{Short chapter, more to come, slowly but surely. Love you all, thanks for being pals and the continuous votes and comments! by the way I will never not love this interview/gif}
{Play "You" by The 1975}
{Claire's POV}
Perhaps it was the hotel bed, in its plush, perfect-temperature. Perhaps it was the fact that I had fallen asleep, snugly wrapped in George's arms, post-orgasmic sex. Either way, when I woke the next morning, I was in the best of moods.
The California sun had presented itself in all its glory, the white of the sheets wrapped around George and I shining in a yellow-dipped glow. I had woken up on my side, and George was on his stomach, handsome face mashed into the pillow, arm still wrapped around me like I would fly away.
Even in his sleep, George Daniel took care of me.
My lashes fluttered, my brain fluttering along with it trying to accept what had happened last night. What I had agreed to, what George had agreed to.
Last night, I had had sex with my best friend. Four times.
It was somewhere around four in the morning when George had exhausted himself to the point were he was stumbling around the room, sleepy-eyed and yawning, and a little high. He had wandered out onto the patio, in nothing but his white Calvin Kleins, and lit a cigarette. When I followed him, my body carelessly wrapped in a sheet, I had commented on how beautiful the Los Angeles. He had told me "Yeah, but it's got nothing on you kid."
As the light of the moon and fanstsical buildings of Los Angeles radiated against George's features: his nose, his jaw, his mouth, I questioned whether or not I had set myself up to fail.
Could I agree to be just George's friend? George had always been a bit of a player, and it was well-warranted. He was funny, handsome, sweet, and now in a band that was getting more famous by the minute.
How would I feel when they day came? The day I found a photo of he and another girl on Instagram; an ad in a tabloid suggesting he was dating a famous singer; the times he wouldn't call me back.
Georgie had always called me when he had the chance. I knew he would never forget me. But I was still very scared shitless. At the
And at the same time, I felt so safe, so small, so warm in his arms. This hadn't been the fist all-nighter I had pulled with George Daniel, but it was the one that changed everthing between us.
George was snoring now, a deep cushioned hum coming from his lips. His hair was tickling the bridge of his nose, and I pushed it softly back against his head, enjoying him in this peaceful state. I watched him for quite some time, and when I felt the urge to use the restroom, I began wiggling away from the grasp of his arm that was clutched against my lower back.
And that's when he spoke.
"Did you know that Beverly Hills actually started as a lima bean ranch?" he spoke.
The noise was not coming from George.
I jolted up in bed, grasping the sheets around my naked body.
He was sitting in the chair at the corner of the room, one pajama bottomed-leg crossed over the other, his tattooed feet bare. He had a traveler's brouchure in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other.
"Matty," I gulped.
He coiled his finger around a lock of his curly hair and igored me.
"And did you know that Marilyn Monroe dotted the 'I' in her name at Graumann's Chinese Theater, but someone stole it?" he went on.
I looked to George, who was, thank God, dead asleep.
"Los Angeles is the city of angels in Spanish. Hmm, that one wasn't much for trivia, was it, Claire?" Matty said sardonically, sipping his tea.
"What are you doing?!" I half-yelled, half-whispered at him.
Matty pressed his index finger to his luscious mouth. "Shhh, love. You'll wake George."
Frantically, I slid out of bed, the sheet wrapped around me, and reached for my robe. I widened my eyes at Matty throwing a hand into the air.
"Ah, pardon me," Matty said before putting down the brochure and his tea, then covering his eyes with his hands.
My lips were pursed tighter that my robe now.
I launched toward him now, nearly tripping over the clothes that George and I had recklessly decorated the hotel carpet with.
"Get. Out. Now," I commanded to him in a whisper, taking his hand and dragging him out of the room.
The door made a quiet click as it shut, and I stood in front of Matty in the hallway, my fists clenched, my heart racing.
I was confused, angry, embarrased, frustrated.
"Did you sleep well, Claire? You and George looked so cozy and content in there," Matty commented, his voice muffled slightly by the enclosed area.
"How long had you been sitting there?" I demanded of him. "And, again, what the fuck is wrong with you, Matty?"
Matty pursed his lips into duck face and rolled his eyes with sarcasm. "Long enough."
A jagged gulp went down my throat. I stared at him for what seemed like ages, waiting on him to explain himself. I suspected he was waiting on the same of me.
But Matty simply sighed and rested his head of curls against the wall.
"You're going to fall in love with George," he stated, his eyes locking me in.
He said it like he was stating the sky was blue, or that one plus one equaled two.
Internally, I pleaded with him to not to this. To not force me to address my feelings. He had my broken heart in his back pocket, and George was carefully sewing back the other half.
"I am not going to fall in love with George," I spat out at him.
Who was he to state this? Who was he to care?
"Ah," Matty let out, his eyes going to my chest for a moment, then back to my face. "That's right. You already have."
My thoughts were static. Blank, sleepy, static.
I averted my gaze to Ross, who was now exiting his room, towel wrapped around his waist, looking at us incredulously.
"What are you two doing?" he asked, puzzled.
"Nothing," Matty and I said in unison.
=
I had went back into George's room without another word to Matty. I had showered, and blew my hair dry before George woke, a sleepy smile streching at his handsome face. He kissed me on the cheek and asked if I wanted breakfast, but I couldn't stomach it.
Shortly afterward, he and the boys had left for their interview. They did a lot of those these days, Matty always being the center of attention, George occasionally chiming in, Adam and George simply nodding in the background.
Matty never declared himself the star of their band, but he certainly accepted it when others did.
