rhiannon hasn't answered any of my calls for the past four hours.
not like i had been counting.
all i want to do is apologize to her, what's gotten into her mind to actually decline my calls?
i don't know what had gotten into my mind either, mentioning her name on national radio and—fucking hell—her age, even.
i'm aware that back at the flat, george is furious and so near to banging my head on the wall, which is quite possible considering george is more of a monster in physique compared to me... and ross is, well, planning my funeral and answering calls from my mum on what my death clothes will be. my nerves are taking a toll on me, and adam seems to have noticed this, so he takes me to a bar in the middle of the afternoon for a drink.
"george rang me up a minute ago," he says after ordering a shot of tequila, "told me to tell you that you're a complete scumbag."
i take a shot of my own as a reply. of course i had seen that coming.
"is it true, then? what you said back there at the radio station? are you really thinking about making her your girlf—"
"no." i say, mainly to shut him off. "it's a fucking mistake, hann, i don't know why i had said her name, i don't know why i fucking confirmed that she's seventeen, even. i don't fucking know anything mate. just fucking let me be at peace."
adam takes out a cigarette stick from his pocket, and hands it over to me, tapping my shoulder. "knew this would come in handy."
i'm smoking now, more pissed than ever before, until my phone rings. for a split second i wish for it to be rhiannon, but it's gabriella, the model i hook up with.
"gabby, now's not the fucking time."
"how fucking dare you."
i hear sobbing over the other line, and i'm completely frustrated on what's going on, not to mention too exhausted to actually react to her. i say, "what's happening?" although i don't really fucking care.
"you're a fucking cheater, matthew!" she bawls, and it's loud enough for adam to hear, so i put it on speakerphone. "i thought you really liked me, now you're shagging a fucking minor? it's because i'm not around, is that it?"
"hey, no." i try to speak in the calmest voice known to man, but i'm fucking done with everyone's shit as of the moment, and this time i need to deal with my own. "i'm... i'm not even dating anyone, gabby. not even you."
"fuck you." gabriella shouts, and i hear adam attempting not to laugh. "fuck you, matty. god. i hope your d*ck gets cut off. i'm canceling my flight to manchester. good fucking luck on your tour."
beep.
"hope your d*ck gets cut off?" adam is cackling this time while i am scrolling through my phone logs. "she's crazy, mate. glad you finally got rid of that rat."
i don't reply. i can't stop looking at the missed calls.
i press on rhiannon's contact again. declined.
hann sighs. "if you're so keen on getting a response mate, might as well go to her personally then."
i glare at adam, because he's fucking right once more and it hits my ego. of all things, rejection is my weakness. i've never been rejected by a woman ever since the 1975 came about, must be the rockstar status or whatever appeal women get from being groupies or some sort... this one's quite different, and i honestly don't know how to handle it well.
i know i'm fucking wrong, even i don't know why i said rhiannon's name in the first place.. well, i can get quite talkative at times, honestly, and there are times where my mouth is faster than my mind is, i think this is one of those times, to be frank. rhiannon... she doesn't deserve this. i am guilty beyond belief.
if only she can fucking answer my damn calls.
i turn to adam. "and you think that is the right thing to do?"
"she obviously doesn't want to speak to you on the phone," he replies coolly, "she'll have no choice if you show up on her doorstep again. can i not go, though? i feel a cold coming on."
i reach for my wallet, take out a few pounds, then place them on the table. "i'll return in a few hours."
—
i usually live for train rides to london all alone.
but today's ride feels tiring somewhat.
a ton of people have boarded, and i remain seated on my spot, habitually checking my phone for any signs of rhiannon actually letting me know her thoughts on this whole scenario. i feel as if i'm going quite mad, just watching people go in and out of this tube and onto their own less fucked-up lives.
i can already hear george's voice at the back of my head, telling me how much of an insensitive narcissist i am, how much this is going to affect the band... "fuck you healy, we're going on tour in a few days. our manager jamie isn't going to be happy about this. you dumb fuck."
