FRAGILE || Matty Healy

// PROLOGUE //

A/N: This story is obviously a work of fiction, and I do not own any of the characters that are mentioned. I don't know how often I will update, considering I don't really have much time because of school, but I'll try to do it regularly x

Also of course if you're enjoying the story, don't forget to vote, comment, and follow me for updates:)

There is going to be a lot of mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm and possibly other mental health disorders/problems so please if any of these might be triggering for you, do not read ~

Prologue

His head was spinning and his breath was laboured, vision blurry and legs numb as he collapsed against the wall and slid to the ground. His surroundings were fading into darkness quickly and he couldn't quite open his eyes, or move, or think about anything else than how much he wants to die, because really, what was there left for him? Bottles of expensive wine, bags with white powder and nights spent getting high to escape his own head; he knew he was failing at the whole "life" thing.

"Matty," he could hear a shushed voice coming from somewhere afar, but then he felt a hand pressing into his shoulder and maybe it wasn't the voice that was far, maybe he was just too far gone to hear the living.

"Matt! Matty, mate, wake up, wake the fuck up, you won't die here, Matt, please,..." and he knew he should open his eyes, maybe just to let them know it was okay, that he was alright, but his eyelids seemed too heavy and his throat too dry to make a sound, so he put his last bits of energy into trying to curl his lips up, before the world went black and he fell into endless silence.

The only thing on his mind was the memories, like little shining screens in the darkness, and he stopped in front of each of them, watching himself from afar, seeing all the moments that had built him up, the moments that broke him down, moments he kept locked up in the back of his mind, and the ones he replayed in his head every single day, all of them playing on repeat, one by one, as if to remind him of everything he was giving up. And he wished he could've said he felt sad, he wished he could've said felt something change in his mind, he wished he could've said he regretted his decision, but there was no one else than himself in the darkness, and he could not lie to himself. The memories started fading away slowly, one by one, just like they appeared, and he paid attention to every single one of them, the good and the bad, the quiet and the loud, he watched them pass by, and it seemed like each of them was just a little more colorful than the one before as the walls he built around his heart started crumbling down, until he was left with nothing at all to numb all the feelings. And he felt.

He felt everything, from the pain that ran through his veins until it poisoned his heart and he was left gasping for air and clutching his pillow too tight at 3am, through the endless numbness that embraced him and made him feel like he was already six feet under ground when the reality around him just kept moving on, right on to the tingling feeling of pure joy sparkling in his mind, getting him high without using the drugs that still ran through his system. It was like waves crashing against his heart, against the sharp cliffs that surrounded it, soothing the edges more and more with each wave. And as his mind slowly started fading away, as his heart let out one last shallow beat, for a split second he might've just wished he could've stayed a while longer, just to see, to feel, to live. But it was too late, and the blood pumping in his veins slowly stopped running, and finally, finally, he knew he was free.