//For Crying Out Loud...// Matty Healy story!! (Completed) •IN EDITING•

//Chapter 2//

•••There is a house built out of stone. Wooden floors, walls and window sills. Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust. This is a place were I don't feel alone. This is a place where I feel at home.•••

Its been almost 4 years since he walked out of my life. Just before my 17th birthday. He walked out on me, an never came back. Not even a glance back.
A lots changed since then. My mum passed away when I was 18. Dad turned into an alcoholic... This shit must run in the family.
I have no contact with my dad now. He moved away to some place unknown with no contact. I don't even miss him. Not even a little bit.
I live with a few college guys now. And my drug dealer. He owns the house.
He took me in last year when he realised I was living rough. On the streets. I was his top customer back then. And I take just as much of that shit now as I did back then so I probably still am.
He's probably the only friend I have these days... If I can class him as one.

Matty's old flat is empty now, has been since he left. The hate I hold for him rips me to pieces every time I think about him. But then I think about the love I still hold for him. That I cant seem to shake off. And that hurts and rips me to shreds even more....I'm trapped!
But this place is different. It keeps me warm inside. It makes me feel safe. There's nothing even in here anymore. Just an empty, eerie room and bare walls.
Last month I found one of his old guitar plectrums.
It funny, it used to be his favourite. Whenever he was learning a new song on the guitar, he'd always use that one. It's just wedged between two  floor boards. I haven't moved it. Its been there for this long, it would be like taking and chipping away parts of the stone wall to the building. I feel it belongs there now.
I find myself at this mucky, dark, old building quite often. A few times a week. It holds so many different memories and emotions for me.
I never even plan to come here. I don't know if its years of habit that I've not grown out of yet. Or if I just miss the place. But I always end up here. In a weird sense I like the pain it brings me when I'm here.

Over by the window, the corner... That's where I took my first ever overdose.
A mixture of pills and alcohol. I was 15, Matty had broken up with me. So knowing he was out, I broke into his flat and just did it.
The scary thing at the time was, I knew what I was going to do. But I wasn't scared when I did it.
You should never fear death. Because no one knows what death is like, what it holds afterwards.
After taking the pills an washing it down with half a bottle of vodka, I laid in that very corner. On the floor. My head rest on the cold floor boards. Matty's guitar sat on its stand opposite where I laid. And when closing my eyes, I could see him, I could almost hear him, playing and singing softly. Echoing through my mind.
I remember a smile spreading across my face at the beautiful image of him in my head. That was the only way I could see him then. This vision of perfection playing out in my head.
My body started to feel nub after a short space of time. Heavy even. A wave of tiredness, drowsiness took over my body. Pulling me in effortlessly.
I laid there, waiting for it to take over me. Ready and willing to surrender.
But Matty, as always, was my saviour... That night he saved me. And promised he'd never leave me again.

I've taken quite a few overdoses since then. It started to become a routine for me. A habit. It proved I wasn't scared. I was fearless! Some times it wasn't even intentionally. I just got too carried away. Desperate to achieve the point I couldn't feel or think. Needing to escape my own mind. Needing the feeling it gave me, to let go and not care. It made me feel, alive. In control. I loved the feeling. The feeling of not knowing what could happen to me. It gave me a buzz! Matty hated the fact I would do it. He used to tell me he needed me around. And I knew, as long as he was there with me, by my side. Skin to skin contact. Being able to feel him. His presence. I knew I'd be okay.
I sometimes wonder why I haven't attempted to do it since he's been gone. The thought of doing it has crossed my mind so many times. A scary amount.
And I rack my brain for an answer. But I don't have one. I guess its the fact I'm weaker since he left me. I could have taken on the world when we were together.
But now, I just curl up into a ball, in the corner. Feeling invisible! Alone. Suffering in pain and high and drunk to a state I don't even know my own name.
I just know one thing... That I'm a failure, that no one wants. Or cares for. No one wants a failure!