Over the weekend I've come to realise that moving on doesn't mean forgetting, and although it seems incredibly soon to move on, it's better to accept things earlier and keep on living, than drag on how much I've been hurt. I wish I'd realised this earlier, as it would have saved me a lot of tears and sleepless nights, but I suppose time has it's own plan for me.
I've come to terms with the idea that Matty hasn't hurt me in the way that Charlie did. As the first boy I took interest in and had romantic feelings for, this all seems like a lot. It's a very dramatic situation that I wouldn't expect to happen in my junior year of high school. Ninth grade, maybe, but not eleventh.
Alex had done me wrong, despite Charlie's manipulation because yes – he could have said no. He chose not to, and I think that perhaps we could be on good terms one day (sooner than later, again – no point dragging on these awful feelings). For now, I'll take each day as it comes – a resolution, or something.
I spot Matty out the front window when I wake up. He's here much earlier than he usually arrives, so I open the front door to let him in, curious about why he's shown up so early. His face shows surprise when he turns around and sees me standing there, smiling.
"I hope you don't mind that I'm here," He says, "I wasn't sure whether you wanted to see me or not."
"I expected you to be here," I tell him, moving aside to let him in, "But you're early."
"I couldn't sleep," I hear from behind, closing the door lightly.
"I hope that wasn't my doing," I suggest, following him into the kitchen where I grab myself a bowl, "breakfast?"
He hums, nodding as I take an extra bowl out of the cupboard and place it on the counter. My good mood has taken over me today; I wouldn't be surprised if Matty is confused that after everything, I can still smile two days later.
"Are we going to talk?" He asks after thanking me for the bowl of cereal – minimal effort, but the appreciation is acknowledged.
I sit beside Matty at the counter, "What you did in your past is not my business. You're not perfect, neither am I. There's not much more to say."
"I lied to you. I told you I didn't know Charlie," He admits, that of which I had already known.
"I know," I tell him, "I can understand why."
"That's not fair," he argues, but I'm quick to step in.
"I'm forgiving you, Matty. Isn't this what you want?"
"You should be angry," he dips his head, tracing his spoon in circles.
"And I was- for the first day. And now, I forgive you," I admit, "Truth is, Matty, I'm not sure I can live in Wilmslow without being friends."
"Well," he hums, "That's good I suppose."
We agree to put it behind us, hoping that Charlie's out of our lives for good. It's hard to tell, because Charlie's behaviour is unpredictable and dramatic and for all we know he'll be showing at my doorstep tomorrow with a Grand Apology. Part of me feels that I haven't gotten the full story from Alex, the curious side of me wondering whether confrontation with the boy is a good idea or not.
Why didn't Charlie talk to me about his mental health? Why was I left in the dark until I was forgotten about and pushed around, only to find out from someone else that our month together had been an attempt at manipulation and proof of power over me. Had he really thought I'd leave my friends behind? The only people who had shown any signs of friendships in all of Wilmslow and Manchester?
Matty announces at lunch that movie night has been post-poned for tonight.
"It's not Wednesday," Chelsea comments.
"I know it's not Wednesday, Chels," Matty rolls his eyes, "But due to last week's early finish, we have some catching up to do."
George says, "Isabel decides on the movies this time."
"Die Hard," I say instantly, earning a groan from Adam and a laugh from Matty.
"Adam hates those movies," He tells me.
"Don't show up then," I stick my tongue out at Adam playfully, grinning at Matty.
"Die Hard it is then!" George claps his hands together.
-----
"I don't know what you expected, mate," George tells Adam when he complains for the tenth time in the film so far, "it's not like it would get any better than last time."
"The Die Hard films make up the best series the earth has ever seen!" I defend, "Bruce Willis is a true modern day hero."
"Alright then love, chill," Matty laughs, watching me huff and lean back into the soft couch.
"I'm going to pick up the pizza," Adam announces, standing.
"I'll come," George says, "we've seen these a thousand times anyway."
When they leave I turn to Matty and whisper, "Everyone is so mean to Bruce Willis."
"It's okay, he's too old for you anyway," Matty admits.
"A damn shame that is," I shake my head.
"If ya don't respect yourself ain't nobody gonna give a good cahoot, na na na oh," I erupt into laughter at Matty's attempt to imitate Bruce Willis, "that was good, right?" he defends.
I shake my head, "Just awful."
Halfway through the first film, Adam and George return with food and we soon forget that the movie is playing in the background. Upon realising, I complain that we haven't been paying attention and we've missed a chunk of important information.
"Boo-hoo," Adam jokes, "What a shame we missed such an iconic film."
"Hey!" I go to defend again, but Matty grabs my hand and pulls it away from Adam.
"No more arguing over Die Hard!" He tells us, a playful glare sent both our ways.
"One day," I point my other finger at Adam, "One day you'll realise what you've been missing."
Matty grabs my other hand, laughing, "Stop it."
"Now how are you going to eat your food?" I ask him, looking down at his hands gripping onto my wrists.
"Feed me," he smirks, his mouth now open.
I scoff, loosening his grip on my hands as I shake loose, "feed yourself, you lunatic."
Everyone refuses to watch another Die Hard movie, much to my disappointment, and as an unusual day to host a movie night, everyone heads home early. I stick around for a little bit, playing the second movie while Matty pours our drinks in the kitchen.
