Frequencies of Us Chapter 67: Arc and a Swift

Mateo POV

Running on the track, alone, sneakers slapping dirt hard. The sun’s down, sky dark, and my chest heaves, sweat dripping fast. Noah’s gone, broke up with me, and my heart’s heavy, aching bad. I push harder, legs burning, trying to shake him out of my head, but he’s there, stuck in me. My stomach twists, warm, and I feel him, his hands, his lips, everywhere.

I slow down, breathing loud, and duck behind the bleachers, dark and quiet. My dick’s hard, pressing my shorts, and I can’t stop it—need him too much. I lean on the metal, hand sliding down, and unzip, slow, pulling my shorts low. My dick pops out, thick and stiff, and I grab it, tight, stroking slow. I close my eyes, see Noah’s hands on me, rubbing me, and my breath catches, quick and shaky.

I stroke faster, imagining him kissing me, tongue deep, hot and wet. “Fuck, Noah,” I growl, low, hand pumping quick, heat building fast. I feel his fingers, teasing my chest, sliding lower, and my legs shake, remembering him jerking me off in the shed. My thumb rubs the tip, slick with precum, and I groan, loud, “I need you.” My hips buck, thrusting into my hand, and I see him riding me, moaning my name, tight around me.

Sweat rolls down my face, chest heaving, and I jack off harder, replaying the gym, his nails clawing me, water slicking us. My dick pulses, hot and hard, and I growl again, “Fuck, I need you,” voice rough, desperate. I feel him cumming on me, pushing me over, and my hand flies, fast, tight, until I cum, hot and thick, spilling over my fingers, body jerking hard. I pant, loud, cum dripping in the dark, and my heart twists, missing him worse now.

I wipe my hand on my shorts, shaky, and pull them up, chest still pounding. Tears sting my eyes, hot, and I kick the bleacher, mad at him, mad at me. I broke it off, yelled I can’t trust him, but I want him back, need him bad. My chest feels broken, heavy, and I sit, head in my hands, feeling alone, lost without him. My body buzzes, still wanting him, and I hate this, hate everything.

I head off the track, slow, legs tired, when Ryan steps out, blocking me. My stomach drops, cold hitting quick, and he smirks, hands in his pockets. “Hey, fag,” he says, voice low, mean, and my fists clench, mad already. “What you want?” I snap, stepping closer, heart racing fast. He leans in, says, “Saw that pic. You and him, real cozy,” and my chest stops, fear spiking hard.

“What pic?” I ask, voice shaking, but he laughs, soft, nasty. “You’ll see,” he says, stepping back, and my hands tremble, panic clawing up. Lena’s pic? The kissing one? My head spins, scared he’s got it, scared everyone will know. “Leave me alone,” I say, loud, but he grins, says, “Too late,” and walks off, slow. My chest burns, mad and afraid, and I kick the ground, hard, feeling trapped, sick.

I keep walking, head a mess, when Caleb jogs up, fast, face nervous. My stomach twists, seeing him, and I glare, chest tight. “Mateo, wait,” he says, hands up, and I snap, “Fuck off.” He steps closer, says, “I want a truce, man. I’m done with Lena.” My heart jumps, mad still, and I shove him, hard. “No way,” I yell, voice rough, and he stumbles, looking scared.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet, but I shake my head, fists tight. “You fucked me over,” I snap, loud, and turn away, mad as hell. He calls, “She’s got more, Mateo!” but I keep going, chest heaving, not trusting him, not wanting him near me. My head’s spinning, fear mixing with hurt, and I feel alone, cut off, with Noah gone and Caleb begging. I kick a rock, hard, mad at everything crashing down.

I get home, slow, sneaking in quiet, head pounding loud. Mom’s asleep, house dark, and I drop my bag, shaky, needing to breathe. My chest hurts, Noah’s face everywhere, and I sit, staring at nothing, feeling him slip away. My hands sweat, fear of that pic growing, and I wonder who’s got it, what’s next. I’m stuck, grounded, alone, and my heart’s breaking, wanting him back, scared of losing more.

Then my phone buzzes, loud on the table, snapping me out of it. I grab it, hands trembling, and see a text from an unknown number. My breath catches, fast, and I open it, heart slamming hard. It says, “Look outside. He’s waiting.” My chest stops, ice hitting quick, and I stumble to the window, pulling the curtain back. My heart jumps, wild, and I see Noah, standing there, eyes red, staring up at me.

My legs shake, hope and hurt mixing, and I want to run down, grab him, kiss him. He waves, small, shaky, and my chest tightens, needing him bad. But then I hear tires screech, loud, close, and headlights flash, bright, cutting the dark. My stomach drops, panic crashing in, and a car speeds up, fast, right at Noah. He turns, slow, eyes wide, and I yell, “Noah!” banging the glass, heart pounding wild.

He stumbles, falling back, and the car swerves, missing him close, roaring past. My chest locks up, fear choking me, and I see him scramble up, breathing hard. I grab my phone, hands shaky, and text him, “You okay?” but it won’t send—signal’s gone. My heart slams, mad, scared, and I hear Mom’s door creak upstairs, footsteps coming down, ready to catch me, trap me, as Noah stares up, lost, and the car circles back, fast.