opia; matty healy.

30%

Over the weekend I've come to realise that moving on doesn't mean forgetting, and although it seems incredibly soon to move on, it's better to accept things earlier and keep on living, than drag on how much I've been hurt. I wish I'd realised this earlier, as it would have saved me a lot of tears and sleepless nights, but I suppose time has it's own plan for me.

I've come to terms with the idea that Matty hasn't hurt me in the way that Charlie did. As the first boy I took interest in and had romantic feelings for, this all seems like a lot. It's a very dramatic situation that I wouldn't expect to happen in my junior year of high school. Ninth grade, maybe, but not eleventh.

Alex had done me wrong, despite Charlie's manipulation because yes – he could have said no. He chose not to, and I think that perhaps we could be on good terms one day (sooner than later, again – no point dragging on these awful feelings). For now, I'll take each day as it comes – a resolution, or something.

I spot Matty out the front window when I wake up. He's here much earlier than he usually arrives, so I open the front door to let him in, curious about why he's shown up so early. His face shows surprise when he turns around and sees me standing there, smiling.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm here," He says, "I wasn't sure whether you wanted to see me or not."

"I expected you to be here," I tell him, moving aside to let him in, "But you're early."

"I couldn't sleep," I hear from behind, closing the door lightly.

"I hope that wasn't my doing," I suggest, following him into the kitchen where I grab myself a bowl, "breakfast?"

He hums, nodding as I take an extra bowl out of the cupboard and place it on the counter. My good mood has taken over me today; I wouldn't be surprised if Matty is confused that after everything, I can still smile two days later.

"Are we going to talk?" He asks after thanking me for the bowl of cereal – minimal effort, but the appreciation is acknowledged.

I sit beside Matty at the counter, "What you did in your past is not my business. You're not perfect, neither am I. There's not much more to say."

"I lied to you. I told you I didn't know Charlie," He admits, that of which I had already known.

"I know," I tell him, "I can understand why."

"That's not fair," he argues, but I'm quick to step in.

"I'm forgiving you, Matty. Isn't this what you want?"

"You should be angry," he dips his head, tracing his spoon in circles.

"And I was- for the first day. And now, I forgive you," I admit, "Truth is, Matty, I'm not sure I can live in Wilmslow without being friends."

"Well," he hums, "That's good I suppose."

We agree to put it behind us, hoping that Charlie's out of our lives for good. It's hard to tell, because Charlie's behaviour is unpredictable and dramatic and for all we know he'll be showing at my doorstep tomorrow with a Grand Apology. Part of me feels that I haven't gotten the full story from Alex, the curious side of me wondering whether confrontation with the boy is a good idea or not.

Why didn't Charlie talk to me about his mental health? Why was I left in the dark until I was forgotten about and pushed around, only to find out from someone else that our month together had been an attempt at manipulation and proof of power over me. Had he really thought I'd leave my friends behind? The only people who had shown any signs of friendships in all of Wilmslow and Manchester?