That 000000 & ffffff || Matty Healy

Told You From The Start

/ / T O L D Y O U F R O M T H E S T A R T / /

"So when the fuck did you plan on breaking up with her? That's not what was supposed to happen?" George is utterly confused stepping into the hotel room Marcy had managed to tell him.

After Marcy and Matty left, Jamie had gone home and Anna had given George Marcy's room for the night. It wasn't until half past noon the next day when he was getting a bit impatient, scrolling through his contacts until he found Marcy's name. She had sounded happy then, but he supposes that was before Matty's confession, because not an hour later, Marcy had stormed in, heading straight to the bathroom.

Anna and George shared a look before Anna glared, "What the fuck did that trash say to my girl?"

George raised his eyebrows but leaned away from her menace, regardless. "I - can I talk to her?"

"No," the girl had near growled, but before she could say more, she had gotten a call from Jimmy.

George had taken that as an opportunity and followed Marcy's general direction, knocking on the door tentatively before cracking it open. Marcy was hunched over the toilet, body racking with sobs, and when it wasn't sobs, she was heaving into the toilet, red looking liquid making George squirm.

He had rushed in, locking the door and collecting her hair behind her head, keeping it from her face and rubbing at her back, "Shit, are you bleeding - oh, fuck, should I get you to the hospital?"

She shook her head, wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, whimpering, and retracting from the toilet. George frowned and leaned over to flush for her, closing the lid and moving to take a seat in front of her on the toilet. He grabbed at her shoulders, not missing the way she winced a bit at his touch, and hauled her up, "Mars..."

"I'm fine," she whispered, shouldering her cheeks to catch the stray tears. "Was the Dirty Shirley Temple," she admits, but George was dubious, because maybe Marcy is a bit of a light weight, he wouldn't really know, but even a Shirley Temple seems too weak for her, dirty or not.

"I take it Matty told you then?" She nodded and he pulled her close, hugging her, his face awkwardly pressed to her stomach and again, she winces, her body kind of stiff. Without really thinking, George had lifted a bit of her shirt, eyes wide at the marks he saw.

Bruised in fingerprints and scratches near the dip of her joggers, "Christ - did Matty hurt you?" He's up before she can speak, and he knows Matty would never, but seeing the marks had him put off.

She grabbed at his shirt before he opened the door, begging him to stay, "It wasn't like that - he didn't hurt me... not like that...that - I wanted that," and he couldn't tell if she was blushing from the thought of last night or her cheeks were flushed from her crying.

"But he ­did hurt you?" George confirmed.

Marcy shrugged, lips trembling like she's trying to hold back, but she gasps and brings her hands to her face, "no - I..." she broke down crying again, grabbing on to his shirt and sniffling into his chest. "You knew," she wept and well, yeah. Of course he fucking knew - but it's not like he was the one keeping anything from her - if anything, he was the reason she knew in the first place...

And probably the reason she was tearing up right now, "Marcy, I -"

"You fucking knew," she hit his chest, "Ow," she sniffled, pulling back to rub at her knuckles. "Why couldn't you be a fucking lad and tell him to keep quiet?" She inquired before attempting to punch George again, but this time, he caught her hand.

"Okay, enough of that, I hope you realize that all these bruises on me were from your boyfriend and quite frankly, I'm tired of the abuse."

"He's not my boyfriend." She said.