My New Obsession [BxB]

Chapter Twenty-Four- There's A Corpse In This Bed [Part One]

 “Hang on, I just got a text…”

 I ran down the long strip in the middle of the supermarket aisles and scanned each one. No familiar faces could be seen down any of them and it took all of my strength not to knock over a large stack of glass jars in frustration. Settling instead for kicking an astray packet of crisps lying on the ground, I walked back over to where Rich was standing as he tapped on his phone.

 “Well?” I hurried him.

 “One second… yep, he’s in The Silver Swan. C’mon, we might be able to pick Jake up along the way.” Rich said, pulling me into a run.

 We sprinted out of the supermarket- much to the annoyance of a few workers and customers- and quickly reached Rich’s incredibly poorly parked car. Flinging the doors open before jumping in as quickly as possible, we soon sped away. The haste with which Rich drove caused his driving skill to lower dramatically, and it didn’t take long for images of mine, Jake and George’s previous driving escapades to flash before my eyes.

 “There’s Jake!” I blurted out, pointing towards his small figure as he sprinted along the pavement. Rich slammed his foot down on the accelerator before breaking suddenly, causing me to momentarily suffocate when my seatbelt constricted. Jake jumped at the car’s sudden approach before realising it was us and jumping in the back.

 “He’s at the-”

 “-Silver Swan, we know. Let’s go!”

 Weaving our way in and out of the traffic, we headed halfway across town to where the Silver Swan pub was situated. The building itself was fairly old and there was a homely feel about the place, making it a local favourite. Rich parked the car as quickly as possible and then we all leapt out and ran inside.

 The decor within the pub was quite traditional: cream walls with dark wooden furniture: a pool table in one corner: a dart board accompanying several framed old photographs on the walls. The ceiling was rather low and uneven, supported by mature oak beams. At this time in the afternoon the place was fairly empty save for the regulars- and Matt sitting at the bar with George and Bryan on either side.

 We approached them casually and pulled up the few remaining stools. Matt didn’t look up from the drink in his hand, and George grimaced at us.

 “I’m sorry guys, I…” Matt started quietly. “…I couldn’t be there anymore.”

 “It’s okay, Matty. Everyone understands.” George said, placing a hand firmly on his brother’s shoulder.

 “Yeah right,” Matt snorted and took a sip of his whiskey. “a guy can’t even sit through his own girlfriend’s funeral- I’m sure everyone understands…”

 George sighed. “It’s not an easy day. And we all understand, anyway. Personally I think that’s what counts.”

 “Her mum’s going to hate me now…”

 “Didn’t she hate you anyway? She thought your lifestyle was too dangerous for Maisy, or something.” Jake piped up. Matt glared at him. “What? I’m just saying…”

 There was an awkward silence in which we all simply sat and watched Matt. His hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips. I couldn’t help but hold my breath when he drank; this was a bad move. Drinking himself into a stupor would only make everything worse, and yet the world was powerless to stop him. Today he needed us, his brothers, to support him.

 He drank again and licked his lips as he shakily placed the empty tumbler onto the wooden surface of the bar. Ice clinked against its glass container and that plus quiet chatter from other people frequenting the pub was the only sound for a little while. It almost felt like we were all still at the funeral; there was a kind of solemn reverence to the air. And it was then that I realised that this was kind of like a funeral for Maisy- Matt was mourning her in his own way.

 “D’you want to talk about anything, Matty?” Bryan asked him quietly.

 Bryan’s character still constantly surprised me. Only slightly shorter than me but about seven times more built, he had a really tough, take-no-shit persona that was often intimidating for those who didn’t know him. But when one of his friends was wounded you could see how it physically hurt him too. He eyed Matt with a look of empathy in its purest form, a gaze so intense I had to glance away.

 “No…”

 So we sat in silence. Matt ordered another drink, his fake ID card resting next to his hand, and we all sat back to watch him. Everything seemed so still that I wondered if time was even passing at all. I could literally feel myself rapidly being dragged down into the lowest levels of depression and suddenly felt the urge to do something, to delay the concentrated numbness just for a little while longer.

 “I’m going for a smoke. Anyone wanna join?” I asked.

 The sad thing was that I didn’t even get an answer. Everyone just looked down or glanced away and murmured something incoherent. I tried to avoid making an affronted expression as I kicked my stool back from the bar and stood to leave. George’s hand made a strange movement and for a moment he looked like he was going to reach out and touch my arm but then decided against it, putting his arm around Matt’s shoulders instead.