Hurricane // Matty Healy ♣ The 1975

51. mess

I leaned my head against the window of the train, watching the raindrops running down the pane of glass, joining and separating before flowing down out of sight. 

We were about five minutes from the station, and I hadn't cried once. That didn't mean that I didn't want to, though. 

I pulled the sleeves on my wooly jumper further down over my hands and let out a pathetic little sigh. 

He's going to die. He's going to die while you're here, and the next time you will see him will be at his funeral. 

I frowned and pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind. 

I was destroying myself more than anyone ever had done. 

As the train pulled into the station, I grabbed my bags and waited for everyone else from my carriage to get off, just so I wouldn't get pushed around. 

About five minutes after the train had pulled in, I finally got up and lugged my heavy bags off the train. 

I was finally home. 

Well, not exactly home, but I was closer to home than I was beforehand. 

I kept thinking about our bed and how I was just going to lie there for days, because I had nothing to do and no one to see.

I kept thinking about how Matty used to lie in that bed with me, and somehow that thought would keep me warm no matter how cold it was outside. 

----

I pushed the door to our flat open and sighed contently as I walked in. 

Nothing was particularly right, but being home again made everything momentarily better. 

I dumped my bags down at the door and shut it behind me before turning the light on. 

Everything was so quiet. 

I took my coat off and hung it up on the rack in the corner, then slipped my shoes off and set them down beside it. 

I sighed and dragged my hands through my hair as I made my way to the kitchen. 

I turned that light on, then the radio because I really hated being alone. 

I filled the kettle with water and boiled it, but I didn't bother making the coffee I had originally planned on, instead, I just stood there, looking at our kitchen and thinknig about all of the things I needed to do. and all of the things that I was doing. 

I spun around and grabbed a cup from the draining board, I filled it up with water and downed it in a few gulps. 

As I began to feel a little more hydrated, I went to get my bags from the door, so I could unpack my things. 

I was just making do, wasting time, waiting for something to happen. 

Once I had unpacked, I ended up cleaning the flat, hoovering, wiping down the counters and tables, dusting, I did everything but the washing and changing the sheets on the bed, which sounds gross, but I needed something that smelled like Matty. 

When I was done, I fell backwards onto our bed and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sound of the radio playing loudly in the kitchen. 

"I suppose we should make dinner-" I stopped myself and sighed, turnign my head to the right and peering across the double bed at the chest of drawers resting against the wall a few feet away. 

"Fuck." I mumbled. 

I shut my eyes and rubbed my forehead, feeling tired and lost without anyone beside me, without Matty beside me.