takes a bit more • matthew healy

xxxix.) alice

george had left when i woke up the next morning.

i feel kind of lonely now but that isn't something new to me really.

we had shared a cigarette last night before i got proper sleep, and i remember us talking and talking and i recall the sound of his laughter when i mentioned something about wanting to use the opportunity of matty cheating on me to gain fame or some shit. i don't actually recall what i had said--just the sound of his laughter honestly.

it's light and easy with him much to my surprise. he didn't make a big deal out of me kissing him last night—frankly he never brought it up again, although now that i'm aware of his feelings for me i find myself tensing up a little whenever our eyes would meet.

i sound an awful lot like a ten year-old feeling antsy about a boy having a crush on me, but this is matty's best friend for fuck's sake.

i may have fucked up a bit, yeah.

i'd probably tell matty sometime, just not right now.

—

today's breakfast is eggs on toast.

william had to cook since eunice and troy are out for the day, and i brewed coffee just because i never got around to doing it back at my mum's.

i wonder how she's doing. sometimes i just think about her whenever i have nothing else to do, but i'm to preoccupied with other things that don't include my abusive mother.

sadly it's been two weeks since i last talked to matty. he still rings me every once in awhile, though it's not as frequent as before. used to be ten times a day at most, but lately i'd wake up to just a missed call or two, mostly around three in the morning.

i just know he only calls when he's shitfaced.

i'm surprised i even got this far of not picking up.

"you were all over the pub last night, do you recall?" william sets his coffee mug down on the table right across me. frankly i don't recall—but it's not much of a surprise for me to get blackout drunk anyway.

he takes a sip of his coffee—black, because apparently budding writers don't drink anything else—then continues. "you were fucking out of it, rhian. you literally threw up on your dress."

"sorry." i put my mug towards my lips. "i assume it was the vodka."

"you need to get your life together somehow, rhiannon."

i know william did not mean it lightly.

almost everyone had been telling me the same thing, just in a different way.

eunice would constantly remind me to get up for breakfast every single day, because apparently all i am to her is a crying mess who sleeps in most of the time.

troy would drive me around at midnight when he'd find me awake, mindlessly watching television on the couch. i admit it helps, having someone to talk to, but every fucking day just gets worse for me.

because the only person i would want to talk to is matty, but i do not answer his calls.

george rings me every once in a while, but just to ask me how i'm doing. nothing more. i have a feeling we aren't supposed to talk, anyway—not with matty being a mess at the moment.

there are days when i feel lighter. but everything just crashes down on me in the evenings.

i fucking love matthew. why does it have to hurt this fucking much?