Hey everyone! Hope you all had an amazing holiday. Please forgive me if updates are slow, I've been really busy! Thank you to my lovely friends sunphazed perhapsisjustarumour bigcupofhottea and to my new readers who have been blessing me with their comments and votes! I truly appreciate it! Also, this gif of Matty has me swooning til I die.
{Harper}
It was mid-morning, and I was staring at my ceiling, clove cigarette resting loosely between my chewed-on fingernails, my hair fanned out in a perfect half-circle on my navy sheets. I did this sometimes, just sat in bed for what seemed like hours after I'd woken up, seriously contemplating if getting out of bed was really worth it. I mean, there was coffee, and toaster pastries, but there were also the lesser things. Like other people, for instance.
When the black cigarette was smoked away, I still wasn't finished wallowing in my own self-pity. The cliched girl who never got what she wanted, looking down at the body she had, the body of a twelve year old boy. The gap between my thighs, how my ribs stuck out nearly as much as my small breasts did, how my knees were knobby and my bum virtually nonexistent.
Technically, I was about an hour late for work, but "work" today was doing the boys' errands for them, the ones they didn't want to do, or didn't have time to do because they were busy with other things, like fucking off in the studio. Not that I was knocking them, they paid me way more than what I actually worked to earn.
Matty and I had slept together and Tinsley and Ross' house, and he hadn't said a thing about it afterward because he knew better. Two broken people finding each other and trying to fuck sense and purpose into each other. He knew exactly what I needed, nothing more, nothing less. There was no warm-up, no stroking my face and telling me I was pretty, no slow, deep kisses that made my toes curl. Matty knew me better than that, he knew not to even try to kiss me. And I loved him for that.
He loved me too, probably more genuinely than most anyone else did. He cared about me. He didn't like it when I was sad, which was most of the time. Despite his flaws, all of them, Matty was a good person. He deserved what he wanted, who he wanted, though I had a feeling she would overwhelm him with her big doe eyes and how soft every bit of her was, inside and out. I didn't know what was worse: Matty still being desperately in love with Claire, or Matty wasting his time and testing my patience with Ellie.
Whatever.
His life, I guess.
I sat the chipped coffee mug on my night stand, and it joined the other three I'd left, making a foursome of stained, dirty coffee cups that I would probably leave for another day or two before my anxiety got the best of me and I spent six hours cleaning. That's just how I was, I had these patterns of screwing up royally, with intermittent bursts of trying to do the right thing. It almost never made up for my carelessness, my laziness, my complete self-absorption.
Today, I showered, and even washed my hair. My reflection looked back at me, unimpressed, in the mirror as I brushed my teeth and sponged the water out of my damp hair. I was cute, sure. Big blue eyes, a little bow mouth and a cute button nose. But I wasn't beautiful, not in the slightest. I wasn't Sports Illustrated hot like Chelsea, I wasn't wide-eyed, innocently pretty Tinsely, I wasn't classic beauty/girl next door/tits for days Claire.
I was just Harper, disappointing everyone a little more each day, my own self not excluded.
My phone buzzed as I spit out the frothy toothpaste and rinsed out my mouth.
G the Tree: hey, can I ask for a favor?
Harper: 🙄
G the Tree: you know it's like your job right?
Harper: 🙄🙄
G the Tree: can you pick up my dry cleaning? I'm at the vet with Henry
Harper: what's wrong with him? And I guess.
G the Tree: he ate three sleeves of chocolate digestives I left out...
Harper: fat ass.
G the Tree: Thanks, Red.
Harper: Whatever.
G the Tree: Love you too.
George Daniel was a good dude, I thought to myself as I blew my hair dry, the ruby red locks blowing in the artificial wind. The other boys had changed as they'd grown into men, but George was still the same gentle giant he'd been since I'd first met him, this goofy lanky thing banging on drums and rolling shitty spliffs. He was kind, warm, and protective, especially over Claire. She could set fire to an orphanage and George would rush to her, scoop her up in his big arms and ask her if she had gotten burned.
It wasn't like I had planned on ruining Matty and Claire's relationship. It's just that when the opportunity presented itself, it seemed like the right thing to do. Matty was too obsessed with her--it drove him even more mental than he already was. She was going to destroy him, unintentional or not.
George was man enough to love her, and he did, with all that she would let him. I have no idea how to explain what true love is, but if anything, true love is how George looked at Claire while Matty kissed her. That half-smile that tugged at his handsome face, the way he accepted that she was just as obsessed with Matty as he was with her, the way he twiddled his giant thumbs and looked away, sipping his beer and patiently waiting for Matty to fuck up.
The fuck up was me. As usual.