Their concert was tonight, and as proud of them as I was, the dread was setting in thick. Tinsley was quite pregnant and in London. Chelsea G was not pregnant, but still in London. Nick was on the opposite coast from me. I had friends in LA, but none I was prepared to invite, because I knew things would be awkward backstage. This was the first concert I'd ever go to solo.
I trotted around the hotel room for a bit, confused by my own actions around both of the English boys I'd fallen for. Both of them ignited something within me. George was a constant warm glow, keeping me from the cold. Matty was fire, and I had learned quickly that when I got too close, he burned me.
The little Matty marks: the love bites, the hickeys, had all faded from my body in the months we had been broken up. But the scars scetched into my heart remained, and always would.
I felt guilty. I knew I shouldn't feel that way, but I most certainly did.
After I had tidied up, picked up the thrown clothes from the floor, I decided to spruce myself up a bit. Dewey foundation, a few shades from the Naked 2 palette, and Mac's Velvet Teddy were applied to my face and lips, and a white-and-navy striped spring dress with a scalloped hem made me feel a little better. Like myself. Like LA.
When the hotel room, although it was glorious, began to suffocate me, I headed out for a drive. I needed coffee, like hours ago, but the sun against the freeway perked me up already.
The outdoor cafe I'd chosen was nice, and I nursed my aching stom
"ach with a latte and a peach glazed muffin. Or two. It was nice to be by myself for a bit, my own thoughts being processed without being interrupted by George's charm or Matty's wits.
I thought of doing a little shopping tomorrow with my Mom. I thought of going for tacos with my Dad after that. I thought of Chelsea G and how much I missed her, how nice it would be to have her here now, my other, wild half.
"Hey Chels," I rang her.
"Ugh," she groaned. "Do you know how late it is here in London?"
Oh, nice to hear from you Claire.
"Sorry," I let out. "I miss you."
She yawned into the phone. "I know, I miss you too. How's LA?"
I picked at the muffin I was eating, tearing off little sweet carbs and popping them into my mouth.
"Sunny. Warm. Laid-back," I explaned. "George and I had sex last night."
The shriek from the other end of the phone was so loud that the couple at the table next to me shot me a look.
"No!" she gasped.
"Yes," I sighed. "Totally, completely, it happened."
I was reminding myself along with informing Chelsea.
"What do you mean 'you had sex with George'. Why?!? This is bad, Claire," Chelsea stammered.
Was it that bad?
"Relax, Chelsea. We're keeping it casual. We're just friends..with benefits," I explained.
Chelsea let out a fake, maniaical laugh.
"Yeah, that's not going to work. George is in love with you, you idiot. And Matty is too," Chelsea said. "What if Matty finds out? I mean, he's still so heartbroken over you. He's gotten really into cocaine, Claire. Adam said the boys have talked about stating an interventon."
There was a weight crushing my chest now, and no matter how many excuses I made, it was still there, pressing and pressing and crushing me with the guilt.
"Matty already knows," I sighed. "When I woke up he was sitting in a chair in George's room, just watching us."
Chelsea gasped. "That little obsessive shit. Ugh. I mean, I do feel bad for him. I'm sure that wasn't easy to see."
Right.
It wasn't easy to see Harper's tongue down his throat either.
Part of me was so angry at Matty. The other half wanted nothing more than to lay his head in my lap, stroke his curls, and let myself love him.
"What do I do, Chelsea?" I asked her.
I needed an answer. I needed specfics. Step by step, how the hell do I fix this one?
"You can't choose, Claire. You have to let them both go," Chelsea gave it to me. "If you pick George, Matty will fall apart. If you pick Matty, George will never be able to look at you the same."
She was right.
But neither of those options made me feel any better.
That bitch Harper was right too. Why did I need them both to obsess over me? What was so wrong with me that I couldn't let Matty go; that I coulnd't be okay with George just being a friend?
I told Chelsea to get some rest, then scrolled through my phone mindlessly. Naturally, the boys' interview was already all over the internet, and naturally, being the masochist I am, I clicked on the notifiction immediately.
The interviwer was female, long sandy-blonde hair, quite pretty. She was smitten with Matty, along with his Durex condrom shirt, and couldn't stop starting at him. She asked about what touring in the US was like versus Europe, what the boys' influeces were, what they liked to eat on the road, and of course, where they got their band name.
Matty was on fire, witty comeback after witty comeback. His pupils were dilated and he looked lovely. George was chucking at everything Matty had said.
"So, we all know that Ross is going to be a father soon, and that will make Adam an uncle," the interviewer said. "Any names picked out for the babies yet?"
Ross chuckled into the microphone. "No, no, that's quite a surprise. We haven't actually decided yet."
He was wearing a denim jacket and grey trousers. He looked cute.
The interviwer, Meghan, went to Adam next. "Adam, you seem to be quite close with your girlfriend, from the Instagram pictures she posts of you. How's she reacting to your fame?"
Adam smiled politely, rubbing his temple bashfully beneath the sleeve of his camel-colored sweater. "I'm rather proud of her, just as she is of me."
He was so cute about her.
Meghan, of course, went back to oohing over Matty now. Her body language clearly indicated her fascination with him.
"So, Matty, George, the single boys. Which one of you gets the most girls?"
George scoff/laughed and adjusted the hem of his white Adidas tank before he pointed a long finger to Matty.
"Definitely my mate. He's always got a model within three feet of him. He loves the attention," he giggled.
The interviewer laughed along with them and Matty winked at her.
"No, no, no, it's quite the opposite. George is total heartbreaker," he nudged George. "The walls of our hotel are quite thin."
When George's face dropped, I exited the video on my phone.
I couldn't take anymore.
I went back to the hotel and packed my belongings before I drove home for the night.
I was too cowardly to face either one of them at the concert.