four alarm fire // matty healy

Yuk Foo

I didn't go to the Net after our success, but I did go for a walk around. Couldn't really tell where I walked (thank god for the final grams of Dawson's "Fucked Shit"), but I knew I circled back to the Den. The one room that Uncle doesn't like us to go alone: the Gallery.

It held all the things Isaac and I had stolen, but not sold yet. Sort of like an in-between stage - after stealing but before dismantling or selling. The football dad's green machine was there, even the Beemer from Krystal's day, which shocked me - because it was a very fresh ride.

I leaned against the white car and looked around the Gallery. It was a spacious room, high ceilings and big open floor, but it was full. Uncle tried to keep it organized as best he could, high-end clothes in one area, drugs in another, miscellaneous items scattered in between.

My feet wandered the floor to nowhere in particular. Almost in a trance, my hands ran over the strings of Matty's electric. How many songs has he written with this guitar?

Before my mind made sense of what happened, I was picking up the black and white instrument and ran to the green van again, throwing it into the backseat. My head spun as I loaded his clothes and drugs and guitars into the vehicle. The industrial doors opened with a steady push of my hand, letting in the cool of the night. What was happening? I sat in the driver's seat. What was I doing? My hand mopped away sweat from my brow.

The rickety engine revved into gear and I pushed the stick into reverse. My eyes clung to the rear view mirror until I was able to make a three-point turn out of the driveway of the Den. I hit the road in a vigilante-type thievery. Fuck, I felt like a powerhouse. Fuck. I am a powerhouse.

-

The drive was a rocky path, until it  turned into paved roads, and then even neighbourhood blocks. Peckham neighbourhood blocks. It was almost like they had the same amount of houses per strip of road. Too strange to be deemed 'quaint'.

I killed the engine in the same place Isaac and I were almost seven hours ago. Matty's light timer was off, but would turn on soon, I imagined. I waited until the clock in the van hit 6am. At this hour, not many people would be on the streets, but most would be just waking up.

I exited the van and opened the back door. The instruments sat in their covers. It would take me about four trips to take everything in. The only thing that would take more time would be placing things into their original position.

I took one guitar at a time, carefully repeating my movements again, with his front door lock and alarm pad. I scoffed at his ridiculous pin again, then hurried to the van again, ushering Matty's items back into his house.

Moments flew by, and my silent feet ran back and forth from the door to the van. People just starting to get themselves ready to leave their houses by the time I was finished getting Matty's stuff back inside. I closed the door and drew a loud breath from my lips.

I heaved the guitars back down the hall once again, undoing what I had done before. They went back in place, on their respective stands, cases hanging off the back hook. I took the clothes out of my bag and hung the in the closet, doing my best to follow the order he had before. Jackets, then dress shirts, then pants. T-shirts were folded on the top shelf, but I didn't need to touch them.

Bedside table. I stuff his weed back into the drawer. It was full, but I remembered he had a pipe next to the grinder on the right hand side. Were his bags toward the front of the drawer or was it the rolling papers? No, I think the weed was in the front.

I shoved the drawer closed. It was done. I stepped back to look at my handiwork. It was pretty close to what it looked like before... Right? My palms grew sweaty when I thought about Matty figuring out something happened here.

I took my bag and pried myself away from the room. My hand flung the zipper open as I walked down the hall again. Just to make sure I haven't taken anything by accident. With the front door mere steps away, I heard something. It was probably nothing, a creak in the floorboard under my feet, but I looked up.

Matty.

Standing infront of me, holding a frying pan.

"Jesus!" We shrieked in unison. The pan flew out of his hands, and I fell to the floor next to it. He sneered down at me, placing a boot on my stomach. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I though you were on tour." I was taken aback by his harsh words, spitting at my like a poison dart.

"So you thought that was a good time to break into my fuckin' house. I'll call the goddamn cops." His eyes grew dark when he yelled down to me. I felt my body growing hot as let him ream me out. "What the fuck did you steal, huh?"

"Nothing!"

"Bullshit," he said plainly. I tried to reach for my bag to show him it was empty, but Matty kicked it away, putting his weight onto my body for a split second. I tried not to gag. He picked up my backpack and sifted through the empty pockets. "What, did you think I wouldn't find out about this? I'm in a fucking neighbourhood watch block."

"Please," I said weakly, "let me explain."

"Why the fuck should I?"

"Because," I started. He leaned down to listen, but I shoved his leg out from under himself. Matty fell to the side, using his shoulder to cushion his fall.

I sat atop him, pinning his arms to the ground. There was panic in his eyes, and I hoped he couldn't see the panic in mine.

"Please," my voice was softer now. "I haven't taken anything, I swear it's all here. I just made a terrible mistake. Don't call the police. Look, I'll stay here while you check the whole house."

I lifted myself from the straddle. We both stood up, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward his bedroom again. He shuffled around in the drawer beneath the weed drawer of his bedside table, and pulled out something shiny. I didn't decipher what it was until he slapped the pair of handcuffs on my wrist. I stared down at my new accessory, then quirked an eyebrow at Matty.

"It's all I have! People don't normally have to temporary  imprison intruders." He yelled at nothing in particular while he rummaged in his closet. Then his desk. Then under his bed. Then in his nightstand. Then in his armoire.

He steered me to the kitchen, the living room, even to the bathroom. I was telling the truth and we both decided it was time for me come clean.

So, I told Matty everything, almost. We sat on his living room floor and I told him about the planned heist before, how I started to have second thoughts when I met him and got to know him and what happened tonight. The words started as a trickle, then overflowed into telling Matty about Isaac and I living with Uncle in the Den.

"What's gonna happen when they realize that the stuff is gone?" His hardness was gone, he seemed concerned now. Concerned for me?

I shook my head. I didn't want to think about what Uncle would do to me once he saw what I did. I was just thankful that I didn't have my phone with me, or Isaac's tracker would be able to find me.

What was the next step? My brain yelled obscenities as I thought of possible scenarios that could play out when I'm discovered. They all ended with unspeakable things.

Matty pressed a soft hand to my face. Tears fell onto his thumb as it rubbed soft circles on my cheek. It was light outside now, and it wouldn't be long until someone realized that Matty's things were the only ones taken from the Gallery. He smiled as best he could.

No place to run to, no place to hide, didn't even have a hay penny to my name. I was stuck, but at least I wasn't dead.