My chest tightened, and the cloth dropped to the floor. I'd wanted to have this conversation since the day I found Matt sat there in that first group therapy session. But now, I wasn't so sure if I could hear his story, if I could muster the right reaction to something he held so close to his heart.

I don't know why I assumed the person he lost would have merely been a friend. Had the signs been there all along, but I was blinded by my own grief to see the trauma he was bearing on his shoulders?

Zaire bent over to retrieve the wet washcloth, but Matt swooped in first, his stare holding mine the entire time. I hated the way he was looking at me. As if his secret would break me, but he was the one suffering in silence. I saw that pain written all over his face, etched in every line on his furrowed forehead, and I wanted to smooth them away.

"Thanks, mate. I'll take it from here." Matt turned to Zaire and delivered a weak smile, offering him an out from the tension building in the room.

I couldn't tear my gaze from Matt's and hardly registered Zaire leaving us alone. A metallic taste filled my mouth as I gnawed on the inside of my cheek.

"Did you want a shower?"

That acrid smell of vomit lingered in my hair and on my clothes. Thanks to worry seeping through every pore of my body, I had no space left to be embarrassed, so I nodded and stumbled after him to the bathroom.

Squinting as the fluorescent lighting attacked my vision, I did a double-take at the person staring back. My reflection in the over-sink mirror caused my heart to stutter and my stomach to curl in a renewed sense of revulsion.

My paper-thin skin appeared dull and lifeless. I dragged my fingers under my eyes, through the smears of mascara, eyeshadow and eyeliner, leaving stains of charcoal tears in their wake. The sigh I released hurt as it passed the barrier of my sunken chest. Defeated. Broken. Exhausted.

"I look like shit. I looked amazing when Liv did my make up. But this girl mentioned my scar, and I couldn't handle it. I'm so fucking stupid. It's a bit of skin." I prodded the raised line and traced it down my cheek.

Matt stood right behind me but never made contact; his body heat begging for my numbed hands to reach for him. "Don't do that." His voice curled around my ear as he kept it low, barely above a whisper. If he pressed his chest on my back, I was sure I would feel the erratic beat of his heart. But he maintained a thin, invisible wall between our bodies.

"What?"

"Belittle yourself because of how you reacted. It's okay to get mad." The tips of his fingers brushed up my arms and feathered along the straps of my lace bralette. His eyes shadowed his actions, but I could still see each lost dream in them.

"But she didn't know it was real. I should have just explained and moved on. Not run away like every other time. When will this stop?" I murmured, my chin dropped and my lids closed. It wasn't about me. Our slow dance was only delaying the inevitable. Bailey.

He gripped my shoulders and spun me so I had no choice but to stare up at those honeyed pools. Even the broken and damaged version of Matt cast its own magical spell over me. "You're doing amazing. It takes time. And for the record, I still think you look gorgeous."

"Don't do that. Lie to me because you think it will make me feel better. It doesn't." But it did. He did. He could tell me a million lies and I wouldn't hold them against him and that was my own terrifying truth. Amongst all this turmoil, I knew from this moment onwards I would blindly want him. "Sometimes I need to hear the truth."

"Okay, you look like shit."

We both allowed ourselves to laugh through the sorrow. Matt brushed my ratty strands of hair away from my face and held my cheeks for a while, no words exchanged as our laughter died down. His lips parted to speak but stayed silent, his stare pulling more of that desire from within me.

I choked on my next breath; butterflies caught in tailwinds, spinning out of control. To the outside world, the scene laid out was depressing, two broken souls coming together in grief, but we were more than that. Our own kind of beautiful.

"Can I brush my teeth first?" I asked as Matt leaned over the bath and started the shower. Steam filled the bathroom, and I dry-heaved once more when I ran my tongue over my teeth. The leftover taste of vomit turned my stomach, and I needed to scrub it away.

"Oh yeah, sure." He opened the under-sink cabinet and pulled out a toothbrush still in its packaging. "Here you go."

Matt kept the water running while I rid my mouth of any residue of wine and stomach acid.

Once I was finished, he hovered behind me. "Can I?" He slipped his thumbs in the waistband of my skirt as soon as I nodded. The tulle scraped past my hips and down my thighs to pool at my feet. Next came my bralette and knickers until I stood bare and defenceless opposite a fully clothed Matt. He went to step back, but my fingers were already working on the buttons of his shirt.

My eyes met his, and the sweetest calm settled around us. "Don't leave. Come in with me." I helped him out of his trousers and into the warming spray of water.

The plastic shower curtain was pulled across, sealing us in our own little bubble. Tilting my head back, I drenched my hair and rubbed my hands over my face.

Matt rested his back against the tiles and cast his eyes down to the porcelain bathtub. "I'm sorry." A note of vulnerability cracked through his voice and I wanted to tell him it was okay, that we could forget everything that had happened over the evening, but I chose to be honest.

"I was really scared."

He moved off the wall and reached over me to grab some face wash. "That I would hit them?"

