“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Matt yelled as Mathilda ripped the covers off of him. “Get the fuck out of my room!”
“You’ve been lying in this bed long enough, Matt, and I’m sick and tired of it,” Mathilda snapped. “I am going out tonight with my friends, and you are coming with me.”
“No bloody way.” Matt tried to snatch his duvet back, but Mathilda held them out of his reach.
“I am not standing by and letting you fall into a depression,” Mathilda told him sternly. “Life has to move on and you’re not even putting any effort into it.”
“It’s only been a week, Mathilda!” Matt yelled. “Let me have them back!” He held his hand out.
“No!” Mathilda clutched them tightly. “You’re getting up, you’re taking a shower, and you’re coming with me!” The look in her eyes said she wasn’t going to give up until Matt agreed to go with her.
“Maybe your mates will be there too.”
“I don’t want to meet my mates,” Matt snarled.
“Then you’ll meet new people! No matter what, you’re getting out of that bed. I’m dragging you out if you don’t do as I say.”
“As if you could!” Matt snapped, but he got up. Maybe there’d be alcohol; that would be a really nice way to spend the evening. Plastered and blissful. That was the only reason he decided to go with her, because he certainly didn’t want to meet any new people. Or old ones, for that sake.
“Serena is picking us up in half an hour. You’ve got a lot to do, so you better get going.” Mathilda nodded towards the bathroom with her chin.
Matt glared at her, but did as ordered. She stood clutching his covers until he was out of the room, then he heard her dumping them on his bed before she too exited his room.
“I’ll be in my room trying on clothes.”
He slammed the bathroom door a little harder than was strictly necessary, just because he felt like it. She had no right bossing over him like that. She was not his mother. However, she might provide some alcohol, which would be good right about now.
Matt jumped in the shower and scrubbed himself clean. He washed his hair twice for good measure. When he was done he stood in front of the mirror and regarded himself as he used a towel to dry himself. He seemed thinner than he remembered, but then not having eaten much for the last few days did that to a body.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and took out a smaller one to dry his hair. He walked back to his room to find suitable clothes for a night of alcohol indulgence and he settled for his skinny, black jeans, a white tank-top and a tight, black sweater. Matt supposed he was rather fond of black. He grabbed his belt and a pair of socks, then went back to the bathroom. As he dressed and once again ran the towel over his shaggy, black hair, Matt’s gaze fell on Mathilda’s make-up, which lay scattered atop the washing machine.
Matt had always been rather fond of eyeliner, though he’d never actually used it himself. Mostly because of the whole keeping-his-sexuality-a-secret business, because his parents were bound to suspect if he started wearing make- up. Why had he never dared do it before, anyway? It wasn’t like they would care about the make-up or the fact he was gay.
He felt a pang of regret and sadness and he stood clutching at his chest for several minutes before it let him go. Once the wave passed, Matt grabbed Mathilda’s eyeliner and set to work.
When that was done he ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it up. It’d just have to be wet; he didn’t have time to dry it.
“I’m done!” he called out to Mathilda when he finally exited the bathroom.
“I’ll be down in a minute!” Mathilda yelled back.
Matt contemplated going over to ask what she was doing that was taking so long, but if she was standing there in her underwear, or worse naked, he did not want to see it. Instead he dashed into his room to get his phone, suddenly feeling excited about the prospect of getting plastered.