Urgency. | Matthew Healy

c/eleven. sincerity is scary

I managed to fix myself and run back into the tour bus before I was left for dead by Jonathan. Everybody seemed to be up, and Matty was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs smoking his daily fix.

He quit cigarettes and replaced them for weed, and I'm not really sure if I'm proud of that. I mean, they were not nearly as dangerous but he was still fueling an addiction.

I didn't realize I was frozen in place until Ross spoke up.

"Woah, who'd you screw?" He smirked at me and I blushed, realizing Matty's marks were out in the open and there to stay for the next few days.

"That's fucked up, you're screwing guys wearing Matty's shirts. Is that some sort of kink you have?" Adam spoke up.

Is he really that oblivious or is he just playing stupid?

"I wasn't feeling any of my outfits today, fuck off." I answered back, Adam acting all hurt.

He gasped. "Matty, are you okay with Valerie fucking other guys in your shirts?" He questioned Matty, who was blowing smoke out of his mouth.

He smiled. "I do think it's quite rude actually, do me a favour and change out of my clothes when you shag someone, yeah?" He stared at me as he took another drag.

I clenched my teeth, shaking my head.

"I'm going to the studio, you assholes." I started walking towards the bunk beds, Matty shooting me an "I'm sorry" look, and I nodded my head, signalling I understood.

And I did understand. They were bound to find out about this themselves, but not when it just got started.

As I walked past Matty's bunk bed, I came across that book of his and remembered I never got to figuring out what that Allen Ginsberg poem ever meant.

I quickly grabbed it and ran into the studio with it, closing the door behind me.

Page 115 was marked before, and it still is... but why this page?

I keep going through the book to find another note, and I didn't until the very last page, which read:

Suburbia seems to be a dreamland
When you've got a girl up your sleeve
It's so cool, 'cause I'm in a band
But really I just want her to leave.

Below was a picture of Jacqueline and Matty back when they were official. Matty had drawn horns above Jacqueline's head and marked a sad face on his own.

I chuckled and grabbed my own notebook – which happened to be at the studio as well – his clumsiness had inspired me to write a couple verses.

I wrote them down and continued to analyze his book, realising I might have missed something.

I saw a flash of green and I stopped. It was a green post-it with Matty's writing in it.

That night at the one fifteen, I knew it was you
Because I was wearing my red shirt
And now it smells of your perfume
But it fails to display; I'm hurt

Red shirt, red shirt, red shirt... Is that the one I gifted him for their album release?

I have to find it.

Before I could make my strategic plan, George burst into the door, which caused me to panic and pick up the books and pen.

George furrowed his eyebrows. "Uhh, did I interrupt something?"

I furiously shook my head. "No, no. I just- I have to go! Bye!" I rushed past George, holding mine and Matty's notebooks, as he stood there, confused.

I placed Matty's notebook back into his bed before anyone found out and laid into mine, closing the curtains.

I couldn't help but wonder where that red shirt of his was. He only has the one, and he used to wear it all the time when I first gave it to him, but he'd stopped all of a sudden. How come I didn't realize this?

I ran my hands through my hair. Playing FBI is stressful.

I stood up after laying low for a while, not wanting to alert George again and raise a suspicion. I peeked out the curtains and looked into the hallways, checking if anyone was coming, then I stood back up and decided to look for that red shirt.

I know, it's a stupid idea, but it's bound to be somewhere in here. Matty's bunk beds has drawers below it, and I'm assuming the shirt is somewhere in there, since he doesn't wear it every day.

I looked through the first two drawers to no avail, but seemingly, third time really is the charm.

I found that famous red shirt and looked out into the hallways yet again before grabbing it.

A paper sheet fell out of the inside of the shirt, and I immediately picked it up, rapidly eyeing it, and it read:

"She's got two-tone everything, way too intelligent
Moving but she just can't move
She's got two phones, everything
Boyfriend, telling him find me cause I'll never find you
Because she way out
I've never seen her dance moves, dancing like she way out
Because she way out
I've never seen her talk but I'm telling you she way out"

I furrowed my eyebrows. It seemed familiar, she way out. I tried so hard to remember where I had heard it before, but I shrugged it off after I couldn't put my mind to it, and it's not like I had all the time in the world here.

I folded up the note as it was before and grabbed the red shirt, taking a quick smell before putting the note back in.

It reeked of Jacqueline's grossly expensive perfume.

Red shirt, it smells of your perfume, I want her to leave, that night at the one fifteen...

These were all writings about Jacqueline?

I shook my head and quickly put the shirt back in it's place before I was caught, then I sat down in my bunk bed to process all of this.

If Jacqueline was so bad, why was he still hanging with her until just recently? What or where was one fifteen? A bar? The time of an event?

At this point I only had one thing for certain: I needed to clear my head so I could think straight, and the only way I know how to do that is passing a blunt with the boys.