PSYCHOMACHIA // matty healy

13.

Warning: angst

I fixed my eyeliner for the third time, still unhappy with my outcome. The strap on my black velvet jumpsuit fell off my left shoulder, I pulled it up quickly and readjusted my outfit. 

"We're already late, you look fine. The sooner we go the sooner it'll be over with." Selma said, rearranging my hair to be partly swept behind my ear and exposing my golden earrings that travelled up the outside of my ears. I always hated my ears, so when I turned sixteen I decided I would decorate them with as many piercings as possible. I had built quite the sentimental collection of jewellery over the years, the only thing I would spend the majority of my paycheque on. I still had the majority of my piercings, I said a sad goodbye to a few which interfered with my in-ear monitors, which I also complained were oddly shaped because of my strange ears. I wasn't sure if I wanted this night to be over fast or whether I would want to cherish this opportunity.

"Okay fine, let's go." I spritzed myself with my favourite perfume, one from House of Matriarch, WitchMusk. I was drawn by the name, it tickled me when I saw it and I also couldn't resist a strong vanilla top note. Selma and I waited patiently for the Uber, I rubbed my hands together as I felt them clam up, each second I was not there I felt more neurotic. We eventually made our way down the stairs leading up to my apartment, heels click-clacking and echoing throughout. The ride there made me nauseous, the anticipation ate away at me like hyenas at the carcass of an impala. Selma opened the car door for me once we arrived and held out her hand, linking arms with me as we walked to the entrance of the venue. She rubbed the top of my arm reassuringly, giving me a soft smile. Once we were inside, I daren't look around. Alanis Morissette playing loudly, the bass frequency so loud that it rumbled my very soul. If I were going to speak to Matty tonight, I'd need some dutch courage. To the bar I went, I wasn't sure what I was in the mood for drinking. I was reminded of Esther Greenwood, my name sake from The Bell Jar, probably an early manifestation of how I would end up. She had no drink of choice and resorted to a straight vodka, comparing it to swallowing a silver sword. It felt like an appropriate inebriant,

"Any preference?" The young bartender asked, her brown hair slicked back with a few fly aways.

"Grey goose?" I asked,

"Double or single?"

"Two doubles but just in the same glass, please."

"Sorry, I can't do that for you. Company policy and all that."

"Ah I see, well I'll get two double shots for myself and a friend and an empty, medium sized glass." I implored, she looked at me before finding the words to reply to me with.

"Uhh, sure, I suppose."

With my drink in hand, I found my other band members, dancing on the panelled dance floor which lit up shades of pink, yellow, blue, green and red all clearly intoxicated.

"Hey! It's my favourite girl!" Frida squeezed me tight, kissing my cheek,

"I thought I was your favourite!" Rosaline pretended to cry.

We jived to Erykah Badu, On & On, enjoying each other's company. I winced as I gulped my vodka, feeling it get stuck in my throat. It was gone by the end of the song, I ended up at the bar once again ordering the same.

"Interesting choice of beverage," An old familiar voice called,

"I'm not an alcoholic, I swear." I replied, facing Matty with my two empty shot glasses and full glass of vodka. He chuckled,

"Cigarette?"

"Sure."

He led me outside the back way, down a few winding corridors to an exit with a heavy, metal door. We stepped outside into the bitter cold, the music still somewhat heard. I looked up at the sky, the stars just about visible against the onyx of night. He lit my cigarette for me, I shielded the flame of the lighter from the chilling breeze.