I sat on the couch of my new home, my legs crossed but proped up on the cushions, as I sipped a cup of tea and watched Game of Thrones, sparse yawns occasionally making their way from my mouth. It was a Saturday at 8:00. And I was the most lame person in the universe.
The UK had suited me, though. I liked the rain, the shops, the food, the diverse people, the buildings. I felt at home, though it was quite different from LA. Perhaps I was getting a little lonely, though. Although I was always selective (some might say stuck-up) about whom I surrounded myself with, I found myself getting bored of this kind of night.
The only person I knew on a remotely personal level in England was George, and I wondered what he was up to on a night like this. Likely, he playing a show with his band, getting very drunk and/or high, or fucking some idiot girl.
He and I had caught up on the past six years we missed. I had learned that George was in a band, The 1975, and they were getting a lot of recognition. I learned that he shared a flat with a friend called Matty, who I would "just have to meet in person", rather than George explaining him. I had also learned that George Daniel had gotten very, very handsome in the last six years.
George had learned that I was a relatively boring person who concentrated on my studies and was excited to spend my year here. I'd told him I wanted new experiences, and to write about absolutely everything I could. He had also learned that I blushed when he teased me, and that I became shaky when he stood too close. Consequentially, George Daniel realized that he liked all of these things.
The sudden urge to text him came up, and I was mentally creating a pros and cons list.
Pro: If George wasn't busy, I'd have someone to keep me company.
Con: If I got chemically imparied in any way, I wouldn't be able to suppress my ridiculous crush on him. I shrugged it off, trying not to overthink.
Claire: What's up? Doing anything tonight? Getting bored in my little flat...
I wrinkled my face up at the generic text I sent him. But to my surprise, my phone dinged a few minutes later.
George: I've a show in an hour. Drop by if you want. Love to see you there.
Hmm.
The comfort of my hoondstooth leggings and oversized sweater, tea stain near the left breast, suddenly made me feel very self conscious about being so antisocial lately. This was London, and I was young, after all. I didn't come here to hide out in my flat.
With surprisingly limited overthinking and second-guessing, I changed into a high-waisted black dress and a cropped black leather jacket (my favorite) and quickly threw my hair into a braided messy bun. I went for a classic cat-eye and a matte red lip.
I was late, and the room was packed full of people, crammed like sardines in a booze and smoke filled tin. My body was uncomfortably close to dozens of people as I squeezed my way through the crowd, trying to find my dear friend George.
Shit. He was already at his drumset, fiddling with his drumsticks with a calm demeanor on his face. The bass player, a dark-haired guy with a close beard, was whispering something to the guitarist, a sweet-looking guy, with killer cheekbones who nodded in response. Their frontman had his back turned toward the audience, and was drinking wine straight from the bottle.
Well, then. Clearly that was Matty.
I noticed the crowd was filled with girls. Pretty ones. Eager-looking ones. Ones who never stayed at home on the weekends watching TV. My eyes went back to the band as the singer spoke.
"Hello, everyone," he said into the microphone, girls screaming immediately after. "We are The Nine-een-seveney-five," he announced.
I chuckled at his ommission of the "T" sound before George started banging on his drums erratically. Matty was immediately immersed into the music, whipping his gorgeous chocolate brown hair and and forth. I couldn't stop watching him.
"Don't call it a fight when you know it's a war...."
George's arms were flailing around, crashing into his drums with force. Matty's voice was captivating. I found myself bobbing my head and swaying my hips.
"We drink slow to feed the nose, you know he likes to get blown..."
The smile on my face widened watching Matty sing-rap, pointing his fingers and gesturing to the crowd. He was so confident, so carefree.
So drunk.
When this song was over, Matty cleared his throat and gestured something towards that band. They all nodded, an unspoken bond between brothers.
"And I swear there's a ghost on this island. And his hands all covered in blood..."
I gulped, stricken by the intensity of the music, the lyrics, Matty himself. George was so into the music, his eyes were closed and his arms struck in perfect synchronization. Matty was so still, the only thing moving on his body were his perfect lips and his eyelids fluttering as he sang.
