HEDONISTIC

32. The Healy brothers like the same girl and the plot thickens

"Ugh couldn't you be quiet for a bit?!!" Frankie asked irritated. "For fuck's sake that was your brother" He rolled his eyes.

"Does it really matter? Would he really care? I don't." He stated, a cigarette on his right hand and the other caressing Frankie's waist.

For Frankie Matty's whole attitude made no sense specially to someone who didn't know him. At twenty six he was psychologically still a child. The world revolved around him, he saw no points of view other than his own and was fearful of being forgotten but some of the time he was like a well mannered pre-schooler, eating cookies, smoking pot and playing with his guitar.

"Yeah I mean what could go wrong? It's super chill, he would just find out about his older brother, that he totally idolizes by the way, fucked the girl that he has had a crush since forever. Yeah I mean.. WHAT COULD GO WRONG?!" Frankie said putting her arms in the air meeting Matty's unamused gaze.

At the end of the day Frankie did care about Louis in some way or the other. When she first arrived to the UK in seventh grade he was her first friend before she met Amber and James and he turned into an asshole. Frankie remembered how Louis would go to her house when her mom was on her aerobic classes and they would sneak beers and she would offer a spot on her couch.

Then they'd play nintendo until they fingers blistered but then everything just kinda went to shit and she discovered the magic of coke, miniskirts and Ambers amazing persuading skills to get into London's VIP clubs. Louis just became a fuckboy.

A fuckboy that she didn't want to hurt, she sigh.

"Look I have to do a class PowerPoint presentation with him ok? He told me to meet him in his house." She muttered.

Matty looked taken back and honestly he was because when he was with Frankie in the confort of the four walls of his room he used to forget that she was just a teen- just a girl with blonde thick curls and running mascara.

"Oh ok" he said.

"Maybe, maybe I could take you there? I mean if you want me too, I kind of also have to see my mom" Matty said looking  at the floor trying not to meet her eyes his curls hiding his face, his fucking beautiful freckled face.

"How is that supposed to work Matty?" She was confused and hungry and done with his bullshit. He took a step forward and touched her forearm.

She loved to touch him but mostly she loved to be touch by him - not even in a sexual way, she loved every time he caressed her face, her hands, her obsidian hair that fell in tousled locks.

She remembered the night before and how his warmth swept into her being and comforted her without ever opening his mouth. She melted into him like ice-cream on a warm porcelain bowl, like if for some stupid reason she belonged next to him, but that was the bullshit.

"Look it's not like we can just both of us walk in into your mother's house." She said crossing her arms liking the feeling of the hem of Matty's sweater on her fingertips. "No we can't.. " He said dragging his words looking at her with that mischievous smile that she in the past few days had grown to despise and love at the same time. "But" He said after a long dramatic pause. "I could drop you off a block before her house and arrive there a while after"

"That sounds like a plan" She said tilting her head and look at him from the corner of her eye.

He kissed her cheek and Frankie felt like she was spinning around the whole world blurring around them as she looked into his eyes. Her arms reached up and tangled around his neck. Frankie let in a breath sharply and kissed him delicately, his arms encircling her waist drawing her in, his lips hungry for hers- only hers. She felt him starting to take of her/his sweater suddenly feeling warm and craving for his touch.

-

Matty's car was cool and vintage and smell like weed.

Frankie was sitting on the passenger seat with ankles crossed and her knees leaning against the center console. She wasn't wearing Matty's sweater and his boxers anymore, Frankie was wearing yesterday's clothes: a thin cotton striped shirt with some jeans and the first shoes she found when she was leaving the house the day before rushing to Matty's house.

She felt slightly uncomfortable not only because of the hickeys on her neck and her dirty underwear that smelled like sex but also because she could feel this slight pain in her core probably because Matty had just fuck her brains out moments before. She watched Matty slide into the driver's seat, starting the engine with the push of a button.

Honestly deep down all Frankie wanted to do was touch him and run her fingers through his hair. Rubbing her hands together, she forced them into submission. Observing his movements, a sigh escapes her lips: she adored the subtle tilt of his head when he turned onto the road, every movement seemed as though he's planned it out ahead of time.

She started thinking about life as she watched the busy London city passed by, Frankie thought about life and death, about the duality of it all, but mostly she thought about Matty and how somehow he had become her life even tho that was against her feminist beliefs and she was an independent woman that shouldn't give a damn about what the rockstar had to say.

She thought about how the creative solution to integrate any two ideas is possible, how then they are not mutually exclusive by definition and any argument treating them as opposing 'truths' is redundant: Frankie and Matty somehow they were two parts of a whole that was designed to explode at any minute but somehow merge into one. 

They were both opposing "truths" but the thought of being redundant scared her shitless.

"What's up with you" He asked taking his eyes off the road for a mini second.
"Nothing really" She replied but by the look he gave her the subject wouldn't be dropped. "You look like you're thinking about something that's troubling you" He was smiling. "Why are you smiling?" She furrowed her brows.

"I don't know you're just so" He paused looking for a right word. " I don't know? Perfect" He chucked at how much of a cliche this girl had make him.

She genuinely laughed: "Perfect for what?"

" I wouldn't know.. i guess perfection is subjective - always measured against both personal and culturally changing criteria." He said starting with a rant that Frankie knew she couldn't stop " I guess we are all born to be "perfect" for our own lives and purposes. We set out to be the best version of ourselves possible; we love, we forgive, we nurture. A bird can never be a perfect fish, and a fish cannot be a perfect beetle. I can never be a perfect you, and you can never be a perfect me - and to me that is perfection."

"Is that your way of saying that you love me Matthew Healy?" She asked blushed cheeks and shinny twinkly eyes.

"I guess it is"