"neither am i, george. trust me." i mutter under my breath. who knew a photograph could start such a fire?
i get to london around noon, then hail a cab to rhiannon's place. at the back of my head i'm practicing my lines once her mother sees me. hi, i'm matthew, i need to see your daughter. i may look older than her, which i am, and trust me it's not as awful as you think, but i take complete responsibility over the leaked picture on the internet, and it's my fault, and i'm sorry, and yes i snuck her out last night, and i'm sorry for that too, but i really need for you to give me and rhiannon a minute to sort things out.
i'm terrified. in my head the word rejection is repeating over and over, and my hands are clammy, and everything feels bigger than i am, and for a minute or two i actually feel like a teenager again, trying to talk to a girl who feels way out of my league. fucking hell. worst years of my life.
it terrifies me to even look at rhiannon's eyes, to try and choke out an apology for something both of us wanted to happen in the first place. nevertheless, she's young.. it's too much to know that i did something like this to a seventeen year-old.
the truth is, madam, i kind of fancy your daughter. not because i had sex with her. but because she's something else.
i pull out a cigarette and settle for a smoke before knocking on their doorstep. the door opens almost immediately to my surprise, and i prepare my speech once i see rhiannon's mother facing me.
"hi," i say, "i'm matt—"
"she doesn't live here anymore."
it takes a few seconds for me to process what had just been said. she looks pissed, and i notice how we're smoking the same cigarette.
i blink. "'scuse me?"
"rhiannon ran away." her mum barks. "heard what you said about her on the radio. i'm surprised she didn't run to you this time."
i clear my throat. "i'm.. i'm sorry, about what i said. which is why i came here from manchester, madam. i need to apologize to rhiannon."
"she doesn't live here." she repeats, raising an eyebrow at me. her pupils are rather dilated, and i know she took something before i came knocking on the door. "i told her not to come back. might as well say the same thing to you."
i flick at my cigarette stick, looking at her blankly. "do you know where she is, then?"
her mum huffs. "who knows. been wanting to get rid of her ever since she killed her father."
i almost choke on what i'm smoking. "you're joking, are you?"
"just get out of my sight. i don't care if you're famous, matthew. rhiannon... she's a fucking mess, i doubt you'd find her anytime soon." her mum turns to leave, but i'm too stunned to even stop her.
she ran away. why? because of me? what i had said?
fuck off matthew, you hardly know the girl.
the thought gets too much that i find myself brisk-walking out of her then-house, thoughts clouding my head, kind of like the smoke from my cigarette. i throw it on the ground, with much force actually, and before i know it i hail another taxi.
"where to?" the man asks. he's big with a rather deep voice that fits his physique.
"you know any good flats to stay in for the night?" i ask in response, and he just nods before driving away to the destination.
i can sense he's looking at me through the rearview mirror, but fuck it, it's the least of my concern.
my phone alerts. fucking george daniel.
tour's in a few days mate. stop worrying about shit.
i type back my reply.
i'm adulting here, fucking being responsible for the shit i created.
shit, he replies like he hasn't left the text box.
adulting is a word now? alright. can i borrow your pajama bottoms, then?
"we're here." deep voice driver announces, pulling up in the driveway of a motel i have seen before in my trips to london, although haven't been.
just promise you won't murder me when i get back, yeah?
i pay him the fare before entering the barely-lit lobby where an old woman in her late 40s is sitting behind a desk, watching what seems to be a rerun of golden girls on the small telly. i know because my mum used to be quite a fan of the show back when i used to live with her and my little brother louis.
anyway, in my experiences with girls in motels, this looks frankly cleaner than the ones i had been to.
and trust me, i had been to a lot.
walking to the desk, i clear my throat and look at the woman who's quite engrossed with the episode on the screen. "a room for one, please."
she looks up, looks at me for a second and chuckles. "you sure about that, kid?"
"i've never been quite sure about anything, really."
late 40s woman eyes me for a moment, then nods. "good enough." she brings out a key behind the desk, and a few minutes later the lights are off and i'm sitting on the cheap bed in my motel room, shirtless and smoking, watching television to distract myself from my fucking thoughts.
eventually i shut the television off because the sound is interfering with my way of thinking and because this is, unfortunately, the only time i get to be alone and quiet without anyone making quite the noise...
i just sit there for several minutes. i text rhiannon i need to talk to you for a bit. kindly answer your phone, and call her for at least three more times, but at one point her line goes dead and her phone must have died or she might have turned it off. i can't say, although it's beginning to dawn on me that i have no clue on where she is staying. is she safe?
i conclude that it's alright if she ignores me for the rest of my life, i know i'm bound to meet people along the way for it's part of my growing career as an artist anyway. but would it hurt if i just know she is in good hands?
i smoke a bit more in the empty barely-lit room until the cigarettes run out and until i find myself sleeping with the radio turned on.