stripper killer [matty healy]

fourteen - turmoil

turmoil: (noun) a state of great disturbance, confusion, or uncertainty

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india

the pleasant smell of cooking pancakes surrounded me as i hovered over the hob. i'd woken up earlier than normal because i wasn't used to the couch, so i figured i'd make me and matty some breakfast - even though he was still asleep.

i'd been in already this morning to check he was still alive. i left him some painkillers and water on my bedside cabinet. judging by the state he was in last night, he's going to need them.

i extend my arm, reaching over the frying pan to twist at the dials on the radio, allowing ed sheeran's voice to come through the speakers. singing along, i slice some strawberries, raspberries and blueberries and place them in a bowl on the dining table.

as i turn, i'm given the fright out my life. "fuck! jesus - fucking hell, shit! you scared me!" i stammer, short for breath.

stood there in the doorway was matty, his face was pale white and he looked frightened himself - like he'd seen a ghost.

"what?" i ask, looking around myself.

as i speak he seems to visibly relax. "i didn't know where you were. i thought maybe i... i don't know what i thought" he shakes his head.

my eyebrow arches, before i turn around to face the stove again. "where do you think i would be you idiot!" i laugh, before a thought strikes me. "how did you know you were in my house? do you honestly remember last night?"

i hear him move to the table and pull out a chair to sit. "no i don't. i saw the photos in your bedroom."

oh - that makes sense.

i finish cooking the last pancake and place it on a plate, before carrying them over to the table and setting them down. i can feel matty's eyes on me as i sink into my seat so i decide to return the stare, taking in his messy hair and drooping eyes. "you look like shit." i inform, reaching over and placing a pancake on my side plate.

"i feel it." he croaks, his voice is raspy like my old uncle bernard's. he's obviously hung over to shit, not that i feel sorry for him. "thanks for the painkillers..."

"it's fine." i shovel a forkful of food into my mouth. "how come you were at the club last night?" i decided to leave the whole 'i want you' thing out of it.

he swallows what he was eating before answering. "i went to see that anastasia girl." he watches me thoughtfully. "she's hot."

i shrug, trying to look like i didn't care that it wasn't for me - not that i did anyway, because that would just be stupid. "sure. she is i guess."

he takes a sip of the juice he'd just finished pouring before returning his eyes to me. "so last night... did we fuck?"

i almost choke on my food at his choice of words.

"no we didn't... fuck!" i scoff. my voice cracking and my cheeks flushing pink at the thought of it.

"shame."

i raise my eyebrow, a smirk playing across my lips. he wants to fuck me?

"do you do this for all the boys you bring home?" his asks sarcastically, changing the subject while his eyes hover over the mass of food that covered the table.