I twisted the lid off and squeezed the tube, lightly releasing the smell. Lemon-scented. "No." I shook my head and massaged the cream-like mixture between my fingers before rubbing it over my face.

"Of me?"

"Yes." Stepping back under the jets, my heartbeat faltered. I wasn't scared of him exactly. "No. Scared of everything, really. Of how I felt when I saw you hurting. Of how I'm feeling."

"What do you mean?" He traced my collarbones, his breathing uneven with each touch.

"Can I turn around for this?" I didn't give him a choice as I faced the other way and took a deep breath in, preparing myself for my confession and hoping it would lead him to his.

"You make me feel so fucking crazy but so safe and loved at the same time and I don't know why or how you do it." I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the tiles opposite. "I'm terrified of losing another person, but you have sucked me in so deep that walking away from you now would feel like an unbearable loss." Matt's arms circled around my waist. "So whatever you have to tell me or don't want to tell me, please just say it won't change what we have. Even if it seems nuts because we barely know each other."

"We do know each other. I don't think it's crazy." His lips brushed the crook of my neck and he pulled me closer into him, his embrace defending the unprotected thoughts swirling in my mind.

"No, you know every part of me. But I know nothing about you. About why you're here. About her." I rotated in his arm and traced the outline of his bee tattoo. "Why you freeze whenever I touch you here."

"His gaze softened, and he covered my hand over his heart. "You're right. That's not fair on you."

"It's not fair on you either. Or on her." There he was, helping me work through all my grief and all that time we had been ignoring his.

Seconds turned into minutes as he thought about the best way to deliver his story. His fingers never left my body, trailing after fallen droplets.

"Bailey and I went to school together, lived on the same street and same group of friends. We were our first everything and about to move in together. So pretty serious." Matt fiddled with my earlobes when his hands reached that point. "We were meant to do it as soon as we both hit eighteen, but partying took over and had no money. My parents let her stay most of the time, so there was no rush. Going out with our friends just seemed more important." His mouth lifted in a slight smile and he shrugged.

"I can't remember a weekend where we both weren't munted."

I raised my eyebrows, questioning his choice of words.

"Drunk. A few years of going all out. I found a job in sales and started saving to move out. We had enough and some for a deposit on a small studio flat near the beach. We celebrated by getting these tattoos. Bailey always drew bees on everything, so we just went with it."

"And the bee is above your heart." That wasn't a question, but a confirmation that I understood what it meant to him. A part of me broke as his words hit my ears and registered; a part that had been his without realising.

Matt slumped forward, and I wrapped myself around him. I wanted to protect him from something that had already happened. I hated how helpless and out of my depths I felt. Somehow my entire being ached for him more than I had done bearing my own grief.

"Bailey hadn't grown out of it yet. She wanted to go out more, and I just went with it because I loved her and wanted to see her happy." His breath hit my skin, and a shiver ran through me, already guessing the outcome of how it ended.

His pulse raced under my touch and dread nestled itself under my ribcage. "Drinking wasn't enough at that stage and she chased a new buzz."

I knew that need well. It was how we met, and I couldn't help but wonder if that would make all of it worse.

"We tried it just once. Just one fucking time. But that was enough." His voice broke, and he hiccupped on his anger and pain. His grip on my sides stiffened like he had to transfer some of his anguish over and I let him. I would take all of it away from him if I could. And I knew he would do the same for me.

"One of our friends brought a small bag of pills to a beach party and she begged me to try it with her. I didn't even ask what was in them." He released a sharp breath and pulled back. Red rimmed his eyes as he finally let go.

"And I was fine. But Bailey had a bad reaction. Or whatever the doctor said. She fitted. Fuck, I can still see her on that beach." His eyelids sagged, and he avoided my gaze, lost in the images that must have been playing out in his head. I hadn't been there that day, never knew Bailey, but even I could picture her laying on the sand with him screaming by her side.

My vision blurred and finally, tears matching his streamed down my face. I wiped my thumb over his lashes, kissed his jaw, and closed the small gap between us. If he was to drown, I would jump in alongside him for as long as he needed me.

"When I saw you tonight, I panicked. Saw red and was so close to beating the shit out of Dan." He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. "I can't go through that again. If anything happened to you," he whispered against my hair.

My throat clenched. I realised what that scene in the bedroom looked like to him. What a horrible image to come home to when something similar was replaying in his mind.

"I'm so sorry." I broke down and concealed my face in his chest. Matt's hands buried themselves in my hair and he let go of his own torment.

We stood under the warm waterfall, our bodies bare, moulded together while sorrow engulfed us and flooded our bubble. Matt finally moved first. Muted from his burdensome revelation, he washed my hair and body in a ritual of tenderness. The water cleansed us of any remnants of remorse until it ran cool and became almost unbearable.

That night I fell asleep next to Matt, wondering if the ghost of Bailey would end up joining Saffron's and play a hand in the birth of our downfall.

***