Match Point

Chapter 5: Hurt Somebody

It's harder than I thought to tell the truth
It's gonna leave you in pieces
All alone with your demons
And I know that we need this
But I've been too afraid to follow through

-"Hurt Somebody," by Noah Kahan & Julia Michaels

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After the final show in France, I took a car to Luxembourg, the closest airport, to catch an early flight directly to London. I told the band I would reset for a week in London versus returning to L.A., but I'd meet them there soon. Surprisingly, none of my bandmates questioned my choice. Perhaps Ian had informed them of my plans and advised against any teasing. Still, regardless, they seemed to accept my detour without a single quip.

As the plane cut through the night sky, my mind swirled with a blend of excitement, anxiety, and anger still lingered over what had happened to Lettie. It felt like I had known Lettie for way longer than three months. We had hit it off, or at least I thought we had when we met, and then our ever-evolving communication had made me feel like I had known her longer. We started with just simple text messages and then moved on to lengthy phone calls, and recently, we took the leap to Facetime. Yet, the prospect of seeing each other in person again after so long introduced a new layer of uncertainty.

Old insecurities began to intrude on my thoughts, and I tried to keep them at bay. After Alexa, while I mostly felt and tried to project confidence, our break left me shaken. I needed to stop the thoughts, as they weren't constructive, but they kept knocking on my ego. Had I embellished our connection in my mind, projecting desires onto reality? What if we only felt comfortable flirting over the phone, and it was awkward in person?

The thoughts gnawed at me. I wanted to sleep and to be rested before seeing Lettie, but my mind kept racing. I ordered a drink from the attendant; despite it being a very short flight, I needed to cut the edge down a bit, and I wasn't allowed to smoke on the airplane. I needed an unhealthy coping mechanism at the moment, and the glass of whiskey I had to pour myself from a small plastic bottle was my only option at the moment.

As the plane descended into London, the city lights below twinkled like a sea of stars. This sight usually filled me with excitement and settled me. But tonight, they seemed to mock my inner turmoil. I had mostly come down from my anxiety attack, which I was grateful for.

Exiting the airport, I felt my mind and thoughts relax. Maybe the tight confines of the plane had amplified my anxiety? I flagged a cab and gave the driver the hotel address where I had booked a room for the next two nights before heading to Sheffield to check in with my parents. I didn't want to be too apparent that I was only in town for Lettie, so I made plans to use it as an excuse if anything should feel awkward.

The journey through the city streets was quick and gray in the early morning, with only a few bakeries and coffee shops open so early. Arriving at the hotel, I checked in quickly, grateful for the empty lobby. I wasn't in a particularly extroverted mood, so I was thankful for the desolation. I had arranged for a late/early check-in, and thankfully, my room was ready upon arrival.

Inside my room, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the bed, the weight of exhaustion settling over me. But sleep proved elusive. With a sigh, I rose from the bed and paced the room, restless energy coursing through my veins. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was still early morning. It was too early to visit Lettie, which I wanted to get over and rid myself of my heart, which felt like a helicopter.

Turning to the mini-bar, I poured another drink, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. As the alcohol burned its way down my throat, I felt a fleeting sense of numbness wash over me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the bar; I looked like shit and exhausted.