiled when she didn't know anyone was looking. I knew it was stupid, how I would suddenly and somberly without any intent find her silhouette dancing around in my mind, creeping between the thoughts of my Father and the many other nothings that mattered not compared to her.

There were so many things I was supposed to have done by now that I still wasn't able to do, and all because of her. She changed me, or at least she was close to doing so, and I feared what I would turn into when I finally wouldn't be able to do anything but give into her.

But I couldn't stop it. And that was why, as much as I hated it, when my Father told me to do with her exactly what I was trying to work up the courage to do, but had not yet done, I was somewhat placid about the entire idea of it all.

In the beginning, I didn't know nor care to know why my Father took such an interest in her, nor why he wished for me to lure her in, and I didn't for a long time, but the more time I spent with her, the more I noticed myself questioning his intentions.

Only, now, I resent everything I agreed to doing, because in the end, I knew what was planned to happen, and I knew that every single thing was going to be exactly what my Father wanted.