The phone's shrill ring shattered the silence like a sharp blade .
My pulse quickened as Matthew's hand shook just a little before he answered. I couldn't miss the way his face changed, how his whole body seemed to tense when he saw the caller's name. A fleeting look—was it fear, or maybe confusion, or guilt?—crossed his face before he quickly schooled it into his usual calm.
I stood there, torn between the desperate urge to be near him, to offer solace, and the gnawing uncertainty that was already taking hold.
What was happening here, exactly? What had we turned into? And why did this phone call seem poised to destroy the delicate connection we were trying to forge?
I saw Matthew pick up the phone, his voice calm, though it seemed far away. "Hello?"
He moved away from me, slowly walking across the room, his hand clutching the phone with a little too much force.
His jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath the skin as he listened, his face a mask.
I longed to speak, to ask who was on the other end, what the call was about. But I remained silent. I couldn't shatter the quiet that had descended. Not after everything. Not after that kiss.
"What do you want?" he snapped, his words short, his tone a knife.
My heart sank. Something was off. I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but whatever was happening was pulling him inward, away from me.
"Tell me precisely what you need," he said, his voice a quiet, steady thing, as if he were trying to keep a fragile object from breaking.
His gaze darted my way, a fleeting moment before he turned his attention elsewhere.
I inhaled deeply, the tension in my gut coiling. Who was this? I knew it wasn't a work-related matter. This was something else entirely.
His demeanor, so frigid and remote, suggested I was an unwelcome presence. An intruder, really.
I saw him turn away, erecting another wall. The furrow in his brow spoke volumes. This call was bad news. Whatever was being discussed was clearly causing him pain, and I felt like I was on the periphery of something that should have been ours to experience together.
"Fine," Matthew snapped, his voice strained. "I'll take care of it. You'll hear from me." He ended the call, his expression already settling into that well-practiced mask of composure.
I was at a loss for words. My heart ached at the sight of him—seeing him retreat once more when I thought, perhaps, we were finally starting to forge something tangible. But I could see it in his eyes: he was closing off again.
"Matthew…" I murmured, taking a tentative step toward him, unsure of what I even wanted to say.
He didn't turn to face me. His back was to me, his body rigid with unspoken tension. "I need to be alone right now," he muttered, his voice rough.
I was stunned, the impact of his words more profound than I'd anticipated. I couldn't allow him to do this again. I couldn't let him isolate me. Not now, not after everything we'd just experienced.
The words escaped me, seemingly of their own accord. "You don't get to do this," I managed, my voice quaking with a blend of pain and anger. "You don't get to shut me out every time things get tough."
Matthew's body stiffened, and he remained facing away. I could see his hands clench at his sides, as if he were struggling to maintain control. "You don't understand," he said, his voice strained. "This is my life, Esther. You have no idea what it's like to be me."
My breath caught. I moved closer. "Then let me in, Matthew. Let me understand."
He spun around, his eyes alight with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "You don't want to understand," he said, the words clipped. "I don't want to pull you into this. I don't want you to see me like this. Broken. Messed up."
His words cut deep. They were a physical blow.
There was a truth in those words, undeniable. A part of me, buried somewhere, yearned to flee. To escape before I became ensnared. Before it all became overwhelming.
But I couldn't. I couldn't abandon him. Not when he was here, shattered and in pain, needing someone to look beyond the defenses he'd erected. I moved closer, my heart pounding, my hands unsteady. "I'm not going anywhere," I said, my voice a quiet promise. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you. Not now."
Never.
He froze, his eyes losing their edge for a heartbeat. I thought he might speak, but then his expression hardened once more. "You have no idea what you're asking for."
I shook my head, stepping closer until I was right in front of him. My chest felt tight with everything I was feeling—my heart racing, my breath coming faster, my whole being drawn to him. "I don't care. I'm doing this, Matthew. You can't shut me out. I'm here. And I'm not leaving."
Silence stretched between us.
The atmosphere was charged, oppressive. His gaze locked onto mine, and in that fleeting moment, I glimpsed the hurt. The exposed, fragile core of him he'd hidden away. It shattered something inside me.
Suddenly, he moved, bridging the distance. My breath hitched as his hand found my face, a soft, tentative touch.
His thumb grazed my cheek, a featherlight caress that ignited something deep within.
He moved in, deliberate, his gaze locked onto mine. The noise of the world vanished, and it was just us, cocooned in silence. His lips lingered, a breath away, and I felt the current of feeling crackle between us. His breath warmed my skin, and the heat of him enveloped me, drawing me nearer, making it impossible to pull away.
His lips met mine.
The kiss began softly, a slow, sweet caress that left me breathless. I surrendered to him, my hands finding their way to his chest, tracing the rhythm of his heartbeat. Then, as if a dam had burst, the kiss intensified. It was no longer tentative. It was passionate, as if everything we had been suppressing surged forth, demanding acknowledgment.
I drew him nearer, my body responding to his as if it were always meant to. I didn't think about the barriers. I didn't think about the agreement or the deceptions we had spun. All that existed was this moment. This kiss.
When we finally broke apart, I was gasping for air. His forehead was pressed against mine, our breaths mingling in a wild, shared tempo. "I don't know what to do with you, Esther," he murmured, his voice rough. "You're going to destroy me."
I smiled, a secret thrill coursing through me. "Maybe that's precisely what I intend to do."
Before he could say anything more, the doorbell chimed again. This time, it was louder, more insistent, as if the person on the other side knew exactly how to ruin the fragile peace between us. Matthew's expression went blank, and I understood that whatever awaited us on the other side of that door was about to ruin everything.