HEDONISTIC

35. Matty's old bedroom

From the outside this house looked warm and cozy. It has been built with walnut wood and had brown brick decorations. Tall, rounded windows added to the overall look of the house, it was a very asymmetric home but in a way it also looked like home: A home that wasn't hers but a home still.

The house was equipped with a small kitchen and three bathrooms, it also had a warm living room, three bedrooms, a spacious dining room, a bar and just the thought of Matty growing up there made her heart swell with something.

The house itself was surrounded by paved ground, with an outdoor eating and relaxing space and various potted plants. It sucked.

It made Frankie want to vomit because she shouldn't be there, not at all. She was stupid, an idiot, a 16 year old prudish naive girl that though somehow things wouldn't change but of course they did, Gabby had signed with Nasty Gal and Matty was proud and Frankie, well Frankie was just sad.

She decided not to enter Louis room because it smelled like vape and it was overwhelming. She entered the door to the left suddenly the air filled with a sent of cheap perfume and a hint of mentol cigarettes.

The room was like a perfect magazine cover. Frankie was afraid to sit in case she wrinkled the fabric or stained it with something she didn't even know was on her pants.

The couch oposite to the bed was cream color with a fine green silk details; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in.

The white curtains were linen, the kind of white that was untouched by hands and devoid of dust. A cursory look to the right showed her the almost hidden cords that were used to open and close them. There was no television, no bookshelf, no bedside table. The photographs were black and white, not casual family snaps, but arranged to look like such by a professional, none of it wouldn't look out of place in a spread of Hello.

The floor was a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter and Frankie felt like crying, the room reminded her of what a wreck her life was and after snooping around for a few seconds she exited the room entering the one oposite to it with The Clash posters and a "Don't enter" sign, she assumed it was Matty's bedroom.

She felt almost like she was trespassing but she was sad and emo and he was going of to LA in two weeks. It was weird being there, the place that was the center of so many memories for him were he felt the most comfortable in his teenage eyes and showed his personality, the hurricane that Matty Healy in fact was.

She imagined a young Matty: 16 years old his room being the only place where he could really be and do what he wanted, his own space. Frankie started fantasizing for a bit, sitting in the now dusty bed with a black duvet imagining a normal day in the household way before he became famous, back when he was just a stoner good for nothing.

It would have being an early morning a small 6 year old Louis running around ready for school, the house would be crazy, it would always crazy. A dog probably barking, Denise running around making noise, Matty in his room (that very same room) without caring about everything else, being the only place that he could go to clear his mind

It was probably the place where he could concentrate and think about everything that was going on around him - the pretentious fucker.
She could just imagine him blazing a joint thinking about the band and what he wanted to do with his life, the kind of future that he wanted to achieve. It had all worked out at the end.

The room looked like what she imagined was inside his brain, all references to himself, everything centering around him: his pictures, albums, posters, there were fucking self reflecting poems; what a nomb.