I recognized that look in George, though, because it was the same look I had on my face when I saw Adam with Chelsea. Adam was similar to what he was like as a teenage boy: dimpled, shy, big-brother. As he'd grown into a man, he'd kept those qualities: still adorable, now more selectively spoken than simply shy, still the responsible one of the four. I was completley crushing on him and he scared the absolute shit out of me.
Harper: Hey, I'm going to the dry cleaners to pick up stuff for george. do you want me to take in any of your ugly ass wallpaper suits?
Hann: nah
Harper: k. how have you been?
Hann: good, you?
Harper: angry, bitter, painted my nails black, listening to a lot of taking back sunday
Hann: so, same as usual?
This asshole.
Harper: fuck you 🖕🏻
Hann: you couldn't handle that harp
Is Adam...flirting with me?
Harper: ...
Hann:......
Adam is flirting with me.
Harper: What are you doing later???
Hann: taking the twins to princess playland
Harper: wtf is princess playland?
Hann: it's a playhouse store for little girls. they have people dressed as fairy tale characters, the girls get little gowns and everything.
Ugh, he's so cute.
Hann: i hope they aren't too young to enjoy it.
Harper: if so you can give their tickets to ellie, she'd probably have the time of her life. 👧
Hann: not as much as matty
True.
Harper: What are you doing after that?
Hann: likely having beers with ross
Harper: and after that?
Hann: having more beers with ross
This was like pulling teeth.
Harper: do you want to come over tonight?
Hann: for what?
For sex, Adam, you idiot.
Harper: to hang out. maybe smoke a little, drink a little, have fun. 😏
Hann: Harper...
Fuck. He was Harper-ing me.
Harper: Adam...
Hann: We can't have sex.
Great. That wasn't embarrassing or anything. I mumbled curse words at myself as I slid on a pair of high-waisted jeans, my Vans, and a crop-top white tee. I had just manged to make a complete ass out of myself, flirting with one of my best friends whose girlfriend had just dumped him less than 48 hours ago. Good job, Harper.
Hann: hey...
Hann: Harper.
I rolled my eyes and dabbed on my Chapstick, then awkwardly put on a few coats of mascara. No matter how much money I paid, I always fucked up on my makeup, so I'd learned quickly that minimal was best for me.
Hann: are you seriously not going to text me back because i told you we cant have sex?
Harper: get over yourself adam, i was getting dressed. plus you'd probably just be on your phone the whole time anyways and it wouldnt be any good
Hann: true. i can only do girl-on-top because i need both hands free for my phone. never know when drizzy's gonna update.
I bit my lip at that visual but shook myself of the thought. It wasn't going to happen.
Harper: odd, i always pictured you'd be a man who used his Hanns 😂
Hann: very funny. and stop picturing sex with me.
Psychic.
Harper: I can't help it you're just sooo Hannsome😍😍😍
Hann: omg
Harper: I can't even Hanndle it😱
Hann: you're probably right, your hands are tiny.
Harper: try me...
Three dots appeared on my phone, then disappeared, then repeated the same pattern four times. I did nothing but blink at my phone and bite my lip white.
Hann: wanna go guitar shopping with me thrusday?
Wanna change the subject much, Adam?
Harper: yeah, i'll go.
Hann: cool.
{Claire}
Johannson's Grocers was one of my favorite places in the world, big enough to keep specialty items in stock but not so big that it was commercialized. Bundles of gorgeous produce, overflowing in brown baskets, the smell of freshly baked bread in the air, the sounds of my flats clicking on the dark taupe tile. Everything was familiar, safe, a routine I'd been accustomed to venturing in alone. Only this day, I wasn't alone.
Matty was walking next to me, holding a shopping list we'd made together, his index finger tracing a blend of both my handwriting and his. I was pushing the shopping cart, and I'd nearly bumped into three people because I couldn't stop looking at him. He noticed this, of course, and smiled at me, those slightly crooked but completely perfect teeth a brilliant white in the flourescents of the grocery store.
"What are you smiling at?" I asked him as I picked up a carton of strawberries and put them into the cart.
"I haven't been in a grocery store in months," he looked around, as if suddenly amazed and aware of his own fame.
He was a celebrity now, he didn't do boring things like grocery shop with his ex-girlfriend. It was interesting, though, to think of how much his daily life had changed since we'd been together. Matty didn't go to the grocery store, didn't do his own laundry, didn't go to little spots we'd used to love. Matty quite loved being famous, in an equal amount to him being overwhelmed by it. His biggest flaw was his greatest gift, in that he felt everything profoundly and at its maximum potential to be felt.
"Oooohhh," I fake-awed at him. "Too famous."
