l o s t [m.h, g.d]

E N D

I woke up. I wasn't wearing much. Underwear. I'd fallen asleep outside the covers, too warm with George next to me. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. It was the most I'd slept in about a week. Suddenly I felt like I was back to the first night I got here. When I slept more in the space of around 12 hours than I had in a week. Except George was next to me not Matty. And I'd expressly invited him into bed with me.

I looked over at George. He was turned towards me, his face turned into the pillow. I didn't know how he was managing to breathe but he was because his ribcage was inflating and deflating.

I didn't wake him up. Not like every other time I'd woken up next to him over the past 12 hours. I don't know why I didn't.

Yes, I did.

I picked up the clothes I'd left around George's room. Not that many admittedly.

Out in the living room it was cold. I wondered if Matty was alright. He hadn't come home the entire day.

His phone was on the table. He must be around. I pressed the home button and looked at the time. 04:04.

I found my bag eventually. My movements calm, deliberate. I tried to keep my mind blank.

The smell of my bag made me feel a little nostalgic. It smelt a little stale. It had crisp packets pressed to the bottom and my old jeans, a little cleaner than they had been when I had arrived.

I took a few things from the flat. Snacks. A half packet of cigarettes. I pulled on my jeans, from the bag. I had to jump a little to get them over my hips, buttoning them up and pulling on a t-shirt belonging to either Matty or George. I'd allow myself that.

This was easier than I thought. As long as I kept my mind blank.

I stuffed the rest of my clothes into my bag and zipped it up. A dress, slightly ripped from shards of glass on a window. The one that was too short that I'd danced around on a bar top in with a karaoke mic. The pink edged t-shirt I'd peeled from my body to get into the bath. The nude underwear that had turned see-through in the bath with George.

I peeked around Matty's door, tying my hair up, out of my face, the one intact strap on my bag hooked over my shoulder. He was in bed. His hair glossy again. One ear exposed as he lay sideways. He looked too vulnerable, lying outwith the covers. He was clothed. He might have been drinking. Facing away from me. I wished he was lying the other way, so I could look at his face. He looked so fit when he slept.

No matter. I'd said my goodbye to him. I'd given him that kiss. And it hadn't been out of pity or sorrow or any of that, none of it had. I'd given him things I could never take back. And he'd never give them back to me even if I could. Stubborn little fucker. I smiled, leaning against the doorframe. I realised I'd done a lot of that during my time here.

'See you, Matty.' I whispered.

George was where I'd left him. I resisted the urge to crawl back into the bed with him. I did lean over him though, kneeling on the mattress beside him. I knew he wouldn't wake up easily. I'd tired him out too much. I moved his hair back and pressed my lips against his smooth forehead. It smelt nice. Like weed and something else. He turned over onto his back, breathing deeply. His hand rested subconsciously on the outside of my thigh. I kept still, not wanting him to wake. I waited a couple of minutes, brushing my fingers over his chest, the undulation of his ribcage. He went completely still again, his eyes closed. I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and to the mole in the centre of his cheek. I lingered there, shutting my eyes.

My mind wasn't blank anymore. It had broken through. I blinked away the tiny influx of moisture there. I lay my head against his chest from my kneeling position, curled around foetal like. I could hear his heart beating, firm, insistent.

That was it. That was all. Get up now.

~

It was starting to get light by the time I had walked to the beach. The shingle crunched under my steps. There was no mist. Just strips of cloud slowly illuminated from underneath. Inky blue and lighter. The petrol was still sloshing in my boot. I emptied it into the tank, getting some of it on my jeans. I tossed the empty cartons, whipping my hands on my t-shirt and tightening the bun on top of my head. I slung my bag into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind me. I clutched the steering wheel, drinking in the silence in the car the emptiness of the beach. It was getting lighter and I didn't want to still be here when the world was in full living colour. I wanted to still feel like I was dreaming.

I put the keys into the ignition and turned. The engine sputtered to life within a few tries. The noise filled my head, pushing everything out.

And then, just like on the kitchen floor with George, I felt calm. My head cleared and my shoulders relaxed down. I smiled slightly. This was the right thing to do. I couldn't hang around forever. It was unhealthy.

They had done something for me. Something that I hadn't realised anyone was even capable of doing. And they were just strangers I'd met on this beach a matter of weeks ago. The things I'd felt for Matty. For George. That was real. I was bruised and cut and beaten up by it all and not just physically. But I'd come through.

They'd be fine. They'd make more music and deal with things and they'd find comfort in each other and they'd find other girls who were nicer to them and who'd give them what I hadn't been able to manage. They didn't need me; not like I'd needed them. They'd be alright.

There were sweets in the glove compartment. I popped one into my mouth. Bitter lemons.

And so I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and shook my head a little, smiling, and I thought to myself:

Just drive, silly.