takes a bit more • matthew healy

xvi.) blood

rhiannon is so fucking beautiful.

and i am so fucking addicted to her. everything about her.

after we had sex in the shower, she and i smoked a joint in the tub completely naked.

now she's asleep on the bed, and it's only 3 in the afternoon, but george is currently knocking on my door like the little prick he is, telling me to hurry up because our vehicle is about to arrive in awhile for soundcheck.

i don't hate george. i fucking love george. he's never gotten too nosy with all the women i date, but with rhiannon, it's just fucking different for him. but i guess he really is just looking out for me, or rather, looking out for rhiannon.

george knows how much of a fuck up i am. he fucking knows when it gets too much.

"where's your sweetheart, mate?" he smirks as i get inside the van, with adam and ross and john already in it. i make it a point to sit right next to adam instead, because he's really quiet and it gives me a fucking break from the big mouth that is in the form of george daniel.

"asleep." i reply simply, and then we're off.

the show venue is just a ten-minute ride away from our place, and we're taken by surprise upon seeing a rather long queue filing from outside the venue, which doesn't happen a lot really, especially not somewhere outside manchester.

"fucking hell, they must have stayed the night." adam lets out, pointing to a group with a tent.

a fucking tent.

a group has stayed outside the venue to be the first ones in line.

for our fucking band.

"mental." i whisper to myself, observing these people as we pass them by.

a few minutes later we find ourselves inside the show venue, letting us get ready for soundcheck. the people assisting us don't seem to mind that we are performing live in what seems like forever, because i don't feel the excitement from them the same way i'm feeling mine. adam is jumping around doing his guitar riffs, and ross is just laughing all the fucking time, and george seems to be lost in all his drumming to even look me in the eye.

i can feel my mind fading as i try my best to perfect my vocals. by the time i grab my guitar, i just feel lost.

music is far by the most addicting drug i have ever taken. and i must have taken a lot.

"matty, mate." adam is saying while i have my eyes closed on robbers. all of a sudden his guitar stops, and everything else follows. "are you alright?"

i have no idea why he just said that, but then george stops drumming as well and everyone is just staring at me like i'm this sort of alien.

until i feel something dripping from my right nostril. i take my hand to wipe it unconsciously, and then i see it. blood.

a lot of blood.

"matthew!" ross shouts, and i faintly hear george calling for a medic. i try my best to focus. what the actual fuck is going on?

i always liked being the center of attention. i crave for it. but at this point it's not that fun for people to be staring at you because of something in your fucking nose. in a desperate attempt to not make other people panic, i jump right off stage and take a seat at the front row, using my t-shirt to absorb the insane amount of blood flowing out my nose.

"i'm okay." i mutter to no one but myself. i see ross rushing with a bottle of water and a pack of ice, with george and adam right behind him. i look at them and chuckle. "i'm okay."

"no you're not, mate." george is the first one to speak up as i grab the items from ross' beefy hands. "you're not and you fucking know it."

"fuck off." i mutter, putting the ice pack on my nose bridge. remember when i said george is my best friend? and that, well, he fucking knows everything about me?

he does. and he's fucking right.

i stay in my seat as the rest of the lads practice without me, as well as the lights and all that aesthetic i had planned months before. it takes me fifteen minutes for the nosebleed to stop, but i am more than aware that this will happen more anytime soon.

"you alright now?" ross asks me after i had jumped back on stage, picking up my guitar that was left on the floor right next to a pack of cigarettes. he sounds more concerned than the rest, and i get it—i completely understand that george is currently not having it again with me, and adam has probably seen me bleed like this a couple times in the past. what the fuck is wrong with me?

"fuck yeah i am." i say, and then, "let's do sex."

—

it is nearly 4 in the afternoon when we arrive back in our hotel.

i will not deny when i say i feel like a young teenager again, excited to see his similarly young girlfriend.

but i am no longer a young teenager.

but i do have a young girlfriend.

again. what the fuck is wrong with me?

george and i are smoking weed in his room, with adam drinking a bottle of cheap wine we had found in the fridge. "i cannot believe we're fucking here." i find myself saying as i'm staring at the ceiling, my back flat on the bed. "i can't believe we made it out alive."

in all honesty, i want to cry.

it's beginning to get to me. i don't know what is. but i just want to fucking cry.

adam's phone rings, and he excuses himself to leave the room to pick it up. george is tapping his fingers on the floor, looking at me as if to say, just pass me the fucking joint and stop being overdramatic.

but he speaks up. "you never stopped, did you?"

i mutter, "i dunno what you're talking about." i take another hit, looking everywhere but him.

george slams the wine bottle on the wooden floor, leaving a loud crash sound. i wince, but fuck, do i bother? "you fucking know what i'm talking about, mate."

still, i refuse to look at him.

"when we did coke this morning at the loo... we haven't done it in three years, matthew, have you been doing it all this time?"

"it wasn't a regular thing—"

"wasn't a regular thing." george repeats, pure disgust in his tone i can tell. "what the actual fuck is wrong with you, matthew? isn't my concern enough for you to fucking quit?"

at this point adam reenters the room, panic all over his face as he looks at the broken bottle on the floor, its red liquid spilled all over. "what is going on in here?"

"matthew never quit coke." george replies bitterly.

by then, i begin to lose it. i don't remember thinking of standing up to hit george in the face, but that's exactly what i do, hitting his right eye with much force that i myself feel like passing out.

"matthew!"

"mate, what the fuck?" i feel adam's bony structure trying to pull me backwards as if to stop me from making another advancement, but my eyes are getting blurry and all i can hear is rhiannon's voice calling me in my head.

"get out of my head." i whisper. "get out of my head. get out of my head."

my eyes are getting blurry. now all i see is nothing.