"Another?" he groans when he enters.
I grin up at him from the floor, grabbing a drink from his hand, "Thank you!"
"Why are we on the floor?" he asks.
"Well," I say, "I'm on the floor because I want to be, you're on the floor because you wanted to sit next to me."
"Thank you," he rolls his eyes, "what an insightful answer."
I shove him lightly, taking the opportunity to rest the side of my head on his shoulder and use it as a headrest for my tired self.
"I can walk you home," he says quietly.
"Mmm," I hum, "I just wanna stay here for a bit."
I can feel the butterflies return in the calm state of our proximity. A simple gesture such as resting my head on his shoulder, which would otherwise be deemed a friendly position to be seated, becomes something much more. I think about whether, if Matty tried to make a move on me right now, I would accept and let him kiss me. Would I?
The butterflies in my stomach tell me I'd do anything to be closer, while my anxiety fights back and tells me it would be wrong to kiss my best friend when things have been entirely platonic up until now. My insecurities suck at my skin, letting me know that Matty wouldn't feel the same even if I wished it to happen. He would have let me know, I think, if the feelings were reciprocated.
Then I wonder about the tickets – when he was going to ask me, and I already had someone to go with. Did he not muster up the courage to ask me because it felt too romantic for him? The way he admitted he was going to ask me made my chest hurt, itching at the thought that maybe he also gets butterflies when we're close.
"Alright," he stands, my head falling off his shoulder, "I'm walking you home before you fall asleep."
My thoughts shatter at his words, hoping we could sit here while I think up reasons for why Matty might feel the same way towards me. I'm forced to accept his invitation to walk me back, although I mentally kick myself for not considering that perhaps my gesture was far too romantic for what we have – a platonic friendship.
We walk back, both of Matty's arms by his side and my hands hidden in my jacket pockets wishing he would wrap his arm around my shoulders. I don't ask him to, but the feeling of insecurity is very real as he walks me up to my door.
All of the overthinking leads me into a spiral of actions I shouldn't make, wrapping my arms around Matty's neck and pulling him closer to me. I breathe in deep, exhaling when his arms wrap around my waist tightly. I think of the right words to say, my mind racing at the lack of distance between us.
"Thank you," I manage, "I'm glad you're still here."
"Me too," he rests his head on my shoulder, the cold of his nose brushing against the side of my neck.
I step back before I can push myself too far off the edge, a small "goodnight" escaping into the cold air before I disappear inside, leaving the warm boy on my front step.
I race upstairs, pulling out my phone and dialling Erica's number as my feet hit the floorboards in a rage. I rip my coat off, falling onto my back on my bed, breathing deeply from my flustered state. A simple hug, a friendly embrace, had caused me to spiral into a fit of panic at what I had done. My feelings for Matty have escalated in the span of five seconds.
"We just saw each other, Is," Erica answers.
"Erica, I have a really, really serious problem," I breathe.
"What is it?" she asks curiously, "George get out!"
"You're with George?"
"Yeah," she sighs, "he insisted on having even more dinner at my place."
"Are you two together?" I ask, a smile creeping onto my lips.
"Anyway," she ignores, "what's your really serious problem?"
"It's really, really serious," I explain, "I think I like Matty – a lot."
I hear her snicker on the line, "You think I didn't know that?"
"What?" I shriek, "You do not!"
"Isabel, come on! Everyone can see it from London to Manchester."
"Not funny," I frown, "You just assumed."
"Obviously," she admits, "You think Matty doesn't feel the same?"
"He's a hard book to read," I pace my room now, walking over to my drawer and grabbing a pair of shorts and an old shirt, "I don't know what to think about him."
"Hmm," she hums, "I can't tell you if he does or doesn't. If I'm honest, I think he knows you're into him, and if he knows then that means he must like you back- he's stuck around, right? George!"
"Don't ask George!" I squeal, praying she doesn't ask him.
"George, get your ass in here!" I hear on the other end.
"You didn't want me in here a second ago," George's loud voice booms.
"Do you think Matty's into Isabel?" There's silence for a second before George speaks once again.
"I thought you were kidding," he laughs, "The boy's head over heels- why? Oh shit! Did she call?"
"Guys!" I shout into the phone.
"George says he's in love with you," Erica tells me, as if I hadn't just heard their entire conversation.
"He said head over heels, not in love," I state.
"Same thing," I can almost hear her smirking, "So, what're you gonna do then?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" She suspects.
"Things just happened with Charlie. I can't make the first move," I explain.
"Sure you can, get a little drunk, have a little fun... that's always the way to go," she laughs.
"Is that how you and George got together then?" I laugh, knowing the answer already.
"George and I are not-"
"Aren't what?" George asks quietly, but I manage to hear.
"Fuck you Isabel," Erica jokes, "You can't tell anyone."
I laugh again, "I'm sure everyone knows already. I gotta go, thank you for your advice- and your big mouth."
"Seriously-"
I hang up, my state lifted from before the phone call. I feel a little more at ease having a little more confidence in something between Matty and I, no matter how terrifying.
A/N: i'll probably end this in 10 chapter or so eep what do you want me to write next? i have a short matty story coming up but i need to write all the chapters first (only six!!) and then idk what to do with my writing apart from the monday pine sequel let me know what you're interested in