Now I understood why the crowd consisted of 75% girls scantilly dressed. While Geroge was sweet and handsome, Matty was something else, something unheard of. He was an enigma, a poet, a drunken mess of curly hair. And I? I was smitten with him before we even spoke.
After the song was over I found myself uncomfortably yearning to catch his glance, to ask him what his life was like, to ask him back to my apartment. I shook my head of this and made my way to the bar. Claire McDaniel! You don't do this. You don't get googly-eyed over pretentious boys with drug problems disguising themselves as poets. You don't show off your legs and tits in a dress, trying to impress your childhood friend. You need a nice guy, a normal guy.
I asked the bartender for a 7&7, and flopped down at a barstool, sipping the slightly sweet drink. Pulling out my phone, I checked my texts.
Mom: Miss you, sweet pea. Tell George I said hello!
Hah, I'll pass that along.
Chelsea G: Hey chicka! How is foggy ol' England? Fuck any cute guys yet? ;-)
Chelsea G (as opposed to Chelsea B) was my friend from back home. She was supposed to visit for a week during her winter break.
Claire: Miss you too, Mom. I'll relay the message.
Like she wasn't talking to George's mom every day for he past 20 years.
Claire: England is foggy, but great. And no, for Christ's sake.
Chelsea G: I can't wait to come visit! The sounds, the rain, the CLOTHES! Have you fucked George yet?
Claire: Uhm, no.
Chelsea G: But you want to?
Claire: .....
Chelsea G: I knew it!!!
Claire: Ugh. It's so weird though! He's like my oldest friend. But god he's so tall, and his voice is so deep...and his hands are so big.
Chelsea G: Lolololololol do ittttt! You haven't had any since you broke up with Lame-Ass. Maybe you just need to pounce on George and use him as your little fuck buddy.
Claire: I know. Maybe that's why I'm crushing so hard. Maybe it's not George; maybe I'm just horny.
Chelsea G: Either way.
Claire: He has this friend, Matty...
Chelsea G: And?
Before I could text that Matty was equally fuckable, I heard a voice from behind me.
"Can I get three shots of tequila, please?"
I tried not to be obvious, but tilted my head across my shoulder.
Just as I suspected, it was Matty.
He reached into his back pocket and lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke from his beautiful lips. He bit the corner of the lower lip and ran his hands through his gorgeous hair while waiting on his drinks.
I blinked a few times, jerking my head back to where I was facing forward. I took a long, cool drink of my 7&7. Should I say something to him? Should I wait for him to talk to me? Would he ever talk to me? I just wanted to go home. I locked my phone and put it back in my jacket pocket, snatched my drink and got up from the bar. I had planned to congratulate George and head back home where I belonged.
Until about three girls, all of whom looked too young to be at a bar, swarmed Matty and, consequentially pushed past me. The liquid went down the bust of my dress and I let out a throaty "ugh!"
Matty smiled politely and gave them uncomfortable side hugs. They took this for granted, touching his face and hair, tugging at his shirt and hanging off of him. I felt bad for him for a minute, before I realized he didn't even acknowledge the fact that his stupid groupies ruined my dress.
I slithered through the crowd, tying to find George. There were so many people. A different band was playing now, and they weren't nearly as good, but people seemed into them. Their music was a lot harsher, not the plush little sounds of The 1975. Their singer was a female, and I could tell from far away that she was a knock-out. It just wasn't my style.
Where the hell was George? I spun around, my mouth dry. It wasn't like he was hard to spot; he was six foot fucking five. I spotted the guitarist with the model-like cheekbones from his band, and paced toward him. Maybe he knew where Geroge was.
Suddenly, I felt a smooth, soft hand grab my wrist. Startled, I turned around to see big, chocolate brown eyes staring at me.
"Hey," I think he said.
I merely blinked at him.
"Sorry," I think he said, shooting me an apologetic look.
He handed me a drink, and I took it without considering I had had any other option.
I shrugged. "Thanks." I didn't know what else to say.
I took a small sip of the drink. It was a 7&7. I glanced around the room awkwardly. The music was so loud, and it kind of sucked.
"Can you hear me?" I read his lips.
Whoa, those lips.
I gestured "sort of" with my hand.
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twisting up, and took a drag from his cigarette, before offering me one. I nodded and placed it between my lips. I gestured for a lighter, and he brought the delicate flame to my lips, his eyes intent on mine.
