Unlike the rest of the flat, his bedroom is tidy. Everything appears to have a place. A few movie posters line the walls- none of them stand out to me. On his desk a type writer is positioned next to a neat stack of records. The bed is made, white crisp sheets. I notice myself wobble slightly and hold on to the door frame to steady myself. I really have drunk too much. Matty's behind me now and puts his hands of my hips to support me. "Uh oh, you are definitely not sober anymore" he chuckles. "Yeah I know, shit" I whisper to myself "this wasn't supposed to happen, shit.." My heads banging now. I slid down the door frame until I'm sitting on the floor. "Your room's nice" I say as an attempt to lighten the mood. "Thanks" he smiles, straightening one of the frames he has on his bedside table. "Not that many people have actually seen it, come to think of it" he seems distracted by the photo momentarily. "Oh I'm sure that's not true.." The alcohol in my system giving me the confidence to raise an eyebrow suggestively as him.
Matty smiles slightly as he sits down on his bed, his head shaking slightly. "I guess that's what people expect. Ay?Doesn't necessarily mean it's true."
"Is that your brother?" I nod towards the photo on his bed side table. "Yeah that's louis." I get up, feeling the blood rush to my head, stumble slightly, then plop myself next to Matty on the bed. He takes the picture in his hands. "You miss him don't you?" I say without even thinking. He looks at me, sighs. "Yeah molly, I do."
For once, the night didn't end how most of my drunken endeavours with good looking boys do. I was too far gone to have the energy if I'm honest. We ended up just lying next to each other on top of the sheets. I can't remember much, I suppose that's a good thing. Matty asked me about my Family. I asked him about his. I felt like I didn't have a filter, so I just told him everything that I hadn't thought to tell anyone else. I told him how I was so confused all the time. He said he was touring the world and still didn't have a "fucking clue what I'm doing."
I don't want to make it sound overly romantic, because it wasn't. I slurred my words and had mascara round my eyes. But it was nice. Even if my memory precedes me I still wouldn't really care. Let's be real, when was I ever going to see him again.
