Chapter Nineteen: He Is Only Drunk

Evelyn

...

   Hours passed, in the library until the curfew, then I was in my dorm, reading through my books and writing down what I found useful for potion-making. Then the rest of the hours in the midnight, I drew in my sketchbook, waiting for Pansy to announce when the party was over, as I asked her to.

   And finally, at two in the morning, she burst into the room, stumbling drunkenly. I put my sketchbook down on the bed, staring at her, waiting for her to fall at any moment.

   But she collapsed on her bed instead.

   "You are unbelievable," I said, shaking my head wearily. I rubbed my burning, tired eyes, then climbed out of my bed; reaching for my shoes.

   "The party's over," Pansy mumbled indistinctly.

   "I can see that." I put my shoes on, pulling the door open.

   I made my way into the common room, finding Mattheo laying flat on a couch, alone, staring at the ceiling. Around him, the room was blown up: the middle table was a pile of junks; emptied bottles were covering the table, split cups with poured drinks around them, cigarette butts, and half-eaten cake plates were all around, even on the floor and the couches.

   And even from a far distance, the smell of alcohol was stinging my nostrils.

   It was messed up. And disgusting.

   I walked over, avoiding to step on the splattered drink on the ground, I stood above the couch where Mattheo was spread over.

   He was very drunk; and perhaps high, too. A thin, shiny layer of sweat was covering his skin, his eyes were glowing intoxicatedly, and his body was loose. He lazily tilted his head to look up at me. "Hi baby." His voice was hoarse from the alcohol, and unnervingly soft.

   "What is this mess?" I asked patiently.

   He chuckled drunkenly, saying nothing. I peered at him __ he was very unwell.

   I shook my head wearily. "Can you get up?" I asked.

   He swallowed, shaking his head feebly, which caused his sweaty curls to mess up.

   With a snort, I sat on a couch right next to his, watching him closely. He probably did not even know his name __ I wondered how he was going to answer my manipulative questions. "Drinking yourselves to death. Is it really interesting?" I spoke sarcastically.

   He chuckled again. "It's distracting," he slurred.

   I rubbed my face in my palm. "Distracting you from telling me what this secret room was?" I pushed my chance.

   He smirked, his eyes shutting. "Maybe."

   "Tell me more." I pushed further.

   "The Room of Requirement," he mumbled. "It appears when you need it."

   The 'Room of Requirement'? Appears when you need it?

   "And what is in it?" I asked, frowning.

   "It__" he paused, trying to fight back sleep. "It depends on what you need it for."

   My frown deepened in confusion, my eyelids drooping then. "Are you telling me riddles?" I uttered sarcastically.

   He smirked, running his hand through his dark hair. "It changes into what you need."

   I raised my eyebrows.

   "If you desperately need to shit, then it'll show up as a bathroom." He chuckled intoxicatedly.

   If you need a bathroom, it will reveal itself as a bathroom.

   I had never heard of such a room. Nor did I read about it. But since it was a vanishing room, I could complain no more. "What were you doing in there?" I asked, my brows pulled together.

   "I don't know," he muttered. "It's you who's filling my head right now."

   He tapped his palm against his forehead. And I felt like I was hit; by his words.

   "It feels like I never hated you in the first place," he slurred, foolish and drunk. "Because right now, all I wanna do is to forget it all. I wanna kiss you until I'm drained of blood __ until nothing else matters in this shitty world."

   I felt the dehydration in my throat strengthen by each of his words. I did not want to be kissed right then __ but it was not the thing that mattered. The questions I had been planning on asking had been washed out of my mind, that is. And for a second, I wondered if he did it on purpose, just to ditch my question.

   But then my eyes lingered on his glowing eyes, staring up at me, full of emotions and things I did not understand.

   But we understood each other __ he understood me. And he never disrespected me, even though we hated each other for so long.

   His eyes were a deep ocean of understanding and adoration when they analyzed me, but then his gaze was gone when I did not react, nor to his words or the massage in his eyes.

   "Enough for tonight," he said indistinctly, his disappointment appearing in the air as he rubbed his eyes.

   "You are going to fall asleep there," I confronted.

   Finally, the corner of his lips curved up weakly.

   "Come on, get up." I stood up myself.

   "Aren't you gonna help me, Princess?" He stretched his feeble hand into the air for me to take and help him get up.

   "Helping the thieve of my potions?" I narrowed my eyes. And then I was surprised by my own sudden question.

   But he was not surprised. He just chuckled drunkenly. "I told you, I would be so fucking stupid to even touch your stuff, let alone stealing them," he slurred. "Now, help me please."

   I sighed and reached out for his hand, pulling him as he sat up on the couch. He held his head in his palm, seemingly resisting the sudden burst of dizziness that crashed over him.

   "You are pathetic," I murmured.

   "And attractive," he said, an arrogant smirk tugging at his lips.