Matty gave me a playful glare as we made our way through the citrus fruits, and I put some lemons in a baggie, thinking of how bizarely comfortable I felt with him right now, how simple and easy it would be to take his hand in mine and forget all the awful things we'd done to each other. He looked so damn good in the t-shirt I'd lent him, my t-shirt that was a women's medium and looked much smaller on me than it did him. David Bowie's face was on his chest, Matty's arms splattered in tattoos and his small but toned biceps moving as he reached for the tangerines.
He smirked at me as he tossed a few into a bag, then tied it into a knot.
"What?" he asked, though he knew exactly why I was blushing at him now. "They're my favorite."
The blushing went crimson as I thought of all those nights he would spend with his head of curly hair between my legs, devouring me and making me question whether I was going to die or orgasm. Oral sex with him wasn't like with any other person; it was so intimate, the way I would stroke his hair and cup his jaw in my hands, the way he'd cradle my hips with one arm and lace his fingers into mine. And afterwards, when I'd be dizzy and lost, he'd hold me in his arms and kiss me and tell me how much I tasted like tangerines and that he loved me more than he could bear sometimes.
I wanted to cry in the middle of the grocery store then.
Matty's features changed, too, from flirtaciously grinning to those perfect eyebrows of his slanted a little, his dark eyes wide.
"Are you alright, Claire?" he asked me as I nodded quickly, pushing the cart away and near the bread.
A stockboy was placing loaves of brioche into a barrell that rested on its side on the wooden shelving, and I smiled at him politely as I took one and placed it in the brown paper bags they provided for their freshly baked goods. Matty was cocking his curls at a loaf of french bread and I stood on my tip toes in front of him to reach for it.
"What are you doing?" he asked me.
I turned around blinked at him. "Getting a loaf of french bread?"
"But you've got a loaf of brioche in your cart. Do you need that much bread?" Matty asked me, inquiring me about my carbohydrate intake apaprently.
"Because you like brioche bread. I like french bread. Brioche bread is--"
"Much too dense," Matty finished the sentence for me, remembering one of the silly arguments we'd had over and over when we were together.
His eyes were locking me into place now, the chocolates and ambers and coppers surrounded by thick lashes hypnotizing me as his brain was working behind them, the scenes of our past probably playing in his head like they were in mine.
"Em," he blinked. "What are we having for dinner, again?"
"An anti-dinner," I reminded him of my cravings for random things: bread, brie cheese, grapes, strawberries, dark chocolate, wine and more wine.
He nodded his head and stood right beside me as I walked, and we gathered our belongings, our conversations mostly debates about wine and him subtly looking at my ass and me subtly looking at the way his trousers fit him.
I only wanted to go home and feel his arms around me and toy with his hair. I only wanted to make him coffee and flirt with him and get to kiss him whenever I wanted. But it was too much to ask, too soon. He had Ellie, I needed to figure things out with George. There wouldn't be any casual flings with Matty, I knew. The minute anything happened between us, I would be immediately reminded of how much I truly loved him.
Even now, it was hard not to smile at him as he looked at the wine, very seriously and pretentiously, his handsome features twisting at the ones he wasn't impressed with. Our cart was half-full now with my PMS cravings, carbs upon carbs, chocolate upon chocolate, and three bottles of wine. Matty seemed interested in a bottle of Malbec that he also put into the cart, making an even four bottles of wine now. His nose was so purple and bruised.
"We should ice that when we get to my apartment," I told him, turning the cart sharply to the aisle of non-grocery items. "You look like a madman, you know, walking around a grocery store with your face beaten in."
Matty shrugged his shoulder once more as he tossed in a bottle of ibuprofen to the cart. "I always look like a madman."
A really handsome madman.
I smiled at him a little, before my hands reached for the tampons and pantiliners I desperately needed right now. Mother nature was not my friend, and with everything that had happened between Owen and I, between Matty and I, between George and I, I was a mess.
"Ah!" Matty clapped his hands together. "This is why you're being so weird."
Only a little. I was being "weird" because my little confusing emotions for Matty were now a giant, uncontrollable mess thanks to my hormones.
"I'm not being weird," I insisted, putting my hands on my hips.
Matty leaned into me, the corner of his mouth tugged up.
"You're just naturally weird," he said, putting his index finger on my nose and making a smacking sound with his lips.
A giggle itched its way out of my throat. "Did you just bop my nose?"
He leaned into me further, the tips of his boots nearly touching my little yellow flats. "I certainly did. It's a nose that deserves to be bopped."
My giggling continued, even though I knew what Matty was doing. He pretended to need some vitamins so he could brush his body against mine, and the two of us stood there, flirting like twelve year olds. Until I felt deathly cold eyes on me and heard the sound of bubble gum popping.
