Frequencies of Us Chapter 37: Whispers and a Wreck

Mateo POV

I’m in the hall, the air loud with lockers slamming and kids rushing, my hands stuffed in my hoodie pockets. My chest’s warm, buzzing, since yesterday in the library—Noah helping with my apps, knees touching, “You’re trouble,” his grin steamy and soft, easing my ache. That chime—“He’s signing up for you”—stayed with me all night, flirty and real, pulling me to him. Now I’m here, heading to class, my gut twisting, hot and dumb, because it’s him—close, good—and I’m happy, yeah, feeling us again.

Someone grabs my arm—quick, sharp—and my head snaps up, heart jumping. It’s Lena—smirking, eyes narrow—pulling me to the side, away from the crowd. My stomach drops, cold and fast, and my face burns, hot and sudden, because she’s trouble—I feel it—and my chest tightens, breath short, waiting, scared of her words. “Noah’s using you,” she says, low, sharp, her voice cutting through me, and my heart slams, loud and wild, because it’s him—she means him—and my gut twists, sour and raw, doubting, breaking fast.

“What?” I mutter, low, my voice rough, stepping back—shaky, dumb—and my hands shake, bad now, clenching tight, because it’s big—huge—and my face burns hotter, red and sweaty, not wanting to hear, not wanting it true. “He’s playing you—needs a project, a pity case,” she says, smirking still, leaning closer, and my chest locks up, air gone, because it stings—deep, mean—and my head buzzes—his grin, her lie—spinning wild, tearing me up. My breath puffs, loud and quick, and my gut flips, cold and wild, because I doubt—yeah, I do—and it’s killing me, hurting bad.

I yank free—fast, rough—my sneakers squeaking loud, and my heart slams, loud and fast, because she’s lying—maybe—but it’s sticking, digging in. My chest aches, steamy and raw, and my legs move—quick, shaky—needing him, needing to know, needing it gone. My face burns, red and wild, and my hands shove deeper, trembling bad, because it’s him—Noah—and I like him—love him, maybe—but now it’s messy, breaking me, making me doubt everything.

I find him—at the track, kicking dirt, alone—and my gut twists, hot and fast, because he’s here—real, close—but my head’s loud—Lena’s whisper, my fear—pulling me apart. My heart slams, wild and loud, and my breath catches, stuck in my throat, as I stomp over—fast, mad—my sneakers crunching gravel. “Is she right?” I snap, voice loud, rough, stopping close, and my hands shake, out of my pockets, because it’s out—raw, dumb—and my face burns, red and sweaty, needing him to say no, needing him to fix it.

He turns—quick, sharp—eyes wide, then narrow, and my stomach flips, warm and wild, because he’s mad—I see it—and my chest flutters, steamy and fast, scared I’m right, scared I’m wrong. “What?” he says, low, rough, stepping closer—too close—and my heart skips, loud and fast, because it’s flirty—steamy in my head—but out here it’s loud, messy, hitting me hard. “Lena—she says you’re using me,” I yell, voice cracking, and my gut twists, cold and raw, because it’s him—my Noah—and it’s breaking, tearing me up.

“No, she’s lying!” he shouts, voice loud, sharp, cutting through me, and my chest aches, hot and wild, because he’s mad—real mad—and my hands shake, bad now, clenching tight, because he’s fighting—denying—but my head’s buzzing—her smirk, his yell—spinning wild. “She’s full of it—why’d you believe her?” he snaps, stepping forward—close, wild—and my breath puffs, loud and quick, because he’s in my face—eyes burning—and my gut flips, steamy and fast, wanting him, doubting him still.

“Because it fits!” I yell, voice rough, loud, shoving him—hard, quick—and my heart slams, loud and wild, because it’s spilling—raw, dumb—and my face burns hotter, red and sweaty, breaking bad. “You’re always there—fixing me, helping—maybe she’s right!” My chest heaves, my gut twisting, because I’m mad—hurt, scared—and it’s him—Noah—but I believe her, yeah, and it’s killing me, tearing me apart. My hands shake, restless, brushing my hair—quick, rough—and my throat tightens, dry and stuck, because it’s love—maybe—and it’s crashing, hurting deep.

“I’m there because I like you!” he shouts, voice cracking, loud, and my chest locks up, air gone, because he’s raw—real, hurt—and my stomach flips, warm and wild, feeling it, doubting it still. “You’re an idiot—why’d you listen to her?” His hands fly up—fast, shaky—and my heart jumps, banging hard, because he’s close—too close—and my gut twists, steamy and raw, pulling me in, pushing me away. My breath shakes, my face hot, and my eyes lock on his—dark, wet—because he’s mad—but he’s mine, maybe, and it’s breaking, messing me up.

“Then prove it!” I snap, voice loud, rough, stepping back—shaky, dumb—because my chest’s tight—hurting—and my head’s loud—her words, his yell—spinning wild. My hands shove into my hoodie—sweaty, trembling—and my heart slams, loud and fast, because he’s here—fighting, real—but I believe her—yeah, I do—and it’s steamy, tearing me up, leaving me raw. “I can’t—can’t do this,” I mutter, low, turning fast—shaky, quick—and my sneakers pound dirt, storming off, because it’s too much—too big—and my chest aches, breaking bad.

He yells—“Mateo!”—loud, rough, fading behind me, and my gut twists, hot and wild, because he’s calling—wanting—but my heart’s pounding, wild and fast, pulling tight. My breath’s loud, shaky, and my face burns, red and wild, because I’m hurt—deep, dumb—and he’s back there—mad, real—but I’m gone, believing her, breaking us. My hands shake, bad now, gripping my hoodie—sweaty, tight—and my throat’s tight, words stuck, because I want him—yeah, I do—but it’s crashing, leaving me shaky, torn apart.

The track’s quiet—just wind, my steps—and my chest aches, steamy and raw, because he’s still—yelling, maybe—and my head buzzes—her lie, his fight—mixing up, making me jumpy. My heart slams, loud and wild, and my gut twists, warm and scared, because it’s love—real, maybe—and I’m losing it, breaking it, hurting bad. My breath puffs, loud and quick, and my legs slow—shaky, dumb—because I could—could turn back—but I don’t, not now, too messed up, too broken.

Then it glows—a soft blink, low and warm, from the bleachers nearby. My head snaps up, heart jumping, and my eyes squint—lights flickering, slow and flirty, pulsing soft in the dusk. My gut twists, warm and steamy, and my hands grip tighter—sweaty, shaky—because it’s off—too perfect, too alive—like yesterday, that chime, that hum. My breath catches, stuck in my throat, and I grin—small, dumb—because it’s them—those texts, that tease—but it’s sweet, wrapping me close. My phone buzzes, sudden and soft, making me flinch.

I yank it out—hands trembling—unknown number, one line: “He’s breaking for you.” My chest flutters, hot and wild, and my eyes flick back—Noah’s still there, head down, kicking dirt—pulling tight. My heart slams, loud and fast, and my breath shakes, steamy and alive, because it’s us—here, now—caught in the glow. The lights pulse—slow, soft—dancing over the track, and my gut twists, warm and wild, because it’s him—close, always—and I’m breaking, waiting, with something sweet and steamy flickering in the air.