Matt was warm and comfortable when he woke up. He couldn't figure out why his muscles were achy and why his throat was raw, but he was comfortable in his own bed for the first time in a while.
He smiled, his eyes still closed. He caught the scent of your perfume on the pillow. "Morning, baby" He lifted his head a bit, to nudge his nose against your throat. "Babe?" His feet skim the sheets but don't make contact with a leg, like they would if you were there. He rested his hand on your side of the bed, meeting nothing. "Babe?" He called, his chest getting tight. "Are you here?" His voice was full of panic. He fights with the blankets, but eventually he's free from them
The first place he thought of to go was the kitchen. He then realised things were missing. Your shoes weren't at the door, your sweater isn't on the stairs.
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, remembering the closet door was open in the bedroom upstairs. If he looked, it would've been empty. Your perfume wouldn't be in the bathroom, your million bottles of lotions he teased you about and secretly liked when you massaged him. Your toothbrush wasn't beside his. All the tiny reminders of you were gone.
His baths would be for one. Your body wouldn't be wrapped around his whole you slept. No more feeling your cheek on the back of his shoulder. He wouldn't have anyone to fall asleep on when you watched a movie. He wouldn't be able to steal your food. His head wouldn't rest in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. He missed the late night drives, the late night conversations. He'd have to call the estate agent and pull the offer for the house. He couldn't buy it now. He dreamed of coming home to you. Finding you happy and comfortable. He made a whole future with you and suddenly, it was gone.
There was no future. He was back at the start. The house felt empty. He was aware of every sound. He was painfully alone. In a house too big for one, made for two. He was going to miss kissing someone, falling asleep with someone. He was going to miss someone loving him. He knew he hurt you. He tried not to, and yet, he still did.
He wanted to go home. He wanted his Mom. He knew it was childish to need your Mom when you're twenty years old. But he was hurt and lost and needed her. He lost his best friend, the love of his life and he felt like he was crumbling. Something caught his eye, it was folded up beside your coffee cup on the counter.
A breathe catches in his throat when he realised. He feels the cold metal in his hand. He never made a key for anyone before. Except his Mom and Dad and brothers. He pulls out the note that was with it.
"I'm sorry,
I love you. Please know that, okay? I'm always going to love you. Maybe someday, we'll find each other again"
And then he's on the phone and his chest felt tight.
"Hello" A voice rasps. "Matt?"
He took a shaky breath, trying to get his words together. "Hey" He squeaked. "Did I wake you?"
"It's eight in the morning, dude. What's wrong?" He took another deep breath. Enough for Chris to ask if he was okay and if he should call an ambulance
"No" He finally managed to say. "Something...happened"
"What kind of something?"
"I..I think I need to come over"
"Matt, someone died, didn't they? You're freaking me out. What happened?"
Matt looked down. "No!" He snapped. "I'm not fucking okay. Okay? This isn't fucking okay!"
"Matt.."
"I'm not..I don't know what to do"
"Breathing is a good start"
Matt tried, a bitter taste on his tongue. "We broke up" He whispered. "We were arguing, about stupid shit. Stupid fucking shit that didn't matter. I shouldn't have...I feel like I can't breathe"
