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"Clarissa." His voice is gentle, kind, as he says my name. More surprises. "I don't want to ram this door down after what you've just been through. But I'm worried about you, and you might not know this, but I'm not good at controlling my actions when my emotions take over. So, if you don't open this door within fifteen seconds, I'm going to break this door in. Don't say I didn't warn you. Please. Open. The. Fucking. Door."
Part of me wants to see how he's going to react. Surely, he's not actually going to ram the door down. As he said, he only would do that if his emotions take over, and there's no reason for him to be feeling any sort of emotions about me. He's probably feeling nothing.
But I know that's not true.
It'snotnothing.
"Five more seconds, Clarissa."
I reach for the door handle and slowly turn it, wondering what I'm going to find on the other side. Hands shaking, I pull the door back a few inches.
A hand shoots through and Matthias pushes it open, pushing me back with it.
"Oh!" I gasp, tripping over my feet as the door almost rips my arm out of my socket.
For some reason, it doesn't occur to me to let go.
I'm halfway to the ground when I feel myself pulled upright and up against a firm chest.
A warm, strong, heaving chest.
"Let go of the door, Clarissa," I hear, and a rumble spreads over the chest.
Unclasping my hand, I glance up to see him looking down at me, something burning in his eyes.
Not nothing.
But I don't know what it is.
He takes a deep breath and says, "You alright?"
"Um, yes," I mumble, my brain completely blank. "Thank you for catching me."
There's an almost imperceptible shake of his head that makes his fringe fall over his eyes. "No, I meant from before. Are you okay?" His hands contract around my biceps as he asks the question.
"Oh. Um... sure... I'm just fine..." I can't think with him touching me. The two of us have never voluntarily touched each other before. And now, in the space of twenty-four hours, he's touched me on my hands, my arms...my cheeks.
"You're lying," he accuses.
I wouldn't know if I was. My blank brain was not yet working.
He opens his mouth and then closes it, rethinking what he was going to ask. I do the same, opening my mouth, wanting to know what he was going to say, then clamping it shut, suddenly remembering who he is.
A fucking Baxter.
I step back, shaking him off me. "I said I'm okay," my voice cold.
His hands, still hovering in the air where I stood, clench. Then, as if he notices, he drops them and shoves them into his pockets. A scowl plants itself firmly over his face.
"Fine," he mumbles, but the confusion in his voice is clear. I can't blame him. I'm fucking confused about what's going on as well. And not just about him, here. The entire last fifteen minutes have been one giant headfuck.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, taking another step back, brushing the hair off my face.
His eyes follow my hand for a split second and then back to my face. "I... er, I left my phone here last night. I came to get it."
That's not a surprise; in the last week, I've already collected a healthy pile of belongings left behind, such that one whole desk drawer has been dedicated to the lost and found.
Just last night, after I'd come back from taking the trash out, Clementine had handed three phones to me.
