Chapter 4 : Wide Awake
1152 Words
There was a knock on the door. My eyelids fluttered open, and I startled awake.
Why was someone knocking on my door in the middle of the night? My first thought was a homicidal maniac— though why they’d bother to knock was beyond me. My second thought was a ghost. This was an old hotel, after all. Surely something gruesome had happened here at some point.
I stumbled to the door, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Opening it, I blinked up at Matty.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, still groggy, and without waiting for an answer, I added, "I’m not going to tell you my name."
His grin was as infuriating as ever. "You don’t have to," he said. "I already know it."
My brows furrowed. "How? Did Grams tell you?"
"No," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I asked Stefan."
"You what?!" I snapped, my voice rising.
"Yeah," he said, completely unbothered by my outburst. "He wasn’t too happy about it either. But, honestly, I figured he wouldn’t care, considering Eliza Summers just posted a picture of them kissing."
I froze. My stomach dropped, twisting itself into a painful knot. "She did?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent.
He frowned slightly, realizing his mistake. "You didn’t know?"
Of course, I didn’t know. But now I did. Stefan hadn’t just moved on— he was broadcasting it to the world. Less than two days, and he was already parading Eliza around. My chest tightened, the ache fresh and raw.
"I thought you’d seen it," Matty said awkwardly. "It’s all over my feed."
"Great," I muttered. "That’s just… great."
Silence stretched between us. I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Matty shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck.
"Look," he started, "I didn’t mean to wake you up just to mess with you. I honestly thought you knew."
I waved him off. "Whatever, Matty. Just… go. I need to sleep."
He hesitated, his usual cocky demeanor faltering. "Are you okay?"
"f*****g fantastic," I snapped, throwing the door halfway shut.
He caught it with his hand before it closed completely. "I was going to explore this place a bit. Want to come with me?"
I sighed, tired and bitter. "No offense, Matty, but the last thing I want to do right now is hook up with you."
He held up a large bottle of Jack Daniel's, his grin making a swift return. "I’ve got booze."
I stared at the bottle, the amber liquid sloshing invitingly. Every rational part of me screamed to say no. But the rational parts weren’t the ones in charge right now. "Give me a second to get dressed," I muttered.
Matty stepped back, a victorious smirk plastered on his face. I shut the door, quickly throwing on a pair of sweats and a cardigan. Practical and quick. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
When I stepped back into the hallway, Matty was waiting, leaning lazily against the wall. He looked me over, and for a split second, his gaze heated.
"You clean up nice," he teased.
"Shut up."
"Which way do you want to go? Left or right?" he asked.
"Does it matter?" I said flatly.
"Humor me."
"Fine. Left," I said, picking at random.
"Left it is," he said, setting off confidently down the corridor.
I followed begrudgingly, already second-guessing my decision to come out here. Maybe I should’ve just stayed in my room and cried into my pillow. But before I could turn back, Matty draped an arm around my shoulders.
The gesture startled me— warm, comforting. I hated how much I needed it.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered after several minutes of walking.
"Have a little faith, darling," he said, his voice low and teasing. "We’ll get there."
"Get where?"
"You’ll see," he said cryptically, flashing me a wink.
We walked in silence for a few more minutes until he stopped abruptly. "Here we are," he announced, pushing open a heavy wooden door.
The room was dimly lit, with a large fireplace crackling in the corner. Plush armchairs and a worn leather couch were scattered around, and the air smelled faintly of cedar and whiskey.
Matty plopped down on the couch, patting the spot next to him. I hesitated before sitting, keeping a few inches of space between us.
"So," he said, unscrewing the cap on the Jack Daniel's, "what’s your poison?"
"I’ll take it straight," I said, surprising even myself.
His eyebrows shot up. "Didn’t peg you for the type."
"Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think," I shot back.
He poured me a generous amount, handing me the glass. Our fingers brushed, and a jolt of heat shot through me.
I sipped the whiskey, the burn in my throat a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest.
"You know," he said, leaning back against the couch, "you’re kind of a mystery."
I raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"One minute you’re snapping at me, the next you’re sharing whiskey. You keep me on my toes."
"Maybe you’re just easily confused," I said, taking another sip.
He laughed, the sound low and rich. "Maybe. Or maybe you’re more interesting than you let on."
I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks burned.
His gaze lingered on me, his playful smirk softening into something more serious. "You’re not as tough as you pretend to be, are you?"
"Don’t psychoanalyze me," I warned, my voice sharper than I intended.
"Relax," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Just an observation."
We sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the occasional clink of his glass against the bottle.
"Why did you really come to my door?" I asked finally, breaking the silence.
He leaned closer, his eyes locking with mine. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable. "Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you."
My breath hitched, and for a moment, I forgot how to speak.
"And," he added, his voice dropping, "I figured you could use a distraction."
"Is that what you are? A distraction?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
"Depends," he said, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips.
I swallowed hard, the air between us growing heavy. I should’ve pushed him away, should’ve put more space between us. But instead, I stayed rooted in place, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Careful, Matty," I said softly, my voice trembling slightly. "I’m not in the mood for games."
"Neither am I," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of us. Then, as quickly as the tension built, he leaned back, breaking the spell.
"Your turn," he said, pouring me another drink.
I exhaled shakily, not sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
For now, the distraction was enough.
- Writer