"Hey, Red," Matty's said to the girl who was staring at us blankly, her hand reaching for the same tampons I'd gotten.
My ex-boyfriend backed up a bit, smiling a little to the friend of his that I'd blamed for our breakup. I'd held onto the belief that Harper was evil for a long time, all to blind myself from my own guilt. It was me who pushed Matty away, me who also wanted George, me who let Matty fuck up so I'd have an excuse, I guess. Harper was really there for Matty. She was the one who found him as he'd overdosed, yet I blamed her for it, as Matty lay there in that hospital bed with machines in his nose.
It had taken Harper about two weeks to figure me out; and it had taken me nearly 24 years to even start figuring myself out.
"Matty," she popped her gum. "Miss California."
Harper had sometimes referred to me as Miss California, though I didn't exactly believe it was a term of endearment. She liked to make fun of me, to make me feel too polished and dim and opposite of Matty. It was funny, because while she envied me, I envied her as well. Harper was adorable, firey, this tiny little thing that didn't analyze every word she said.
"What the fuck happened to you, Healy?" Harper questioned, her blue eyes wide at his nose.
"Her boyfriend hit me. After I hit him," Matty explained.
Harper looked at me with her dark red brow raised.
"Ex-boyfriend," I corrected.
The worst ex-boyfriend in the history of ex-boyfriends.
Harper clutched the tampons to her chest, along with the chocolate and potato chips she was carrying.
"So, is that why you broke up? Are you like together now or something?" she asked us.
"No," Matty and I said at the same time.
He said it a little too firmly, and my heart went nearly as flat as Harper's chest.
"Owen was the one posting all the pictures online," I told her, still not believing the words as they left my lips.
Harper gritted her teeth. "Shit."
"Anyways, now we're having an anti-dinner and a movie night with George," Matty told her.
Harper looked at the two of us back and forth. "With George?"
"Would you like to come?" I asked her.
I had a feeling Harper didn't have many friends, and a feeling that she was much too comfortable with the fact of the matter.
She shook her head. "Uh, no."
"Oh," I said softly. "Well, that's okay, uhm--"
"Come on, Red. We're watching Pretty Woman." Matty smiled.
The three of us stood there, awakwardly trying to make peace with food and films and blinking at each other, desperate for a response.
Harper sighed and blew a bubble, smacking the gum once more and returning it to her mouth. "Sure. I guess."
{Matty}
Harper was in Claire's kitchen, narrowing her sapphire eyes at everything she saw and stuffing her face full of the bread Claire and I had had a moment over. George was babying Henry, though Henry seemed as fine and happy as ever as George played with him on the couch. Claire was babying me, her curvy, soft body pressed to mine as she put the ice pack to my nose.
This was the strangest party I had ever been to.
George was a mess of anxiety, still worried about Henry though the only thing he'd done was eat an entire package of chocolate biscuits and ruined a few rugs at doggy daycare. He was also worried about me, because Claire was seriously feeling me today and I was loving every minute of it.
I sat on her kitchen table, with her body between my legs, her hands clutching the ice pack to my nose, her pretty eyes twinkling and her ivory skin blushing whenever I'd smirk at her.
"Does it still hurt?" she asked me, her voice soft and concerned.
"Mmm-hmm," I said to her, squeezing my hands together so they wouldn't reach for her hips and pull her body to mine.
It only hurt a bit, but naturally, I didn't tell her that. I was going to milk this as much as possible. If Claire would stroke my face and ruffle my hair and set me on fire with those big eyes of hers, I'd take a blow to the face every day of my life.
My hand went to the small of her back, because Harper was playing with Henry and George was looking at somethig on his phone. And also, because I was so desperately in love with her and didn't care anymore.
"Matty," she said, in almost a whisper.
"Hmm?" I asked her, my hand going lower now, my thumb at the waistband of the leggings that she was wearing.
"Do you think you can hold this yourself?" she asked me.
"Nope," I lied. "I'm too weak."
She rolled those pretty eyes, putting my hand on the ice pack but leaving the one that was on the small of her back. "Then you should eat something."
"I've got something in particular in mind, love, " I said to her, dropping the volume of my voice to where only she and I could hear.
The apples of Claire's cheeks went red, and she bit her full, soft lip, letting me know that my charm was working on her. I loved seducing her, catering to her, making her want me in the way that I wanted her. I wasn't certain if it would work, but there were chick flicks and chocolate and wine, so that was a nice start.
"I'm on my period, gross," she shook her head but continued to giggle.
"I'll get my red wings," I joked with her.
A smile spread across my face when I realized she denied it because she was on her period, not because she didn't want to. One point: Matthew T. Healy.
