Pretty Kind of Dirty Face {Matty Healy}

18 // You

{it's my party and I'll cry to the end}

The day after, the boys were gone. That was it. George had stopped by not only to check on me, but also to say goodbye to Cecily. Apparently it was an extremely emotional goodbye, but I hadn't noticed from my nest I created in her bed. It must have been difficult for her. But then again, she was going to see George again eventually. It was more difficult for me.

I had fallen into a hole of pure self-pity. Every day, every night, I was alone, but not because I was forced to be, just because I wanted to be. Or at least, that's what I told myself. I was fine on my own. I enjoyed being alone. I didn't need Cecily by my side 24/7 and I certainly didn't need Matty. No, I needed anyone but him.

At first, I tried to sleep away the pain. The only time I felt comfortable without Matty was when I was asleep. I thought my body wouldn't notice his absence in my own little bubble of pillows and blankets. When I was asleep, I thought I wouldn't feel.

But then the dreams came. He was in all of them. They started out as vivid retellings of our fight, with a few minor details tipping me off that it was only a dream. One time, the walls in the hotel room were bright pink. Another time, we were outside in the middle of an intersection in the city. But every time I was forced to relive those dreaded moments, the dialogue was all exactly the same.

It all depends: are we just friends?

Do you love me?

Eloise.

You can leave.

I gave you a chance.

You just need to leave.

After a week or two—I had lost count—of dreams that were nothing more than retellings of my most hated moment, the dreams changed. I no longer had to see Matty's devastated face every night, but I had to see him happy again. The dreams were simple, just little moments in which we were together. I saw us talking, driving, making jokes, cuddling, everything. We were happy. He was happy.

I couldn't decide which was worse—seeing him happy and having it not be real, or seeing him devastated and know that was what he actually looked like in the moment.

As time passed, I grew to dread the sleep that was once a refuge for me. I went from sleeping all day to insomniac at the drop of a hat. I can't handle this, I would think to myself on a regular basis. I would even say it out loud at times. Everyone thought I meant that I couldn't handle functioning on less than two hours of sleep. What I really meant was that I couldn't handle living life without Matty.

I couldn't figure out what happened. The only plausible answer to the amount of pain I felt from losing someone I hadn't even been officially dating was that I had loved him for longer than I thought I had.

Countless times I had sifted through my memories, trying to pinpoint a point in which I fell in love with Matty. Maybe I could get that specific memory erased—or at least try to push it out of my mind—and it would stop me from feeling as if one of my ribs was missing. But I couldn't find it. I couldn't discover the moment I first felt love—or even like—for Matty.

Three (or was it four?) weeks after Matty left, Cecily called me, requesting that I show up at her house for a "casual" party. Naturally, I wasn't up for it. I wasn't up for a party at Cecily's even when I was in my right mind. When I had gotten an hour of sleep the night before? I definitely wasn't up for it.