I didn't even smoke but right now I really needed one.
"I'm Matty," he said, his lips close to my ear, causing my body to shiver.
"Claire," I said.
Matty's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"
"Claire," I said louder.
"Blair?" he asked.
I shook my head. "CLAIRE."
"Hair?" he questioned.
I laughed openly at him, shaking my head back and forth. I took another drag of the cigarette he loaned me. Matty's hand made its way to the small of my back and I froze.
"Follow me?" he pleaded.
My lashes fluttered at him. Was this actually happening?
"Okay," I said.
He must have understood that perfectly, because he took my hand in his and lead the through the crowd before I had a chance to hesitate. We slithered through people before a few minutes, and the noise of the crappy music dulled. I spotted a door with an "EXIT" sign above it, and Matty pushed through it. I figured it would have lead to the parking lot, but it was a small alleyway. The ground was littered with empty plastic cups and cigarette butts.
Matty let go of my hand and I regretted it. He looked up at the night sky, scattered sparsely with stars, and spun around, looking at me quizically.
"Now, what's your name?" he eyed me.
I licked my lips. "Claire."
"Matty," he introduced himself officially.
"I know," I admired.
I wrapped my jacket around myself, trying to cover the embarrassing wet splash on my chest.
"You're groupies are pretty intense," I remarked.
Matty rolled his eyes slightly, but had a small smile on his face
"Yes. But they mean well. At least I think so."
He pulled a rolled cigarette out of his back pocket and lit it, holding the smoke in his lungs and eyeing me up and down. My body was getting warm. He exhaled the smoke in perfect rings before offering it to me.
"No, thanks," I said, sipping my drink.
I coulnd't be both drunk and high around him.
"Are girls always like that around you?" I blurted out.
Matty simply nodded, unfazed.
"Why?" I asked.
He shrugged a shoulder and took another hit. "Dunno. It's not me, really. It's more of the idea of me. I sing, I play in a band, I'm relatively well-spoken. I sing about sex and love and guilt. Everyone's attracted to these things; everyone knows these things. People get kind of giddy with my aesthetic, I suppose."
I blinked at him. "Oh."
"Are guys always like this around you?" he asked me, stepping a little closer to where our shoes would have touched if he stepped once more.
He had great shoes, by the way. And great jeans that fit him nicely. When he stood to the side you could see that his confidence was definitely earned, given the bulge in his trousers.
"What do you mean?" I asked, throwing my cigarette onto the floor and squishing it with the heel of my shoe.
Matty's eyes glistened.
"Intrigued. Smitten. Can't take their eyes off you. Knew you said Claire but just wanted to hear you talk more."
Fuck.
"No," I couldn't fight my smile off. "Not always."
"I don't believe that for a minute," he said, taking another hit. "Sorry about your dress, again."
I shrugged. "It's okay. It was nothing special."
Matty's tongue slid across his top lip. "It's a nice dress."
He eyed my legs and exhaled.
I shivered.
"Thanks," I maganed to say.
Matty flicked the joint onto the ground and stepped closer to me. My back was against the cold brick wall. He put his large, warm hands on my hips and pressed himself against me.
My breath was caught in my throat at how forward he was behaving.
"I like you," he said, his breath smelling like wine and tequila, in the very best way.
He cupped my jaw in his hand, and my body trembled. His other hand ran through my hair and cradled the back of my head.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
I nodded, without a thought.
He first planted a delicate kiss against my jaw, before he made his way to my mouth. He kissed me tenderly, so, so softly it was tormenting. I opened my mouth to him, welcoming his tongue to play against mine. He tasted sweet and sharp, like tequila rimmed with sugar when it first hits your mouth.
His hands were around my neck now, thumbs just below my ears, carressing me. I pressed my mouth against his harder, asking for more. He gave it to me, and I bit his lower lip. He let out a little grunt that made me wet. Matty's mouth traveled down my neck, gently sucking on the flesh and making me gasp.
"Can I touch you?" he asked into my ear.
I whimpered. "Yes. Wh-where?"
