Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

2nd Stage of Grief: Anger

The Rave/Eagles Club: Milwaukee, Wisconsin

*t/w: drugs*

Amid the confines of the cramped RV, I felt claustrophobic. We'd just finished a show earlier that day and I was still amped up. The highs of the stage were intoxicating, but the comedown was equally brutal. The transition from the spotlight to the shadows always gave me emotional motion sickness. I couldn't cope with the extremes. It was as if I were two different people, each fighting for control.
I glanced around at the boys who were engrossed in their own activities, but I could tell they were just as restless.

"I'm going for a walk," I declared.
George looked up from his laptop, concern evident in his eyes. "Matty, mate, it's late and we're in an unfamiliar town. It's not safe to wander off alone."
Adam chimed in, "Yeah, man, you never know what you might run into out there."

I understood their worries, but I was dying for some fresh air.
"Guys. Chill the fuck out. I just need to stretch my legs, clear my head. Besides, I won't go too far, promise."

Ross joined in, a touch of playfulness in his voice. "You know how you get when you're bored. You have a knack for finding trouble."

I smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "Hey, trouble finds me, man"
They weren't amused.
"Jokes! I just need a bit of a breather, that's all."
George sighed, still hesitant. "Alright. Don't fuck around with the townies"

I put on my most reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, I'll stay under the radar. You guys hold down the fort here" I said, grabbing my jacket and heading towards the door. "I'll be back soon."

The cold night air hit me all at once when I stepped out. As I ventured into the unfamiliar town, my footsteps carried me to a local bar not too far away. The neon sign outside flickered with a faint buzz, turning the dimly lit street pink.

Inside the bar, the crowd was scarce. The low hum of conversations and the soft clinking of glasses provided a familiar background noise.
I found a seat at the far end, hoping to blend in with the shadows.

As I scan the room, my soul nearly leaves my body. There she was, with her pin-straight black hair cascading down her back. My heart leaped into my throat, and for a moment, I was certain it was her.
I almost made a run for the door, an instinctive reaction.
I wanted to escape, to spare myself the torment of seeing her again, only to realise I was in bumfuck America and there was no chance she could actually be here.

As I approached the woman, relief washed over me. Her eyes, though beautiful, were blue and lacked the familiar depth. The contours of her face, though similar, were different, like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together.

With an air of nonchalance, I closed the distance between us and took my place on the stool beside her. I made a show of studying the bartender.
"A whiskey neat, please," I requested, my tone smooth and confident, well aware of her gaze upon me, even as I pretended to be oblivious.

"Whiskey neat, huh? Bold choice," she remarked, her lips curving into an alluring smile.

As the bartender deftly poured my drink, I took a deliberate sip, savoring the warmth that trickled down my throat. Only then did I turn my attention to the woman beside me.
"Well, I do enjoy the thrill of bold choices," I replied, returning her flirtatious grin.
"You seem like someone who's well-acquainted with thrilling adventures," she said, leaning in closer, her voice carrying a playful challenge.
I leaned in too, our proximity unravelling something in me. "Oh, you have no idea," I replied with a wink, my voice tinged with a hint of mystery.

Our conversation is cut short with the appearance of a tall, dark-haired man with a brooding expression.
"Can I help you?" I smile up at the man.
The man's eyes narrowed, his anger barely contained.
"Let's go, Eileen" he snapped, his tone laced with aggression.
I raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his hostility. "Oh, so you must be Eileen, then" I say turning my attention towards her, extending a hand in greeting, despite the tension emanating off the man towering over us.

Eileen looked anxious, torn between the desire to stay and the fear of her boyfriend's temper.
"Paul, it's fine. We were just chatting," she said, her voice attempting to soothe his anger.
But Paul was having none of it.
"Chatting, huh? Seems more like flirting to me," he retorted, his grip tightening on her arm.

Eileen's arm twisted desperately in Paul's grip, and I could feel the anger rising within me.
In a flurry of movement, a sickening sound echoed through the air— the unmistakable impact of knuckles meeting flesh. A heartfelt cry of pain followed, and I found myself standing over Paul, who now lay sprawled on the ground, swearing vehemently.

My hands were clenched, and my heart pounded in my chest. I hadn't planned on intervening, but when I saw her in distress, something inside me snapped, and I couldn't stand by and watch any longer.

"Hey!" I hear a voice coming from behind me. When I turn around, I catch a glimpse of a group of men surrounding us The one closest to me is holding an empty beer bottle and I have just enough time to process it come swinging down before everything fades to black.

~*************~

I didn't hear the knocking, if there was any.
I just heard, "UP! We need to talk."
I sit up slowly, scanning my surroundings. I was back in the damned RV again. How did I end up back here? The shooting pain in my head made it difficult to think. My hand moved instinctively to my left temple, trying to soothe the throbbing. I feel a sizeable lump already forming.

"What the fuck happened out there?" George's face loomed over me, demanding answers I couldn't provide.
"What happened?" I echoed, not knowing how else to respond.
Hann's voice joined the fray. "What always happens" he says, approaching the L-shaped couch where I lay.
And then Ross chimes in, his voice just a murmur that somehow echoed louder than anyone else's.
"I think you have a problem, mate" he says, the truth hanging heavy in the air.

The silence stretched, suffocating me like a noose, until I finally found my voice. "I..." The words choked in my throat, fear setting in.
Their collective presence bore down on me, and at that very moment, I knew.

The neon lights sliced through the curtains.
Even though my body felt like an anchor, dragging me down, I manage to stand up. Each breath was a struggle, and my head pounded like a war drum.
I stumbled my way to the bathroom, my hands trembling as I reached for the doorknob. I swung the door open while the guys just watched me from where they stood, their eyes fixed on me with a mix of worry and pity.

Under the sink, my fingers fumbled, searching for the familiar touch of my metal box—the one that held my sanctuary. But I was touching nothing but air.
George's eyes bore into mine, his tone urgent and firm. "It's gone," he says, his words a punch to the gut.

I felt like I was drowning in a sea of panic, struggling to catch my breath. The weight of my addiction pressed down on me, suffocating me with its crushing intensity.
I searched frantically in the cabinets and drawers, hoping against hope that it would magically reappear. But like George said— it was gone.

My blood boiled, my emotions a tempest within me as I made my way to the living area, my world spinning out of control. Even with the splitting headache, I violently upturn everything in the RV, a storm of anger and pain driving me to smash and break anything in my path. Tears streamed down my face, a torrent of emotions that threatened to drown me.

The walls echoed with the sound of destruction, a symphony of chaos that mirrored the turmoil raging within me. But even as I lashed out, a part of me felt hollow and empty, as if the pain I was inflicting on the world was just a fraction of the pain I felt inside.

Hann finally intervened, his voice barely a whisper, yet firm and compassionate.
"We're here to help you through this, man. You can do it."