Hurricane // Matty Healy ♣ The 1975

52. glass

When I woke up the next morning I looked across the bed again, just to be sure that it wasn't all a dream. Unfortunately, it wasn't. 

I sighed and struggled to push myself into a sitting position on the mattress. It was difficult, but I managed. 

I stared at my toenails and began picking at the chipped red nail polish to waste some time, I had plenty of it, after all.

Just as I had finished three nails, my phone buzzed on the pillow next to me, that Matty's head would usually be on.

I held my breath before picking it up and unlocking it.

It was from George.

A small sigh escaped my lips as I looked down at the screen, preparing myself for the worst.

I opened it and exhaled slowly as I read the first sentence, shutting my eyes contently, just so that I could rest my racing heart for a moment. 

'Hey, hope you got back alright. No news from the hospital x.'

I sighed as I typed out a simple 'Okay'. 

I needed Matty back. Everyone did. 

That day, I stayed in bed until one o'clock in the afternoon, and I wouldn't have gotten up then, had my need to pee not existed. 

After my short trip to the bathroom, I pulled the duvet off the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders as I made my way into the kitchen to get a drink, dragging it along behind me like the train on a wedding dress. 

It might be the closest you get.

I sighed as the thought crossed my mind.

My socks made me slide across the kitchen floor, making me laugh a little for the first time in days. 

I dropped the duvet behind me so that I could get a glass from the draining board next to our sink that was empty when we left, but now had various cups and plates stacked up in it, thanks to me. 

I liked calling everything ours, even though Matty paid all the bills. 

I liked calling him mine, even though he really wasn't. 

Just as I took a glass out of the cupboard, I was hit by a sudden wave of sadness. The glass slipped out of my hand and shattered on the floor beneath me, narrowly missing my feet. 

"Shit..." I mumbled, unsure of what I was more concerned about. The fact I dropped a glass without realising until it was on the floor, or the fact that I didn't care about it in the slightest. 

I crouched down and dutifully picked the small pieces of glass up one-handedly and put them into the bin next to me.

Everything seemed to make me so, so tired. 

I heaved a sigh of relief as I chucked the last jagged shard of glass into the bin and stood up again. 

This time, I opened another cupboard and took out one of Matty's favourite wines that I didn't really care for, but it was better than vodka. 

I unscrewed the lid and tipped the bottle back, touching it to my lips and feeling the liquid fill my mouth a little too mugh. I couldn't swallow it all, I ended up spitting the wine all over the floor. I began to cry, and shook my head. I wasn't cleaning it up. 

I took the bottle and the duvet into the sitting room and I sat in front of the window and peered out at the view, blurred by my tears that seemed to flow faster with each sip of wine. 

I could live without him.

I could.

I could.

But it would take time.