That 000000 & ffffff || Matty Healy

Broken Phone, Retching on the Floor

Jamie parks the car and comes up to the apartment with us. Anna is about to say something but Jamie cuts her off and tugs on my hand, leading me to my bedroom. She calls out something that sounds like, "Rude!" but it's muffled when Jamie locks the door and bounces on my bed.

"I see you found your phone?" He nods towards the cell in my hand, the one that I've been playing with for too long, unable to really muster up enough courage to answer. I nod at Jamie, talking a seat beside him and I think he might have fallen asleep because it's too quiet for a while and his breaths are getting shallow, but then he speaks, and it startles me, "Brian called my cell phone," he finally said, "I didn't answer – I don't really like him much." And I guess that should have been the first thing to worry about when me and Brian started dating; the fact that my friends don't really like him, but at the time, it never mattered, I liked him and that was all that counted.

"I didn't even know he had your number," I say before falling back on the bed beside Jamie and finally pressing the power button on my phone, "God, what if something bad has happened? What if he's in trouble or something?"

Jamie shrugs, and turns his face, stuffing half of it in my pillow. I sigh and redirect my attention to my phone that's going insane with messages since I had turned it back on; missed phone calls and texts from Brian but one text catching me off-guard, the sender's name flashing on my screen as: Truman Black. My stomach drops and my breathing stops. As if I didn't have enough problems functioning properly, Matty Healy is going to cause me to go into an early death of lung failure.

I check the text, it says: concert tomorrow, think my #1 fan should be there?

I have to read over the text a few times, I keep missing words and my eyes are going crossed but I get the general gist of it five minutes later and I'm only brought out of my trance when another text shows up: love the photos in ur album. And I blush thinking he's probably seen the worse – screen shots him or some racy selfies.

I send him back something, my thumbs jamming too many keys and my autocorrect going crazy, I have to send another one, "how did you get into my phone its password protected are you a freaking hacker Healy??"

His reply is almost instantaneous and Jamie's snoring is the only thing grounding me. "1 – 9 – 7 – 5 is hardly creative love." And I groan, because I knew everything I've obsessed about would come back and bite me in the ass.  He sends another text, "why do you say 'freaking', it's such an odd word, say 'fucking', makes me feel better – like I'm not being a complete douche to you."

"what does that even mean?? Besides its not very lady like..." Anna opens the door to my room and asks if I wanted to see rubber melt, if it would somehow make me feel better, as I send my response. I look up at her, nose scrunching, "No, I'm good – just make sure to open the windows – you know how Jamie gets when he smells burnt rubber."

She rolls her eyes and calls Jamie something that I don't even feel old enough to repeat before closing the door.

"you weren't very ladylike last night...I seem to recall your vulgar vocabulary quite clearly." Is what I'm met with. I grit my teeth when I reply.

"stop bringing last night up! I don't even remember most of it ..." which is mostly a lie, because it's forever imprinted into my brain and I'd never admit it out loud, but I will probably never let it be forgotten.

"liar," he calls me out and I hate every bit of him. "concert tomorrow – you down?"

"no tickets."

"I can get you in"

"I'm not your groupie"

"hmm, you're quite mouthy via text. I liked you better when you resembled a fish."