𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐖 𝐁𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄
Matthew wasn’t so set against alcohol that he threw a hissy fit every time someone around him dared to drink it but he was hyper aware of others when they drank around him. He knew what it looked like when someone had too much to drink, saw it in the slow blink of eyelids, the lips that would slur over simple speech, the way their body movements seemed to be too loose, like their limbs were connected to strings and they were being puppeted by some unseen and unnatural force that made their actions clumsy and uncoordinated. His eyes lingered on the bottle a little too long, noting how much was left and deciding that if she’d had that much already then she was pretty fucked.
He looked back toward her after hearing her clear her throat, not moving when she reached out for him to trail warm fingers across the side of his bandaged neck. Before he responded he pushed the plate of the rest of the tacos closer to her, an unspoken suggestion for her to have more in some vague attempt to try and fill her belly with more than just hard liquor. “I like it,” he responded after a few moments of silent contemplation, not because he wasn’t sure about himself. He knew he liked being bitten just as he knew he liked the pain but his hesitancy to speak on it came from the lingering thought that trading addictions maybe wasn’t smart.
“It feels good. It’s like getting high.” He nudged the bottle on the table, turning it around so the label faced him and he pretended to read it, “Why? Are you interested in switching careers?”
“mmm,” aria hummed and nodded her head in understanding. she could, after all. she didn’t think matthew would so openly state that, not because he was intrinsically untrustworthy ( quite the opposite, in her experience ), but because an addict didn’t often express such feelings unless in the presence of another addict. that thought then connected to another, which presented itself at the forefront of her mind: he knows. she leaned back in her seat, pushing her knees to her chest— a sign of being on the defense. aria didn’t like her secrets to be exposed so loudly and obviously, and it was clear to her now that she wasn’t too quiet with them.
she watched him closely as he turned the bottle of liquor toward him, taking a seemingly great deal of interest in it. she also noted earlier his moving of his plate, sliding it closer to her figure. at first, she thought it was a kind gesture. she recalled only a few moments earlier thinking, he’s considerate. truthfully, he was but not in the way she originally thought. she pushed the plate away from her, back over to him. “i’m not that hungry.” she stated in a deadpan tone of voice, a clear shift. she then grabbed the bottle of alcohol to set it down by the foot of her chair. she wanted to divert his attention from her addiction, thus, she answered his question. “no, not by any means. i’ve only ever wanted to be a singer.” and it was true. she thought back to how desperate she was, how she wanted nothing more than to make it big but just as that thought came, it was replaced with the memory of the events of california. she looked away and closed her eyes in a feeble attempt to block the memory out.
she inhaled and then exhaled steadily before she opened her eyes again, having composed herself to a neutral state again in a matter of moments. aria peered over at the IV bag and flicked it ever so slightly. “well, since you’ve got time and i have no where better to be... why don’t we play a game of 50 questions?? i ask you a question, you ask me and so forth... whatcha say, blood bag?” she jested, striving to lighten the mood, or at least her own.