Claire faked vomiting and pushed my shoulder. "You're disgusting."
"He truly is," Harper insterted herself into the conversation, holding an entire loaf of bread in her hands and picking at it with her fingertips.
I glared at her and she stared at me blankly, her little face stuffed full of bread. Claire smiled politely at her, and backed away from me.
"Georgie?" Claire called.
Ugh.
"What, kid?" George came into the kitchen, smiling at his best friend/fuck buddy/damsel in distress.
"Are you hungry?" she asked him as she cut the loaf of french bread into thin slices.
My face went flat as George stood behind her, his stupid tree frame towering over her, his hands reaching to grab a piece of the bread.
"Yum," he said, talking more about her ass that he was looking at now than he was about the food.
I groaned audibly then, and when my eyes went to Harper's for sympathy, she just shrugged and moved on to eating grapes. Harper knew I was being a shit, knew I was pushing Claire too fast. She wasn't going to baby me, because she knew it wasn't good for me.
"Oh, Harper, I meant to tell you, I love your jeans," Claire said, turning her head towards my friend.
George was still behind her, being a complete asshole and putting his hand on her hip as he reached for a knife to slice the brie. I sat there and sulked to myself, the ice making my nose and mouth numb.
"Thanks," Harper said, barely making eye contact.
Claire kept the pretty smile on her face, and thankfully, George had moved to the side of her, the pair cutting food peacefully.
"Where'd you get them?" Claire asked Harper, making girl talk and not realizing Harper didn't speak the language.
"Delia's," Harper mumbled, throwing back half a glass of wine at once.
Claire plated the food on pretty little trays, her face even prettier when she was pleased with the outcome. "What's Delia's? I've never heard it."
I chuckled to myself in my wine glass that Claire handed me. Tinsley's favorite store was Delia's, because it was a little girls' boutique, ranging from newborn to pre-teens.
"It's a kid's shop," Harper said. "Don't judge. The jeans fit me so much better."
Red's body was the size of a twelve year old's, but her heart was as black and bitter as old man's was. And, at about 45 kilograms, she could out drink Ross, which was absurd.
"Oh," Claire smiled and nodded her head politely again, setting the food on her kitchen table.
I tried to count on my head how many times she and I had made love on it, and I think it was thirteen. That is, if you counted the time I was sipping coffee and reading "Naked Lunch" and Claire had woken up, looking lovely in one of my button-downs, and she hopped on my lap and tugged at my pajama bottoms. I smiled to myself as I remembered how the wood of the chair creaked, how she moaned softly, how we kissed nearly the entire time.
George Daniel better not have fucked her on that table.
He was tracing the brim of his wine glass now, furrowing his brows at looking at me, trying to size me up and let me know that he knew what I was doing. Claire had turned him down in the pool, and though it hurt me to see that it had went that far to begin with, the news that it had ended was nearly as thrilling as when I learned our second album went number one.
George was losing her, to me, and he had better planned on doing it gracefully.
The four of us sat for about half an hour in Claire's kitchen, drinking wine and eating and chatting about nothing. I usually wasn't much for small-talk, but it was fun to watch Claire try to befriend Harper. The face Harper made when Claire asked Harper if Harper would let her do her makeup sometime was fucking priceless, though Harper, out of the kindness of her cold heart, said "uhm, maybe."
Ellie: hey babyyyy
Ellie: where are you? i miss you. 😘😘
Matty: With george.
And Harper, which Ellie wouldn't mind. And Claire, which she would definitely mind. Ellie wasn'y exactly excited when she'd seen the pictures of Claire and I together online.
Ellie: what are you boys up to hmm?👀👀👀
Matty: testing out some new equipment
Ellie: facetime me??😁
Fuck.
Matty: not rn
Ellie: Matty what are you doing??
Matty: fucking off with george
Ellie: okay... ILY. ❤️
Matty: k bye
Claire was throwing grapes at George and he was alternating between laughing like an idiot and catching them with his giant mouth. Harper was pouring a glass of wine to the brim.
I didn't want to be a complete twat to Ellie. She was young and naive, but she wasn't completely stupid. She knew there was something going on, and she didn't deserve to have a boyfriend who would never love her. It just wasn't the right time to tell her.
I peeled a tangerine and looked at Claire, who knew exactly what I was doing but ignored me, pretending like she wasn't looking out of the corner of her hazel eye. When I smirked at her and traced the outlines of the segments, that looked quite familiar to the female anatomy I so cherished, Claire was squirming properly.
"Matty," she said to me sharply, narrowing her eyes and twiddling her thumbs.
"Yes, love?" I flashed her a smile.
"Is that new?" she asked me, eyeing the tattoo on my bicep, blinking and laughing at herself. "Of course it's new, I don't remember it."