Matty continued to plant hot, wet kisses on my beck and colloarbone, his hands finding their way through my jacket and down the fabric of my dress. His thumb ran across the delicate bud of my nipple as his lips met mine again.
For a moment, I couldn't believe I was having this intense and erotic experience with a complete stranger. But his mouth and fingers kept me from running away with the thought.
I ran my hands through his glorious hair and felt him hard against me. As if my automatic reflex, I pressed myself against him.
Matty's hand ran down my chest, ribcage, and navel before gently stopping at my aching warmth. He just left it there, holding me gently in his hand. I swallowed hard and he nipped at my ear playfully.
"Can I fuck you?"
He applied a little pressure between my legs and I quivered.
"Wh-what?" I managed to stutter.
"Can...I...fuck...you?" he asked once more, tugging my hair and making circles against the fabric of my panties.
My breathing quickened. I was shaking.
I was going to stay in a couple hours ago and now I was going to let a stranger fuck me in public.
"Here?" I whimpered.
"Anywhere," Matty said into my ear.
I felt his length press against me again. God, I wanted him so bad.
"N-n-n-not here," I said, his fingers still against me. "My place?"
What was I doing?
Matty took my lips into his, a hard, wet force I couldn't escape. I moaned once more, wrapping my arms around his neck and grinding my hips against him.
"Let's go then, love," he said, dragging me back into towards the building.
As we approached the door, my face dropped.
The cute one in their band, the one with the cheekbones and intense face, was standing directly outside the door.
"Hey, mate," he acknowledged Matty.
Matty waved at him slightly. "I'll be back in the morning."
Well, you couldnt say he left things a mystery.
I made an awkard smile at Cheekbones, and he returned it.
My face dropped once more as we passed him and saw who was coming towards us. George. Matty still had my hand in his. I dropped it immediately.
"Claire?" George questioned.
Matty eyed me, regretfully piecing the puzzle together.
"George," I forced a smile. "Great show!"
George shook the look from his face and stepped towards me, picking me up and twirling me around. I was dizzy from Matty kissing me and touching me already and this certainly didn't help.
Matty's eyebrows were furrowed now, and he stood awkwardly behind me, trying to hide his erection. Thankfully, George was too busy to notice.
"I'm glad you came, kid" Geroge's deep voice glistened. "The fuck are you doing out here with Matty and Hann?" he chuckled.
I gulped. Cheekbones (whom I had gathered was Adam Hann) took a long sip of his drink and looked away. I wondered how long he'd been watching.
"Oh, she bummed a smoke. She was looking for you," Matty said dryly.
George's whole face smirked. "Aye, of course. Glad you met Matty. Don't go crushin' on him like all the other girls do," he joked, poking me on the nose.
I cleared my throat. "I'll do my best."
Too late.
I turned around to see Matty shooting Hann an intense look. The phrase "Don't fucking say a word" was pretty apparent, and didn't need to be vocalized. Hann nodded once and put his hand up.
"You wanna come over? We're having an after-party," George offered, still close and towering over me.
I made an apologetic smile. "I can't tonight, sorry. I'd like to the next time, though. I'm just a little trashed and tired."
George nodded, not entirely satisfied. "Alright."
Matty made his way in front of me. My body stiffened once more with him being so close. Hann made the peace sign with two fingers and went back into the building. He had the right idea.
"Need a lift home?" Matty offered.
Shit. Uhm, no.
Cheekbones interrupting our near fuck was probably the best thing to happen all night. I couldn't sleep with Matty, no matter how much I wanted to. While I had this magnetic intesity towards Matty, I also got little butterflies when I saw George. And I wans't accustomed to either of these feelings. I knew i shouldn't entertain either of them.
"Oh, ah, I'll catch an Uber or something," I said. "Thanks so much though."
George grabbed me and squeezed me tight, pressing his lips against my forehead quickly. My heart warmed up.
"Bye, guys," I said, pulling away from him slowly.
"'Night," George said.
Matty lit another cigarette and scowled slightly, but waved once. I didn't look into his eyes. I couldn't.
I went home and crashed into my bed immediately, the dark of the night lulling me to sleep. I dreamed of George's smile, his voice chuckling against my ear. I dreamed of Matty, his words, the way his mouth moved...
I couldn't escape either one of them.