#54 - Matthew Healy

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I COULDN'T MISS THIS OPPORTUNITY

Here I sat, analysing every detail of my life throughout the last few weeks. How a tornado had forced its way through me and left me the wreck I now was.

The day I met him. I remember it as if it was imprinted into my brain - I had my hair in its usual messy bun, wearing my big glasses and scarf as I dealt with the flu and immense finals week stress, huddled into my usual
comfy armchair with some coffee over a book at my favourite cafe.

He was stood on the corner of the street, leaning against the wall carelessly, his dark hair matching everything but the shirt he wore beneath his leather jacket - a half buttoned floral shirt.

He asked me for the time, but I was so busy worrying that I just walked straight on. It wasn't until he grasped my arm that I noticed how he didn't only smell of smoke, but all kinds of alcohol, which was ironic because his eyes resembled scotch whiskey.

I was then overwhelmed as he crouched down at my feet and began to cry, talking of how he had 'messed everything up'.

I didn't have anything to do, he was crying - so I brought him back to my flat as my roommate was out, offered him tea and from then I met Matthew, the sweetest soul I had ever come across. Matty was his fun, party side, in which a curse was added to any sentence that rolled out of his mouth.

I always preferred Matthew. Despite that being him at his lowest, he seemed more like the real him. The one I fell in love with.

And then he told me of his past, as we met again and again. He was part of a small-ish band as lead singer, but also carried out antics whilst he was intoxicated that not even he could remember.

He would attack, steal and kill. He became abusive, possessive, angered by the slightest of flaws one presented. But it was from those outbursts we had the best nights we ever had together.

Matty was home to me, a safe haven. And I apparently was the same to him, as one day in the middle of the night, he appears at my doorstep sobbing, his hands and clothes covered in blood. That was the most fragile he had ever looked before me; as I removed his clothes from him to be washed and helped him shower as he was too traumatised to even move.

He killed somebody that day, and I became laced with that murder when I decided to help dispose of the body.

That brings us to now, where I sat in this rusty car with the radio low, listening for something, anything, which was funny, because the smallest of sounds would cause me to jump; was it a car horn or the whistle of the wind. It caused goosebumps to raise on my arms.

The passenger door twisted open and Matty helped himself in, breathing as if he had ran all the way from Norway. "Are you sure you want to do this, babe?"

"Yes- Yes of course." I nodded, trying to convince myself as he caressed my face. I responded to his touch. "It's the only way out, right?"

"I'm afraid so. I owe you the world." He sighed, fiddling with the rips on my jeans as I turned into the road.

I cracked a small smile. "Don't you worry, I think I already have mine."

this is probably the most aesthetically
pleasing thing I have ever written.

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