"Why do you always avoid my questions?"
"I'm not, it's just that there's nothing to say. Who would ever want to date someone they can't even talk to? It's not rocket science. My eyes are weird, and people get tired of me eventually. There's your on...
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Mathias | Dallas
THE DEAFENING DANCE MUSIC CONTINUED for the next several minutes and even hours, but thankfully Mathias already found a solution, albeit a temporary one. While the bass still managed to vibrate through the walls and sear through him in a flash, it wasn't as bad as before. His heartbeat slowed as he plopped down on the wooden floor by the bed, and his head weighed that of a block as he leaned it against the soft mattress.
He lay his whiteboard next to him, stroking his head as his head throbbed painfully. An array of thoughts flitted through his mind, but the one that stuck out most of all was stumbling into one of the rooms and witnessing a couple peeling each other's clothes off, kissing furiously. Mathias's bangs fanned down before his face as he hung his head to conceal his flushing cheeks.
His hormones had a tendency to rage at the simplest touch, sight, or sound, and he hated it. He pressed his thighs together, mortified, hating himself for being such a soft, hormonal teenager.
Mathias let out a noisy exhale as he lifted his head, his hair flopping back. He opened his eyes and looked around the room, taking it in.
The room contained a neatly made queen-sized bed, two straight-backed chairs, a washstand, a bureau--without any mirror--and a small bedside table. Though there were no drapery curtains at the windows, the pictures and posters of various bands scattered along the cream walls brought a touch of life and personality to the otherwise bland room. Mathias pushed himself off the ground and walked closer to take a look, smiling to himself when he recognized a My Chemical Romance poster. He ran his finger down the poster's sleek finish. Like most other angsty teens his age, he came to love that band, too.
He loved it so much that his mother bought him an MCR sweater for his 17th birthday back in August of the prior year. He distinctly remembered wearing it all the time before getting enrolled at Ridge Walk the following September. For some reason, he felt that it would be too stupid to wear it to school, so it'd gotten buried deep in his closet for months now.
A sense of calm returned to him as he continued looking about the room, observing the other posters. Some featured handsome and bulky football players, so Mathias assumed the room belonged to a girl. He stared at the one image of Christiano Ronaldo, his stomach filled with unease as he observed the man's bulging biceps, chiseled abdomen, and the sharp V-cut that vanished into his boxers.
Mathias didn't have any of those features. He was nothing but a pale, skinny white kid. No wonder he couldn't even have a face-to-face conversation with anyone besides Beckett and Eden without getting flustered.
Suddenly, the door swung open and someone stumbled in before slamming the door shut behind them. Mathias immediately dove for the floor, his heartbeat accelerating as he tucked himself out of sight by crouching next to the bed.
