takes a bit more • matthew healy

xvii.) silence

i am absolutely in danger.

matty is sleeping in our room, a few more hours before the show. jamie had given him something to take after he became lucid from passing out; must be some sort of medicine that jamie had been keeping for matthew ever since, i wouldn't know. george had offered to stay with him until matty wakes up, so now i am sitting on the floor with nothing but a cigarette as i carefully watch matty sleep a few feet away from me, with george laying beside him, busy on his phone. even from the soft light of his screen, i can see how bad matty had punched him in the eye.

"is he gonna be okay?" i manage to let out.

george puts down his phone right between matty and him. amidst matty's snoring, i can hear george sigh. "yeah."

i drop my cigarette on the floor, stomping on it with my shoe. "how sure are you?"

"very much sure, i suppose." why does it feel like george's eyes are trying to pierce through me? "this does not happen often, but when it does, he usually wakes up right before we start a show."

i stare at the floor. i do not know what else to say. "okay."

"you should know that matty is a bit of a fuck up, yeah?" george clears his throat. "not just because of what he did to me."

"coke, is it?"

he stares at me for a moment. i can feel he's judging me by the bored look on his face. "do you have any clue how awful it is to be addicted to coke, rhiannon?"

my mom used to do lines in the bathroom, i wish to say. but i stop myself. "didn't you lot took lines earlier this morning?"

"yeah, and your love's been doing it behind our backs for years." george spits out. "i always had a hunch that matty's onto something, never actually thought it would be drug addiction."

there i go again with having nothing else to say. i fucking hate myself.

"you wouldn't know." he adds. "matty's fond of picking up women who do not know anything about him, for fuck's sake."

is it my fault for not having known matty for a long time?

"i'm gonna head to the toilet." i say, then i stand up. looking at george, i cannot pass the moment to comment, "sorry 'bout that black eye."

he chuckles bitterly. i just leave.

—

i spend five minutes blankly staring at myself in the mirror.

how am i supposed to deal with matty being addicted to fucking cocaine? sure, he's been here several times before, but i haven't, and it's fucking sick that i can't do anything about his situation.

for some reason i just start to feel very, very sad.

after those five minutes, i get out, expecting to find george, but he is nowhere to be found, and instead i find matty, still shirtless, up and smoking. "wow." i let out unbelievably.

he looks at me. "hi."

"can you drop the fucking cigarette?"

i don't know what just came through me, but matty's got his hand running through his hair, flicking the cigarette from his finger.

"rhiannon i—"

"you need to get your life together, matty." i shout. "for fuck's sake. i didn't come all this way for me to watch you ruin your life."

it's only been a day, rhiannon, give him a break.

"i'm not—"

"you fucking are, and you know it." i hiss.

he stays quiet. absolutely quiet.

after a few seconds, he proceeds to rub the remnants of the cigarette on the bedside tray. "george told you?"

i don't reply. matty stares at me for a moment, then adds, "that twat is trying to ruin my fucking life."

"you're ruining your fucking life." i state. "i have no right to fucking fight you on this, matty, but—fucking hell. cocaine is not a fucking joke—"

"and you think i don't know that?" his stare pierces through me, as if putting me in my place. "you think i haven't tried stopping, rhiannon? and you believe george right away with his fucked up lies, really?"

it is me who stays quiet this time around.

matty gets up from his bed, ready to leave the room.

this is your fault, rhiannon. now look at what you've gotten yourself into.

"are you still coming to the show tonight?" he mutters, loud enough for me to hear.

i gather all the courage i could ever muster to look him in the eye and say, "no. your friendly manager doesn't want me there either."

matty looks at me for a few seconds, his mouth ready for something to say, probably an apology or some shit, i wouldn't know, but someone starts banging on the door like a fucking madman, yelling "matthew! bus is ready you dumb twat!", so he closes his awfully attractive mouth and looks away before leaving the room.

"you forgot your shirt." i call out, my voice breaking. i need to fucking cry.

"they're fully stocked in the dressing room." he answers monotonously from behind the closed door. a few seconds later, i hear voices from across the hallway before fading to complete silence.

and then i cry.

i cry for what seems like a good ten minutes before i bring out my scratched phone to dial the only person i would want to talk to during these times.

"you okay, sweetheart?" i hear alice's voice immediately from the other line, making me sob even more. "oh, fuck. you're not okay, sorry 'bout that babe. what happened to you?"

i take a deep breath. "just... things."

"fucking hell, rhiannon, are you literally going to act all closed off with me now?" she snaps, and i can hear charlie's awful singing voice in the background. he's probably had too much to drink.

"sorry." i mutter, lying flat on the cold ground. looking up to the ceiling, i realize how sad this place actually looks. "this whole place is sad, alice."

"well, it's about time you realized th—fucking hell, charlie, you burned the fucking cookies! i'm sorry, babe, i gotta get the fire extinguisher real quick before police come up, i got a ton of drugs in here and—shit. charlie, hide the drugs!"

beep.

i stare at the ceiling for a few minutes after that, just letting the silence envelope around me, understanding that, hell, i hate myself for having to force myself in here.

i hate myself. i do fucking hate myself.

i like matty and i fucking hate myself for it.

—

i shoplift a bottle of tequila in a convenience store just across the street, an hour after matty had left, because i'm nearly broke and definitely don't want to spend the last few pounds on alcohol, what am i supposed to do?

the rain begins to pour right after i make my way back to our room, and for the next few hours, i get drunk, drinking the liquid off the bottle whilst sitting cross-legged on the floor, and cry some more.

i don't remember finishing it all.

hell, i don't remember passing out.

but i do.

for some reason, that's the best fucking silence i can ever ask for.

—

a/n: sorry for the longass absence, been busy with school and self-hatred. lol ily all thank u for keeping me alive (PS can someone tell the 1975 to release mfc real quick i needa good cry) xx