Page 81 of Open Water

“Does it get easier?” he asks instead, sitting himself down on the other end of the sofa, which makes me suddenly sit bolt upright.

“Does what get easier?” He’s probably drunk. No idea what he’s on about.

“Being in love? I mean, I’ve been in relationships before, and it was fine. I was fine. I feel like I’ve completely lost myself here, like I can’t function when Tom’s not next to me. I mean what’s wrong with me?”

He sighs loudly and takes another gulp of coffee, then puts the cup down and stares at it.

“Cold?” I laugh. ”Dad does that all the time. Makes a cup of coffee, forgets about it for two hours, then tries to drink the cold shite, not even realizing.”

“I can’t function.” He just shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I should just go to bed.”

“It’s fine,” my mouth says. I’m not sure why. I’m not sure why I even bother. He should go home to his place and chill the fuck out. Yet. I don’t know. I kind of think he belongs here, like Matteo does. With us. I like the idea of being a family, yet, it scares the living daylights out of me that this is what we are doing now. This. Being.

“Family.” I say the word out loud. “Scares the shit out of me.”

“Tell me about it.” He laughs back, sounding almost relieved. “I have no idea what I am doing, and if I’m not careful, I will fuck this up so bad.”

“You’re okay,” I say. I think. I think I mean it. “You make Dad happy. That’s cool.”

“You have been incredibly cool yourself, Max. Thank you. Thank you for letting me do this.”

“Do what?” The guy needs to stop speaking in riddles, because half the time, I don’t know what the fuck he is on about.

“For letting me try. For accepting that I am here. Thanks. I mean it.”

I shrug my shoulders. Smile weakly. I don’t know what I am doing either, and maybe that’s a good thing, because if I knew, I would probably freak the hell out about it all.

“You want to watch something?” I wave the remote at the TV that is stuck on something I can’t remember starting to watch.

He nods and kind of pulls his legs up underneath him and I claim all the foot space on the coffee table, pushing a mountain of fruit peelings out of the way so I can get comfortable.

It’s fine. He’s quiet.

I’m fine. I don’t care. Maybe I do but I don’t tell him. Maybe it’s nice to have company. Maybe time flows quicker and in easier little waves when I don’t have to think so hard. Maybe he quietens the panic in my brain a little, by just being still. Quiet. Calm.

What the hell do I know?

We watch Elite on Netflix, churning through a good few episodes until I realize he is fast asleep, and I kick him hard to get him up and off upstairs, so I can kind of chill and panic in peace and quiet.

Which is why I have ended up curled up on the sofa like a baby, hoping Matteo will come home before I implode and destroy something. I am fully aware that the minute he walks through the front door, I will jump him and kiss the living daylights out of him and then, probably spend the next fifteen minutes blowing him like a starved man, whilst he sits fully clothed on the edge of the bed, panting like he has run a marathon.

Yeah. We’re predictable. Perma-horny. Thank God for that at least, when it turns out he can be an overbearing arse when he wants to be.

That, and the fact that he spent last night at Tilda’s place, which meant I hardly slept and my anxieties got the better of me, making me exhausted and pretty much a raging wreck this morning.

It didn’t end well. I should have known better. Instead, I said I was fine when he texted me in the morning to say he was at school and couldn’t meet me for lunch, because he had to bunk off his afternoon classes for some big rehearsal with his Theatre group. Fine. I was anything but fine. I was fuming. Raging. Pure raw jealousy pumping through my veins when I knew I should know better.

Matteo has a life. Matteo can have friends. Tilda is his best friend. Matteo stays over at Tilda’s place all the time. Matteo sleeps in Tilda’s bed when he stays over. Matteo is gay. Matteo is mine. Matteo doesn’t like girls. Matteo only likes me. Matteo loves me. Matteo is mine.Yeah. You get the picture.

It didn’t take much until I was running down the corridor in the A block with tears streaming down my face trying to find somewhere to hide as the panic was starting to overwhelm me.

For once, I wanted to be alone. For once, I didn’t wish Matteo was there to hold me.

Fuck that, I was whispering his name over and over hoping he would come, but I still couldn’t bring my fisted-up hands to work enough to find my phone and call him. I knew that’s all it would take. One tap of my finger and he would be running to me. Coming to me. Making everything better.

But then, if you haven’t noticed by now, I am a stubborn, irrational, jealous shithead and part of my fucked-up brain just wouldn’t let me back down, hence I ended up outside the A-block toilets, behind the last row of lockers, panting into my scrunched-up hoodie with my feet kicking at invisible waves of water and tears streaming down my face.

I wasn’t there for long until Hedda was on my lap. Bloody Hedda. Hedda who has been following me around like a shadow for the last week, almost like she wants to speak to me, but doesn’t dare. Well, there she was, fighting my arms like some pro-wrestler and I was trying get her off me, but she was pretty much determined to hug the shit out of me.

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