That 000000 & ffffff || Matty Healy

I Don't Want To Be Your Friend, I Want To Kiss Your Neck

I wished I could've hated him then, I still wish I could, but yet, here I am, in house party with my two closest friends and a bunch of strangers and my now ex and I'm still wishing it was just me and Matty instead.

He had called once and then told me to delete his number, I never did delete it, I couldn't. He had went completely off the grid in a span of twelve or so hours, no tweets, no instgrams, no texts, no anything at all, and part of me refuses to believe that it was all for the sake of me.

I had asked Anna and Jamie if they'd want to come to the party and it wasn't as if they would ever turn down an invite. It was halfway through fitting some heels on did Brian show up. And through silent conversations and raised eyebrows, Anna had finally asked him to join us.

Drinks had been shared the moment we stepped into the small apartment filled with too much people — half of them were loitering in the halls for a breath.

"Remember how we use to dance to this song?" Brian had asked lightly, reminiscing a good hour into our arrival, and yes, I had remembered, the moment the first note sliced into the air. And it was all I remembered, until I recalled just the day before when Matty Healy had been looking me right in the eyes, gaze never swaying as he sang the same words to me, then in the car later on when he told me, "it takes a bit more,"

It takes a bit more, yeah, it take a bit more than you, "Do you wanna dance?" Brian asked in time with the song, smiling because he thinks he's clever. I gave in, placing the bottle of whatever I had in my hand on a near by table and placed my hands around his shoulders as his fitted to my hips.

It's two or three songs later that I find myself pressed to the wall, begging him for more and I know it's some kind of rebound thing that's got me like this, but then it's familiar and longing and stupid and crazy and why was I feeling this way now, after a break up? Was I inclined to feel more intimate with someone knowing that there was nothing going on between us? Because that's what it was like with Matty.

Matty, Matty, Matty. Perhaps if I think about him enough in one sitting he'd magically appear.

My eyes open, I hadn't realized I'd close them. Brian's finger skims along the curve of my back, I can feel his thumb pressing into the zipper of my dress, creases forming along my spine, zigzagged indents in my skin, but I'm looking behind him, past his dark hair, although my finger traces angular set of his jaw, I'm barely paying attention to him when my eyes focus in on a new comer.

My heart drops and the saying, "be careful what you wish for," haunts my inner monologue. He's seemed to have spotted me, an eyebrow raised and a cup in the air as if toasting to me.

My fingers go clammy in Brian's hair and my breath catches in my throat, I feel claustrophobic and god all I can think about is germs. Too many. Tight space. Fingers everywhere. Bodies clashing. Drinks shared. And.

And I need to get out.

I push Brian off of me, "I'm sorry," is something I think I tell him, but the music is too loud and I'm not sure if he hears me. He looks at me confused, a grimace setting his lips, "That's all we seem to say, isn't it?" I nod my head and excuse myself, moving through bodies until I'm at an exit. Except, there's still too many people hanging out side and I need to breathe. I find and emergency exit I don't think I'm allowed to be in and I sit on one of the steps cringing and crying and coming to the conclusion that I hate him.

"I hate you," it's always him that shows up after me. At a diner, in my car, now the back staircase. I don't even have to pretend to assume it's someone else.

He sits beside me and I wish he wouldn't. He smells like wine and I know he's drunk. He always is after a show; after downing a whole bottle in the course of an hour and a half give or take. "I know."