A heavy knock on the door snaps me back to reality. The shock somehow resets my system and I’m able to regulate my breathing enough to ask who’s there.
“Father Christmas,” Connor says, unamused, from the otherside of the door. “Who do you think it is?”
“What do you want?” I know that was rude, but I don’t have it in me to be pleasant right now. We’ve never been friendly towards each other, so why should we start now?
“I’m ordering food, I wondered if you wanted anything. I’m so glad I bothered, given your polite and enthusiastic response.”
Shit.
“Sorry. I’m really sorry.” The tears start to flow again as a new wave of guilt hits me, this one for being a bitch to Connor. The new guilt mingles with the existing guilt, creating an enormous ball of mega-guilt in my tummy.
“It’s fine, I’m used to you being snarky with me. There’s no need to cry about it.” He sounds panicked, which doesn’t surprise me given the fact that any time he’s seen me cry I’ve been with Ivy, and he’s been able to creep away, leaving her to deal with me. But Ivy isn’t here tonight.
“Matilda?” I don’t answer. I can’t. My brain has stopped sending signals to my mouth and is focusing all its efforts on replaying all of the times I’ve been a shit friend to anyone, ever. Seconds go by before Connor speaks again. “Okay, Mr Google says that if a woman is crying, then she’s probably hungry. But you only started to cry when I mentioned food, so that seems counterproductive.”
I can’t help but huff a small laugh at his ridiculousness.
“Was that a laugh or a sneeze?” Connor asks.
I will my brain to let my mouth work again. “Laugh,” I eventually manage to say.
“Oh good, I don’t think I would cope with you staying here if you were sadandsick.”
“Your sympathy is outstanding,” I grumble, but I can’t help the small smile that forms on my lips.
“Listen, I’m kind of worrying about you out here…” There’sa beat of silence before I hear Connor’s frustrated sigh. “Hope you’re decent – I’m coming in!”
I don’t have time to worry about my blotchy face and runny nose before Connor throws open the bedroom door. I cover my face with my hands in a feeble attempt to hide what’s bound to be a horror-show of smeared mascara and swollen eyes.
“Do you think you’re invisible if you do that? What are you, five years old?” There’s the sarcastic Connor I grew up with.
“No, I just don’t want you to have to look at my face,” I mutter between my fingers.
“That’s stupid,” he snorts, grabbing my wrists and pulling my hands down to my lap. The bed dips as he sits next to me. “I’ve known you since we were kids. I know what your face looks like.”
I use the backs of my hands to wipe under my eyes, and take a breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Everything’s shit and I don’t have my best friend here to help me through it. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
There’s a pause while Connor just looks at me thoughtfully but doesn’t speak. I start to shift uncomfortably on the bed and tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, purely for something to do with my hands.
He opens his mouth once, then shuts it. His fingers drum once against his thigh; a nervous tick I’ve never seen on him.
“Look, I’m probably the last person you want saying anything right now,” he mutters, staring at the carpet instead of me. “And I’m not good at… this. Whatever this is.”
Another pause, long enough that I almost tell him to just leave.
“How about this,” he finally says, voice quieter. “While Ivy’s away, I’ll be your friend. Just don’t make it weird. I just… Ivy would kill me if I didn’t check you’re okay.”
“Ha!” The laugh bursts from me before I can stop it.
“What’s so funny?” He puts his hands over his heart as if I’ve offended him.
“You hate me! How could we possibly manage to be friends?”
“I don’t hate you.” He looks away from my face, and his smile fades slightly.
Shit, is he genuinely offended?
