{Hey hey heyyyy!!!!! Hope you enjoy this chapter, more exciting things to come. Please play "The First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes and "So Good To Me" by your favorite band The 1975. xoxo, happy reading. New update in a couple days!}
{Also please enjoy this gif of Mohawk Matty bein' cute af}
{Side note: I am thinking of creating a cast for this story. Any ideas would be greatly welcome!}
Matty's POV.
I watched Claire in amusement as she encouraged Oliver to eat his peas, with only mild success. She was so patient with him, at first scooping two peas onto the spoon, then three, then four. She had lost the battle when she tried to put five though, and Oliver shook his head as she handed him the spoon.
"I wanna watch Thomas the Twain," Oliver pleaded.
Claire pushed Oliver's dark, curly hair back. "We will, Ollie. But first you need to finish your dinner."
Claire had slaved over an all-organic, gluten-free, dinner, as per Oliver's mothers' request as we watched him for the night. His parents were going to dinner and a movie, and Claire was eager to get her hands on the piano-playing cherub who looked so much like me.
I cupped Oliver's face in my hands, "Now if you never eat, you'll never grow."
The set of my girlfriend's pretty hazel eyes met me, and she smiled ear to ear.
Oliver groaned, but agreed to the treaty we had made. First peas, then a bath, then Thomas the Train. And then, hopefully, he would be sound asleep so I could have some much-needed sex with Claire.
Who the hell goes three days without sex? Claire and I had been so infatuated and in love that we fucked nearly every night for nearly seven weeks straight, with no interruption.
It had been two weeks since I'd seen George. Since he'd punched my face bloody. Since Claire called him and left him multiple, obscene voicemils. Since she had indeed, asked her friends to go home, cleaned the blood from my face, and I had made love to her so soft she couldn't stand it.
I had packed most of my belongings the next day when George was at work: my clothes, my instruments, sentimental things. The only things I truly needed were Claire and my guitar, anyways.
The band and I still had our gig at Geogre's parents' anniversary party this weekend, as well as a couple shows here and there throughout the week. We could play each of our songs like clockwork without rehearsing, but it was what kept us together. And it hadn't happened since the night George nearly dislocated my jaw.
Which is perhaps why I was nervous for tomorrow night. Ross and Adam had finally convinced George to have rehearsal, but it still made me uneasy. I still knew he was very hurt by all of the things I had done, the things that made me myself: the selfishness, the lust, the passion.
If only he could understand how unfathomably in love I was with her.
Claire clapped her hands together. "Good job, Oliver! All done!"
She wiped Oliver's face with a baby wipe and swept him up from the booster seat he was sitting in.
"Thomas time!" Oliver wailed.
"Almost. First, you'll need a bath," Claire said, pecking the tot on his chubby cheek.
As Claire held Oliver in her arms, I came up behind her and wrapped her in mine.
"Oliver, you've made a mess," Claire chuckled. "This kitchen is filthy!"
I nuzzled her neck and kissed her weak spot.
"Mmm, I love it when you talk dirty to me," I whispered in her ear.
She giggled. "Matthy, there's a child present."
I ruffled Oliver's curly mop. "Ollie, you go and have a bath and Matty is going to tidy up."
Claire's lips met mine in a sweet peck, and she walked with Oliver into the bathrooom, drawing him a bath with an ungodly amount of bright-blue bubbles she'd purchased especially for him. Both of them were having an absolute blast.
As I scraped and scrubbed the dishes, wiped down the crumbs and spills, and swept the kitchen, I thought of how delighted I was at all of this. The sounds of Claire pretending to be a Sea Captain with Oliver as he spalshed in the bathtub were a melody. The clanking of the dishes, the evening coming to an end. The yawns coming from Oliver's mouth as he tried to fight sleep after she had dressed him and he was nestled between the two of us on the couch.
This was enough. It was more than enough.
The three of us wiggled around until we were comfortable. I sat on the far side of the couch, with Claire's head in my lap as she spooned Oliver. I stroked her hair, while she did the same to Oliver's as the credits of Thomas the Train rolled.
I peeked down to see if Oliver was sleeping, and his big blue eyes were heavy, but still awake. Claire was close to falling asleep as well.
"Matty," Oliver yawned. "Sing a song."
"Okay, mate. Let's get you tucked in first," I said, as the three of us shifted our bodies once more.
Claire propped Oliver's head up on a pillow, then tucked his little chunky body into the blanket like a burrito, and nestled his stuffed monkey next to him.
"All set, handsome," she said to him.
I knelt down to the couch and began stroking Oliver's hair once more.
"Twinke Twinkle Little Star?" I asked him, my voice soft.
Oliver shook his curls and rubbed his eyes. "No. I wanna heaw 'whoa whoa gotta woman now'," he requested.
He wasn't the best with song titles, but he did the best he could recalling a favorite of his I'd written about an encounter with a prostitute I'd had when I was still a teenager. Not that he knew what the song was about.
"She mistakes my name," I began. "I see the light come around. And strange as it seems, I'm bursting at the seams. And oh-whoa, I've got a woman now."