She'd spent hours tracing my tattoos, and I'd spent hours letting her, smiling at her. She and George had matching tattoos now, his on his wrist and hers on her collarbones, the crescent moons signifying their friendship.
George had eaten more than I ate in a week, and he was rubbing his stomach and ruffling his hair. Claire went into her bedroom to gather some "supplies" for the movie.
"Should we put in the film?" Harper asked. "What's Pretty Woman, anyways?"
George and I looked at each other, then at Harper, for once agreeing on something: that it was insane Harper had never heard of it.
"You've never seen Pretty Woman?" I asked, eating the tangerine that I cradled in my hands.
Harper lit one of her standard black cigarettes and shrugged. "No. It sounds stupid. And why are you eating that tangerine like that?"
I didn't realize how slowly I was eating it, separating the segments with my tongue, the thin skin of the fruit bursting and filling my mouth with the tangy but sweet taste. "Just something I like to do."
"It's got Julia Roberts," George said about the movie, like it was the end-all, be-all.
Claire made an appearance again, her arms cradling a giant fuzzy blanet and pillows. Nearly half of her face was covered, and Captain George went to rescue her, taking the blankets from her in his long arms.
"Harper's never seen Pretty Woman," I said, finishing the tangerine.
Claire gasped and brought her hand to her chest. "Oh my god. Are you serious?"
Harper finished her wine and sat down her glass. "Yep."
"You're going to love it!" Claire clapped her hands together before taking Harper's hand and dragging her into the living room.
George laughed to himself and flopped down on the couch, nestling Henry on his lap. I sat on the other end, lighting a cigarette as Claire put in the DVD and sat between George and I, her knees pulled to her chest and the blanket draped over her. Harper looked at the front door like it was the gates of heaven, but sat down on the cozy chair sideways, with her feet dangling off the arm.
I had slept with supermodels, done every drug known to man, performed to thousands of people, yet this was one of the most interesting situations I'd ever found myself in.
The opening credits rolled, with Claire petting Henry as he rested on George's lap, snoring his happy little bum away. She had the magic touch.
"Is she a prostitute?" Harper looked at Claire.
"Uh-huh," Claire nodded. "Richard Gere is so handsome."
Harper nodded, actually agreeing with Claire on the false notion that Richard Gere was hot.
"You think Richard Gere is handsome?" George nudged her.
Claire looked at him like he was mental. "Duh, Danes. And he's such a gentleman."
I rolled my eyes and chose not to comment, instead watching the film. It was a chick-flick by all stereotypical standards, a modern day Cinderella, I suppose. My eyes were on the telly, but my mind was elsewhere, an imaginary clock in my brain ticking down the moments until George and Harper left and I could be alone with Claire.
George alternated between scrolling through his phone, then looking at Claire, then oohing over Henry. Harper was actually watching the movie, laughing and smiling and being completely un-Harper. There was a particularly sexy scene in the film where Richard Gere and Julia Roberts have an intimate moment on a baby grand, and I made a mental note of that, since I'd just bought one and was dying to show Claire.
Ellie: hey are you done? can i stop by?
Matty: Not tonight sorry
Ellie: why?😥
Matty: just busy
Ellie: doing what?
Matty: honestly? im watching pretty woman with harper and claire and george.
Ellie: WHAT?????😡😡😡
I turned my phone off and put it on the arm of the couch, lighting another fag and offering one to Claire, who was mouthing every fucking word to the film. She looked so gorgeous in the dim light of the living room we once called ours, the light from the telly reflecting all the assorted colors of her eyes, her face so animated and happy. I lit the cigarette for her, and when she let me hold her hand under the blanket, the world could have ended and I would still be smiling.
George was still trying to claim her though, putting his arm around her at the sad bits where Julia Roberts feels used or something and Richard Gere is a twat. Claire was tearing up, and so was Harper until I snickered at her and she flipped me off and said she got new contacts.
Everything was all well for the prostitute turned girlfriend of a multi-millionaire. Henry was sleeping, and Claire had drifted off as well, her head on my shoulderand her legs in my lap. That familiar scent of her, the softness and sweetness that came from her, was captivating me, and my glares for George and Harper to leave weren't working. George just sat there, his arms now holding Henry the same way I held Claire. Harper was "fixing her contacts."
"Hey, Matty," Harper said to me. "Can I talk to you for a bit?"
"About?" I asked her, still hypnotized by the way Claire's body moved as she took slow, deep breaths, her exhales cooling the skin of my neck.
"I just need to talk to you, okay?" Harper said, putting her hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans.
George was pretending to not pay attention, scolling on his phone still. His expression changed, though, when I picked Claire up to carry her to her bed.
