The Matter With Things Novels & Stories

What is wrong with me? *****

"But I have one thing to do first." ***

“I’m part of your life.” The words hung between us. He stood then, pacing once across the room before turning back to me. “That’s exactly the problem.” My chest tightened. “What does that mean?” “It means you matter,” he said. “And anything that matters can be used.” A chill ran down my spine. “So what are you saying?” I asked. “That I should leave?” “No.” “Then what?” “That you need to be careful.” “I am careful.” “Not enough.” The bluntness stung.

Seems things can only get better! ------------

"My matter, I don't need you to care." "If you don't want me to interfere in your matters, then who else do you want me to meddle in?"

No one answered him. Wilson frowned. Only then did he realize that Ivory's bedroom seemed different from how it used to be. Many things were missing. For instance, the bunny soft toy that she usually kept on the bed—she had to hold it when she went to bed at night, but it was gone. The skincare and makeup on the vanity were also missing. Ivory was vain and had plenty of makeup, having had over 30 lipsticks. Yet now, the vanity was bare. Everything else in the room was the same, and the bed was still made. However, everything that Ivory liked was gone. It was almost as if she'd left behind all the things she didn't like and had disappeared.

The way geological things waited. The way real things waited. ---

𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬. 𝙈𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚, 𝙣𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙘� �𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙙𝙤 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩.

So I take a step back and try to change the subject. “Anyway, this matchmaking thing is kind of weird, isn’t it?” I say with a laugh. “I mean, who knows what kind of person they will match me with? Some kind of stalker or psychopath, probably.” Jace nods in agreement and follows me as I enter the room where the matchmaker lady is waiting for me. She looks up from her table with a smile.

“Nothing to worry about.” Her lips press into a thin line. For a moment, I think she’ll let it go—but then she says quietly, “It always seems to be ‘nothing’ until it becomes everything.” I look up, my brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She takes a breath, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “It means that while you’re out there taking care of ‘business,’ things are happening here too—things that matter just as much.”