I continued singing to Oliver, trailing off at the end to where my voice was barely a whisper as his eyelids begame heavy and he succommed to sleep. Claire was resting at the end of the couch, curled into a ball with a blanket thrown over her.
"He's out," I said to her.
Her pretty, sleepy eyes smiled at me.
"I think I'm going to sleep, too. I've been so tired lately," she yawned.
My lips met hers before she could protest, and I embraced the fleshy pillows in my own before scooping her up bridal-style and carrying her into the bedroom.
Claire smiled as I lied in bed next to her, our noses nearly touching.
"Golly, you're cute," she said in a whisper.
"Mmph," I pouted. "Not cute enough to fuck tonight, though."
Claire put her pretty, rose-gold painted nail against my lips and she kissed my neck tenderly before finding her proper spot, her face lodged in the crook of my neck.
"Love you," she said, closing her eyes.
I took her hand in mine and kissed it a few times. Then I moved onto her jaw, her forehead, her nose. I wondered how many hours I would spend in my lifetime, watching and kissing sleeping Claire. None of them would be wasted.
Claire's cool breath tickled my neck as my thoughts became dizzy with delight about her. The first time I saw her when those girls at the club were mauling me and she spilled her drink. The first time I kissed her, which was about 30 minutes after the first time I saw her. I didn't see the point in waiting around. When I was falling, at the speed of light as she and I talked all night in my room. And Claire caught me, that afternoon before her birthday party and I let her touch my hair and I knew then. I knew, she was enough. She was it all.
I groaned a little, unsettled by how selfish I was being as my eyes and hands grazed longingly over her body. She was wearing a 1975 tank and a lavender little pair of what she reffered to as "shorts" but were basially panties.
Three days. It had been three days since I'd had sex with her.
Ugh.
Again, since the first night we made love, Claire had yet to spend a day without one or more parts of my body inside of her, pleasing her, worshipping her. I tended to like it that way. And after seven weeks of uninterrupted passion, perhaps the infatuation was starting to die down.
Wait.
Seven weeks.
Uninterrupted.
No pesky four-day visits from mother nature.
Oh.
Claire was tired a lot.She kept eating sour things like she needed them to breathe. She had gained a little weight, but I wasn't complaining because it all went to her already gorgeous bum.
Subconciously, my hand traveled down to her belly and I rested it there, watching her heavenly face as she slept.
Oh.
Claire's POV.
The morning was running smoothly. The trees outside were vibrant with oranges, golds, reds and browns. Oliver was happy as as clam, enjoying his toast topped with Nutella and a banana. I was enjoying the same, plus three cups of coffee. I needed the energy.
Matty was still sleeping, but I was anticipating him waking up. He usually did around the time I had my third cup of coffee. I was itching to steal one of his cigarettes and sneak outside, but I'd likely have to wait until he was awake or Oliver's parents had picked him up.
I jotted my to-do list as Oliver and I ate together.
1. Finish "As I Lay Dying"; make detailed notes for character analysis.
2. Buy dress for the Daniels' anniversary party
3. Schedule follow-up with doctor
4. Girls lunch date tomorrow?
5. Deep clean house before mother judges me
I finished the remainder of the coffee and lost myself in my thoughts for a moment. I was getting overwhelmed with everything, and since I hadn't spoken to my human Xanax (aka George Daniel) in a while, I was having serious withdrawls.
Ugh.
We had all truly hurt each other. I had disappointed George; Matty had broken George's heart; George had nearly broken Matty's face.
I loved Matty. I know it hasn't been long since I've known him, and that his body and personality are made for breaking hearts, but it was a risk I would take.
In the depths of my heart, I still felt like George's warnings were fair. The countless girls who lusted after Matty, how romanctic he was, how gorgeous. Who was I to even earn his affections?
Speaking of the lanky, tattooed heartbreaker, he was awake now. Matty strolled into the kitchen wearing grey and black flannel pajama bottoms but no shirt, and brought his fist to his mouth in a yawn. His curls were tied up and his glasses were on.
I smiled at my dreamboat, and thought that this is the first time I'd seen him wear any "pajamas" other than his Calvin Kleins (if even that).
"Morning, handsome," I said to him, putting a dog-ear in my Faulkner novel.
Matty pecked Oliver on the forehead and crouched down to me, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me tenderly.
Whoa.
"Good morning, love," he said, wrapping his arms around me.
I smiled as he kissed me about half a dozen more times, nothing PG-13, but making me giddy all the same.
"You're in a good mood," I said to him.
Matty smirked at me, his beautiful eyes so cheerful. "I've got a lot to be thankful for."
He made his way to the tea kettle and glanced at the coffee pot, noticing how much I'd drank.
"How many cups of coffee have you had?" he asked me.
Oliver finished his last bite of toast and I wiped the remainding Nutella from the corners of his mouth.
"Three. Why?" I eyed him quizically.
Matty quirked up a brow. "That's too much."
I shrugged as he went about making his tea and Oliver and I headed to the bathroom to brush our teeth together. I giggled as Ollie had toothpaste all over his face, and the two of us rotated spitting into the sink.