"What are you doing?" he asked, like he had any right to.
Claire was much heavier than she looked, and I had no time nor reason to explain myself. Instead, I carried her to her room bridal-style, her body curled up in my arms. She mumbled "goodnight Matty" to me in her sleep, and I kissed the apple of her cheek before draping the blanket over her body.
I just wanted to watch her sleep. I just wanted to hear her breathe. That was all.
"Matty," Harper said softly from the other room.
I followed Harper outside and she was leaning against the railing of the stairs, black cigarette planted between her cherry red lips. Whatever she was going to say, I didn't want to hear it.
"What is it?" I asked her, impatiently.
"We gotta go," she said matter of factly, the cigarette moving between her lips as she spoke.
I squinted at her, confused. "What?"
She blew out the smoke and smiled, though it wasn't a happy smile at all. She was sad. "George and Claire love each other, Matty."
George and Claire.
But Claire was letting me flirt with her, even slightly reciprocating.
Fuck George.
"No," I shook my head, reaching into the pocket of my trousers for my own cigarettes.
Harper closed her eyes, like it was just as hard for her to say as it was for me to hear. "Matty, listen to me. Look at yourself. Look what you're doing!" Harper shook her head now, taking another drag. "She just found out her boyfriend was posting pictures of her private life online for his own finanncial gain, and that same night you try to flirt with her 'win' her back or whatever you're doing?"
I scoffed at her, shaking my curls even more, although she was exactly right. I was trying to move things too fast.
Red was blowing smoke rings now, six teeny little ones into the night air. "And what's George doing?"
"George is just sitting there like an idiot," I shrugged.
Harper waved a hand in the air. "Exactly. He's waiting for her. Like he always has. He's patient with her. You're demanding, selfish. You're a fucking toddler, Matty."
I swallowed and refused to look at Harper, but she sure as hell wouldn't stop looking at me, not until she broke me, not until I had sighed and nodded my head.
"Fine," I said. "I'll fucking go."
Harper cracked the door open only a bit, just to tell George we would be leaving. And with that, I got into Harper's car and looked out the window the whole time, with my friend awkwardly patting me on the shoulder every once in a while, an unfamiliarly kind gesture in an all too-familiar sad feeling.
{George}
I'd fallen asleep on Claire's couch, my tall frame curled into a ball, big feet dangling off the couch. My eyes opened to see Claire, crouched down in front of me, her hair a lovely mess as it fell across her shoulder.
"Hey," she smiled.
A yawn escaped from my lips as I stretched my arms out and pulled her in for a hug. She was wearing this giant t-shirt that was long enough to fit me, but draped around the thighs nicely. I didn't know if there was anything underneath.
"Morning," I mumbled, the smell of her hair filling my nostrils, the vanilla and sugar bringing a smile to my face.
Claire's lips went to my cheek, and she stood back up. "I didn't know you were still here until I heard snoring."
I giggled at her, then my eyes went to my snoring dog that was sleeping on the floor next to Claire's sofa. "That was Henry."
My best friend smiled at me, then traced her fingertips on Henry's forehead. I missed moments like this with her, moments that were quiet and simple. Moments without Matty trying to take her from me.
He had royally pissed me off last night, the way he was looking at her, the way he'd made her blush, the way she'd fallen asleep in his arms like they were big enough to hold her.
"I'm hungry," I blurted out, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Do you want pancakes?"
Claire grinned at me, her face still lovely, her cheeks pink without makeup. "I always want pancakes."
=
She was still in her long shirt, breasts lovely and shapely with no bra to hinder them from moving around a bit in the loose fabric as she washed dishes and I flipped pancakes.
This was it. This was what I wanted. To make pancakes with Claire as she bobbed her head to Drake and swayed her hips, and laughed at me when I sang along and tried to pretend I could dance.
I finished the cooking and she finished the cleaning, and we plated our meals and sat at her table, Claire throwing her hair into a giant bun on top of her head. She crossed her legs and let her foot rest on my thigh.
"So, are you and Harper friends now?" I teased her, cutting into my pancakes with a fork and shoving the pillowy sweetness into my mouth.
Claire chewed her pancakes, and her smiling face went a little flat. "I just feel bad. For everything that happened. I don't think she's so bad."
Harper wasn't so bad, she was just the complete opposite of Claire. The games they played were completely different, and Claire was almost mindless that she was a part of it. Claire liked to be hunted, preyed upon, captured, as Matty did with her. Harper enjoyed complete honesty, and she was too good at blurting it out most of the time. Claire probably had no idea they'd been messing around lately, at least once that I knew of.
I didn't want to tell her. At all.
It's just that I couldn't let Matty do that to her, again.
