intoxicated // your love // (m.h)

// 9 //

Matty was a strange creature. He used to sit back and watch while other people bled, he used to drink his problems away and he used to fuck every single girl that fond his interest. Not much had changed. He still watched the blood drip from peoples' veins and he still avoided every single problem that appeared, although, he had found his little piece of light. But if he wasn't the little coward that he was, maybe he would have managed to stop her when she got so pissed at him she broke the china plates in the kitchen, walked over the sharp pieces that made her feet bleed and thrown herself onto him. If he had stopped her, he wouldn't be standing where he was right now with Sheryl.

-

i remember the white kitchen tiles

the black fryingpan

the burnt eggs

i remember the coffee stain on the kitchen counter

the broken glass

white china

dark circles under her eyes

tiredness

lost

and anger

but i don't remember her

-

Sheryls' hands gripped around his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, his eyes were wet and red. She had an hideous headache but she didn't care. About ten minutes ago Sheryl had found Matty lying nestled together on the bedroom floor. His hands pulled at his hair and he had a black eye, blood running from his nose. His cheekbone was ripped and a bruise started to show. Carelessly she heaved herself down to his height and tried to speak to him. All he did was to mumble nonsense and profanities.

"Calm down." she whispered, but Matty kept crying and she stroke his back with comfort. She sighed and Matty immediately stopped.

His head snapped up and suddenly he must have realised that what he did was making her feel bad. He pulled back a little so he could dry his cheeks and the blood from the wound on his cheek.

"You're so fragile, Matty. Don't get in to stuff you can't handle." she shook her head and he sniffled.

"I didn't mean in to get so bad." he chuckled but Sheryl stayed worried, her finger touched at his wound and he flinched, so she rose and left the room.

Sheryl brought back some wet paper towels and whiskey. She sat down again, gracefully, without saying a word she patted the wound and Matty bit his lip from pain. "You're such a wimp." Matty only rolled his eyes and picked up the whiskey bottle she had put down next to them but she snatched it from him before he could blink. "na-ah."

She carefully dropped some of the liquid onto a paper towel and padded his cheek, this time Mattys' eyes threatened to spill. Sheryl laughed lightly, her voice husky. After cleaning his wound she washed off the blood from his lips that had dripped from his nose and then she finished off with a peck on his mouth.

"Can we drink it now?" he asked as if nothing had just happened, and she shook her head disapprovingly.

"After all this time, I can't believe I'm still surprised." Sheryls' hands rode up his arms and around his neck, she straddled him and Matty smiled victoriously at her. "Don't get all cocky now."

"I'm not cocky!" he defended himself.

"That face of yours surely is." she poked his nose and he scrunched it upwards. She laughed at his cuteness and felt her tummy bubble as his hands touched her upper arms.

"Lets get out." he whispered and his hands slid down her arms and grabbed her hands, their palms connecting in thin air. He kissed her knuckles and fingertips, watching her cheeks turn pale pink.

"You should rest, Matty." she furrowed her eyebrows and stood up, taking a few steps back.

"I'm not tired." he whined, and followed her actions.

"I don't care, you shouldn't get into fights like that."

"You've already told me." he counted.

"Because I care!" Sheryl sighed and checked the time on her phone. "I have to go."

"But you just came!"

"I know... I just, I need to go somewhere, it's important."

"Where are you going?"

"Doesn't matter." she groaned, she threw a bottle with painkillers at him that she kept in her jacket. He caught it, staring down at the prescription. "Take care and don't take to many of those, they're strong."

He nodded and she left him standing in the bedroom. A shadow draped over his face, as fast as he heard the door close he opened the bottle and took two at the time, swallowing with the whiskey.

Minutes later he felt the pain stimulate and he took another sweep of the bottle, if this was enough to kill the pain of a physical wound. How much would Matty have to take to cure a mental one?

-

"I'm so sick of all your bullshit!" the voice shouted. Matty looked around, and it was the kitchen again. He couldn't really remember what kitchen, but the design, the furniture, it was definitely a kitchen. And the smell. Strong coffee, warm tea smelled of minty herbs, the scent of something burning. There was a body before him, more like a silhouette. He couldn't tell who it was, he only knew that it was a woman. Something so familiar with her body-language and her care of speaking. Her way of picking her words, the accent. It was definitely not Sheryl.

But Matty couldn't speak, he only stood there. Mute, even if he wanted to speak, no sound left his thin lips.

"You lost your fucking voice? I'm talking to you, I'm telling you all of this shit and you keep making up excuses! Matthew, this is not a fucking game!"

It was morning. Usually the mornings in this house were somewhat quiet. Sometimes a few laughs could be heard and the sound of two lips connecting. A make-believe, that everything was okay. Newspaper folded neatly, scones and tea, typical. Warm hands, a cigarette smoked here and there.

But that morning was different, there were no cigarettes smoked. She always used to hold one in between her to fingers, graciously puffing it although she would be upset and angry. Matty could remember a little now, something big had happened that morning. She told him what, but how could he remember what the words were, when he did not even remember something as important as who she was.