Oliver was so stinking cute, and I cherished my time with him. He was such a clever, sweet little thing. And Matty was so different around him; Oliver warmed up his heart. Watching the two of them together, Oliver's chunky face lighting up as Matty sang to him, Matty's eyes so soft and delighted at the sight of Oliver sleeping. It was far off into the future, but he was going to be a great Dad someday.
I lost myself in a daydream for a bit, thinking of myself with a big pregnant belly, and Matty crouching down, rubbing my tummy and showering it in kisses. Singing lullabies to the unborn baby. Imagining the outfits he would choose. I giggled to myself as I rinsed my mouth out.
I was so silly sometimes.
Oliver was having trouble reaching his little arms to the sink, so I lifted him up as he pumped the foam soap in his hands, creating a big mound of bubbles in the sink.
"Good job, Ollie. So fresh and so clean!" I applauded him.
"Claire," Matty said from his stance in the doorway. "You shouldn't be lifting him, he's heavy."
I furrowed my brows. "Why? He's four, he weighs like 40 pounds."
Matty shook his head and scooped Oliver up from me, letting the boy finish his hand washing.
"Just be careful," Matty said, a worried tone echoing in his voice.
"Okay..." I trailed off.
Matty was being odd.
=
Matty and I had said our goodbyes to Oliver when Yvonne had picked him up. Yvonne had said she might need a sitter in a couple weeks, and I jumped at the opportunity. I was dying to take Oliver to the pumpkin patch.
My boyfriend and I had a pretty hot and heavy makeout session in his car as he dropped me off for class. Matty Healy's sex drive: NASCAR level shit. He sent me to class dizzy and yearning for him, but I'd had so much coffee I was thankfully able to focus on my studies.
During my hour between classes, I returned my Mom's six missed calls in the past two days.
"Hi Mom," I sighed into the phone, chewing on a bagel.
"Claire!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad you called, your father was seriously considering contacting the FBI and making a missing persons website," my mother said.
I had a feeling she wasn't entirely joking.
"Anyhoo," my mother continued. "How's Little Georgie? How's school? How's Chelsea G? How are you?"
I groaned, debating on which question to answer first.
George was still not speaking to me, nor Matty.
School was actually going okay, but was giving me stress-induced high bood pressure.
Chelsea G was busy winding Adam Hann in her web, and he was delighted to be her victim.
I was excited, in love, stressed out, nervous, anxious, a mess.
"Good," I simply answered, hoping it would satisfy her. "I've just been a little tired lately. Is your flight set?"
My mother squealed into the phone. "Of course! I can't wait to see my baby girl. And of course the Daniels. Did you know that Margaret has her own scrapbooking room? Agh I can't wait!"
That Margaret Daniel was some party monster.
"Miss you Mom. How's Dad?" I asked.
I thought of telling my father about Matty, but cringed. I wanted my mother to know, though. She was always more accepting. Even if Georgie would always be her number one.
"I miss you too, Claire. I feel so lonely without you here, without our lunch dates on the weekends," she sighed. "Daddy's good. Anxious to see you, though."
I bit my lip and twiddled my hair.
"Mom...." I forced my eyes shut and winced. "I need to tell you something."
My mother made a "hmm?" sound into the phone.
I cleared my throat. "Uhm, I'm seeing someone..."
My ear hurt from the screaming sound she wailed.
"Oh Claire!!! Is it George?!"
Jesus.
"No, Mom....his name is Matty. He's friends with George," I explained.
Well, he was. They're just on a friend-break right now. Evaluating their lives individually or whatever.
"Ah," my mother's voice was a little deflated. "Well, I'm sure he's a nice boy. Did you meet him in class?"
No, I met him at a bar and almost let him defile my body outside of it about half an hour later.
"Uh, he...he's not in school. He's ah...a musician," I said.
"Oh! What does he play?" my mother was intrigued.
My emotions, I thought.
"Piano and guitar," I said.
"Claire...." my mother eased into me. "Is he in a rock band or something?"
I groaned. "Maybe..."
I bit my lip again and tossed the bagel into a nearby trashcan before gathering my belongings.
"How many tattoos does he have?" my mother giggled.
"A lot," I sighed. "He's so well-spoken and talented and dreamy and I really, really, like him Mom. I hope you will too, he's been asking about meeting you for weeks now."
I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed to my next class.
"I'm sure he's a sweet boy," Mom said.
Uhm, if sweet meant dirty, handsome, charm-the-pants off you with one look, then sure.
"Should I prepare your father for this?" she asked me.
"Probably. No, no. Ugh, I don't know. Let me think about it."
My father was going to shit twice and die.
"Alright, darling. I love you, see you in a couple days!" she said.
I muttered that I loved her, too and walked with haste to my next class, my thoughts. When I seated myself in Women's Lit, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.
George: Sos mate.
I sighed. My Georgie. My big, mean, overwhelmed, Georgie.
Claire: It's okay. I mean, it's really not, but I forgive you. Just please don't beat my boyfriend up again.
George: I'll try my best. Still friends?
Claire: Always. I love you.
George: I know you do.