Please // Matty Healy

the beginning

A/N: I'm writing this now with no direction, no outline, no set conclusion in mind. I just love Matty Healy and needed a way to pour my heart out, and so I started writing. Here goes nothing.                                                                                                                                                                      ________

Heart pounding.

Shallow breaths. 

Slight ringing in my ears.

I clutched the bag tightly. What was I thinking?  I'd never even done this shit before, but here I was... helping sell it.  Even looking at it felt like a sin. 

It's funny how a couple of grams of white powder could be so criminal. 

I slipped the plastic bag into a bigger paper one, putting a sandwich on top to help avoid suspicion. 

I hated this feeling. It weighed so heavy in my gut. But there was no turning back now, I had a delivery to make. I needed the money. 

"Meet me behind the pub once you're done," Elias called out to me as I turned to leave. 

"Ok," I spoke before disappearing through the doorway.  I studied the address Elias had scribbled out on a sticky note. Having ridden public transit for a while, I knew my way around the city pretty well. I figured the place would be just 20 minutes outside of town. I could do 20 minutes. It'll be worth it. 

I stepped onto the bus, trying to look as normal as possible despite the peculiarity of my bag. I had no appetite, yet I took a bite of my sandwich to convince everyone I was simply carrying my lunch.  

Finally, after what felt like much longer than the 20 minutes I was anticipating, I arrived at my stop, asking a few passengers if they could point me in the right direction of the address given. I had only received some rough instructions, but after wandering around a bit, I located the street.

My nerves picked up again. I was a young woman, alone, completely disoriented, and going to the house of an utter stranger. The only thing I knew about this man was that his name was Matty and that he was a drug addict. Assuring. And, to make things worse, it was getting dark out. 

I made my way to the front door of his flat, hesitating before knocking reluctantly. For a moment, there was nothing. But that was shortly followed by the sounds of heavy thuds and clattering. Whoever was on the opposite side of that door was either already fucked up or the most clumsy person in the world. 

After some more crashes, the door finally opened, revealing a man with thick, dark curls that decorated his face. He was clad in a striped jumper and some torn up black jeans. I could tell by his slow and uncoordinated mannerisms that he was, in fact, very fucked up. 

The loopy expression on his face quickly fell as he looked at me. 

"You're not Elias," he said groggily, his knuckles whitening as he clutched onto the door frame for support. 

"You're not sober" I responded, a bit louder than intended. 

Matty chuckled.

"Do you have my cocaine?" he asked bluntly. 

My face grew red as I looked around to make sure nobody heard. I wanted to shush him, but you can't undo something that has already been said, so I simply nodded, handing him the brown bag. 

His brow furrowed as his looked inside, reaching in.

"This is a sandwich," he slurred, my face turning an even deeper shade of crimson.