𝐍𝐎𝐍-𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒

Tonight baby girl we'll have a party and they'll just be invisible hosts for you

I knocked, he opened his door. His hair was tied up. One curl fell on his face and when he tucked it behind his ear it went down right where it was before.

"Nice bun."

"Come in", he said.

I crossed the doorstep, with a feeling of curiosity and urgency. He invited me to an exclusive party and I was the only host. I lightly traced his bare, grey concrete walls with my fingers as I went through the living room. God, if that house smelled of weed. It was a hot evening, the setting sun, penetreting through the window, painted everything with the color of tangerines.

Matty poured me a glass of water and self-awarely joked that he's a good landlord. He looked at me, playing with his hair. I bet he liked my simple, tiny, black dress as much as he wanted to tear it off. I smiled with such a shyness. It was like I wanted him to know, this charade to end, this dress to fall. I wanted him and I wanted to be devoured by him, be consumed or swallowed and I wanted to be crushed by him, balled up in his fist. It was a shame to admit even to myself, but I wanted him to fuck me like an animal. I wanted him to slice me open and kiss my organs. 

I sat on the couch, looking around. His house was quite minimalistic. There was a painting on the wall, it was empty and black. Things were piled up in the corners, piles of books or instruments, but still there was some kind of order, like everything was where it must to be. Its straight lines and arched doorways felt directly opposed to how I had imagined the house of an artist like him. I though he had to be a little messy, but I was wrong.

I didn't even expect he had a dog, but he did. A super cute Staffordshire bull terrier ran towards me and it melted my heart. I almost cried, overwhelmed by the cuteness, and Matty laughed of me. His name was Allen Ginsberg, he told me.

"How pretentious can you be to call your dog as a poet?"

"Very?", he shrugged. "Why didn't you want me to come and drive you here?"

Allen ran away, Matty couldn't sto staring at me.

"I don't want to read other articles that accuse me of sleeping with you when I didn't."

I knew the word "yet" crossed both his head and mine. I crossed my legs instead, as if it was enough to stop my brain from weaving unholy plots.

"Can you imagine the headlines?", I wondered, my tongue working against my will. Matty's smirk encouraged me not to stop. "Why is Arianna Nasti in Matty Healy's flat?", I continued, pretending I was reading a tabloid. My eyes widened as I faked shock. "Not good."

His fingers sank in his curls, messaging slowly, and I was sure the tension that kept them tied was coming less. I looked at the distance that separated us. I counted one, two, three, four steps. I wondered how long until he would have taken them. "You know your surname is not in your favour", he joked.

I rolled my eyes, biting my lips and trying not to laugh. I didn't know how many times Charlie made fun of me calling me nasty, though I never found it funny, until now. "You know Nasti doesn't mean anything in Italian", I just replied.

"But in English...", he winked, his lips parted.

"I'm not nasty, I'm good", I promised.

"Thought you were the villain."

I bit my bottom lip, heat on my cheeks. I bet they were rosy and part of me liked that he noticed. "I want to keep a low profile", I said, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress right above my thigh. "If people see me with you...not good."

"People are already talking, you know it, right?"

"Yeah, in fact I don't want them to talk about me just because I am related to someone famous", I protested, almost annoyed he couldn't understand. And how could he? He was already popular. I was barely someone. I rested my shoulders on the couch and looked at him.