Frequencies of Us Chapter 69: Steps and a Steal

Mateo POV

I’m creeping outside Noah’s house, night thick around me. My pulse thumps loud, wild, because he’s not mine anymore. I ended it, shouted I can’t trust him, but my insides churn, hollow without him. My sneakers pad soft, heading for his shed, and my gut knots, craving a piece of him. I nudge the door, careful, and it swings open, quiet. My fingers twitch, sweaty, and I slip inside, chest rising fast.

I spot his hoodie, slung over a chair, and my breath hitches, quick and warm. I snatch it, clutch it tight, and his scent hits me, weak but real. I get stiff, throbbing in my shorts, and I can’t fight it—need him too much. I drop to the floor, legs wide, and unzip, fast, yanking my shorts down. My dick stands up, full and ready, and I press the hoodie to my nose, breathing him in. I rub myself, slow, picturing him close, and mutter, “You’re still mine,” voice gritty, low.

I pump quicker, seeing his hands on me, sliding over my skin, tugging me off. My throat catches, ragged, and I bury my face in his hoodie, imagining his mouth on mine, wet and deep. “Noah,” I grunt, loud, fist working fast, heat spiking sharp. My fingers smear the tip, slick with wet, and my knees wobble, craving him fierce. I see him shoving me down, slamming into me, rough and hot. My hips jerk, pushing up, and I rasp, “Still mine,” voice cracking, raw.

The fabric brushes my lips, soft, and I stroke harder, hearing his moans, feeling his grip on me. My dick swells, pulsing wild, and I picture him bursting inside me, tipping me over. My fist flies, tight, fast, and I burst, wet and fast, soaking the hoodie, dripping down my hand. I slump, weak, gasping loud, trembling on the floor. My ribs ache, empty now, and I toss the hoodie aside, chest pounding, needing him back.

I stand, slow, legs unsteady, and tug my shorts up, sticky mess on my fingers. My insides feel crushed, cold without him, and my eyes burn, sharp, sudden. I swipe them quick, mad at myself, mad at him for Jamie. I broke us, but I want us, and my skin hums, still hungry for him. I sneak out, silent, leaving the hoodie, and head home, mind spinning, scared I’ve lost him more.

I drag into school next day, feet slow on pavement. Kids bustle past, noisy, but I’m cut off, stuck missing him. Then Ryan barrels up, fast, ramming me into a wall. My spine jars, pain biting, and he grins, leaning close. “Hey, queer,” he says, voice sharp, cruel, and my gut sinks, chill sweeping in. “Video’s next,” he hisses, low, and my pulse quits, terror spiking quick.

“What video?” I bark, voice wobbly, but he chuckles, dark, mean. “Wait and see,” he says, pulling back, and my fists knot, dread surging up. Lena’s video? Us together? My lungs sear, scared he’s got it, scared it’s out there. “Back off,” I roar, loud, pushing him away, and he trips, still grinning. My blood boils, furious, and I smash my foot into a trash can, loud, feeling caged, gut churning with what’s coming.

I stomp off, quick, chest heaving, when Sofia darts up, waving a can. My insides twist, spotting it, and she blocks me, eyes fierce. “Mateo, this,” she says, voice tight, holding up the fake can with my prints. “Tell me why,” she pleads, inching near, and my throat closes, mad, afraid she’s turning on me. “Drop it!” I bellow, sharp, and barge past, pulse racing wild. She calls, “Mateo, stop!” but I march on, raging at her, raging at it all, feeling pinned.

I slump in class, palms damp, mind thumping with Ryan’s threat, Sofia’s can. My ribs ache, Noah’s ghost all over me, and I feel him fading, gone from me. Kids mutter, glancing over, and my gut clenches, tight, scared of that video, scared of losing everything. I grip my chair, nails digging, and want to bolt, grab him, mend us. The bell clangs, loud, and I snatch my bag, fast, craving air, craving him, but I’m trapped, alone, dread swelling.

I creep home, late, slow, slipping through the back door. My skin’s still tingling from the shed, but Mom’s voice cuts through, loud, angry. “Mateo!” she shouts, and my breath stalls, chill rushing in. She’s in the kitchen, clutching a bag, face twisted, and I stop cold, palms slick. “What’s in here?” she snaps, yanking out Lena’s note—“I saw you”—and my gut plummets, fear surging fast.

“It’s junk,” I mumble, low, but she lunges closer, shaking the bag. “Proof, Mateo! Gangs? Trouble?” she screams, voice slicing, and my lungs blaze, caught, scared she’s wrong but sees something real. “No way,” I say, fast, head shaking, but she clamps my wrist, hard. “You’re staying in,” she growls, hauling me to my room, and I yank back, shouting, “Mom, let go!” She shoves me inside, bangs the door shut, and I hear the lock snap, loud, locking me tight.

I slam my fist on the door, hard, furious, terrified. My chest thumps, air rushing out, and I ram my shoulder into the wall, loud, pain jolting through me. I’m caged, stuck, cut off, and my ribs crush in, needing Noah, dreading that video, dreading Mom’s bag. My knees lock, fear swallowing me, and I collapse, staring at the door, feeling it all break, waiting for the next hit.