PSYCHOMACHIA // matty healy

7.

When I awoke, I felt a warm mass upon my waist that drooped over me like a weeping willow. I opened my eyes confusedly, blinking excessively in the harsh light as I tried to clear my vision. There was a hushed rhythm of inhaling and exhaling coming from beside me, and I noticed the unusual weight I felt was Matty's arm. In a flustered, panicked movement, I pushed his arm off of me harshly and moved myself as close to the edge of my bed as possible without falling off. He stirred, letting out a few incoherent murmurs. My pulse whooshed through my ears and my heart clattered past every rib until it dropped into the pit of my stomach. I crept out of bed, being careful not to wake him entirely and grabbed my phone off of my bedside table. I had a few notifications, one from an acquaintanceship I presumed stagnant. His name was Oliver, a writer that asked to work with me in my youth. I never released any of the songs we wrote - they would've left me bare in front of the public as they were the most honest I'd ever been in my writing. There was something sensual about pouring your heart out to another person, eroticism got the better of us and I'd end up underneath him most nights in my vulnerable and exposed state. And every time, we'd do it with the lights on. I'd want to recoil into the safety of the darkness; he told me to not cocoon such beauty in the shadows. He thought he'd found the one. He was Apollo but I was Daphne, struck by the love-repelling arrow of Cupid. Yet when I kept running, he kept chasing. He was a good fuck - nothing more and nothing less.

Hey! long time no see, fancy a catch up tonight?

I knew what that meant. I didn't mind going to see him but Selma said he was quite clearly in love with me. I wasn't sure why I ran either, I wondered if I feared the commitment. In that moment, I missed him dearly. Why did I have to be difficult? Couldn't I just halt in my tracks and succumb to his embrace? Maybe I should try. I tapped out a response,

Of course! Where shall I meet you?

Come to mine around six, I'll make you dinner.

See you then!

I gazed back at the warm body that slept in my bed like the dead, I huffed and yanked the curtains open to let in the light.

"Fucking hell, do you mind? I've got a minging headache." Matty groaned from behind me, burying his face into the covers.

"Well, whose fault is that?" I raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, "Fancy a cuppa?"

"Sure, thanks." He pulled his head up from under the covers and squinted before rubbing his temples and mumbling to himself as he seethed in pain. I brought him back a cup of tea and some painkillers which he gladly took, I perched next to him on the side of the bed.

"We should have a picnic in the gardens." I whipped my head around to look at him,

"Alright," he agreed hesitantly and I smiled, turning back to face the window. I left him to freshen himself up and presented him with another clean t-shirt, which happened to be my band's merch.

"It's all I have clean that'll fit, sorry."

"Fucks sake." He rolled his eyes,

"Just put it on," I groaned, "you smell."

Whilst he got changed, I prepared little sandwiches of different flavours that I wrapped up neatly in brown parchment paper before placing them in a basket. I carefully placed in a box of ripe strawberries, along with some scotch eggs and a selection of cured meats. I retrieved some water bottles and the carton of peach juice, I foraged around my flat for the old pack of playing cards I owned and one of my favourite poetry books. I feared we'd run out of conversation, so I figured both would be a talking point.

"You nearly ready?" I called to Matty who had just exited the bathroom as I picked up a large red blanket.

"Ready when you are."