He was being such a twat, wanting everything he saw and acting as if he deserved it.
"They're sleeping together," I said, my eyes on my cup of coffee and not on her because I couldn't stomach the hurt that I knew would cast upon her pretty litle features.
"What?" she asked, those hazel eyes big and immediately sad.
I let out a deep breath and ruffled my hair. Henry was pitter-pattering around the table, begging for scraps. I tore off a piece of pancake and tossed it to him.
"Isn't Matty still with Ellie?" Claire asked me, sitting so still is scared me.
I nodded, but the look on my face asked her if being taken ever mattered to Matty anyways. Half of me regretted telling her, the other half knew I had to. She'd just broken up with Owen, and she wasn't ready for Matty to break her heart all over again.
She needed time. She deserved to be happy, actually happy, not just have the false impression that she was.
"Oh," Claire said in a whisper. I could tell her stomach was twisting in knots, and she pushed her plate away and rubbed her hands against her coffee mug, like she was suddenly frozen. "Why'd you tell me this, George?"
"Because you should know," I insisted, now losing my apetite as well.
Claire shook her head, bit her lip, and tried not to cry. "I really shouldn't. I-I don't care," she lied.
No Matter how much of a twat he was, he would still pry his little ass into her big heart.
"Okay," I said.
Our morning was ruined, now. It was supposed to be pancakes and music and Claire laughing and us maybe going back to sleep. Now, it was her dumping her pancakes into the bin and me half-smiling at her and doing the same.
Claire washed dishes with a solemn expression on her face, and I rinsed them, putting them onto the drying mat and throwing a tea towel over my shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Claire," I sighed.
She shook her head, forcing a smile. "It's fine, really. I'm just overreacting. Period blues."
I nodded, though I knew she wasn't being completely truthful. She was trivializing her feelings for him. She needed to be honest, no matter how much it hurt. My hand went to her chin, and I tilted her up to look at me. There was too much time spent wondering, too many hours wasted on half-truths and giving into lust, on both of our accounts.
"Do you love him, Claire?" I asked her, her eyes looking up at me now.
She could never look me in the eye and lie to me. I couldn't do the same to her, either.
"Yes," she said. It was quick, certain, but it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would.
"Do you love me?" I tucked her hair behind her ear.
Her hands went to my chest and she straightened the collar of my shirt nervously. "Yes."
My hands went to her hips, softly, not possessively. "Do you love me the same way that you love Matty?"
Claire's lips were trembling, eyes widening in preparation for tears that she wasn't ready to set free. "I don't think so, Georgie."
And that, that didn't hurt as bad as I thought it would, not in the way I thought it would. It was more of a disappointment that she loved Matty. It wasn't hearbreak that she didn't love me.
I didn't know what to do now, so I just chuckled to myself, and kept my hands on her hips because her body felt good against mine.
"What are you laughing at?" Claire was smiling a little.
I sighed after a giggle fit, and hoisted her up on the counter playfully. She sat up there, half-smiling, features waiting on me to explain myself.
"Do you think we...Ugh. I don't know, Claire," I shook my head.
"I love you, Georgie," she said, taking my hand in tiny one. "I do. But I don't think it's anything more than platonic unless weed and alcohol are involved."
I nodded at her, because she was right. It had just taken way too long to figure it out.
"How...how do we know?" I asked her.
She shrugged her little shoulder and bit her lip. "Kiss me, George."
"What?" I furrowed my brows.
Claire sighed. "You have to kiss me. We have to see if we're still...I don't know, into it when we're sober. And not just completely horny and emotional."
I cleared my throat. "Uhm. Are you sure?"
A little nervous laugh came from her lips. "Yes."
It felt like I was a pre-teen preparing for my first kiss as Claire threw her arms around my neck, crossed her ankles at the small of my back, and gave me a nod to signify it was okay for me to kiss her.
Our lips met, like they had so many times before. Hers were soft, full, and they tasted sweet like maple syrup. She hummed a little and opened her mouth, letting my tongue graze against hers softly for a bit. She was a good kisser. It was nice.
But she wasn't feeling it.
And the weight from my shoulders was relieved when I realized that I wasn't either.
We both broke the kiss at the same time, giggling and laughing. She kept her arms around my neck and I kept my hands on the small of her back, and we looked at each other with love, the kind of love we'd had for each other for years and never knew how to truly appreciate.
I loved her.
I was not in love with her.
"I guess we know now," Claire said, shaking her head and ruffling my hair playfully.
"Yeah," I sighed, satisfied. "After all this fucking time."
My lips went to peck her forehead, and when I pulled away, the front door opened. Claire's hands pushed me away fastly, harshly, and I nearly stumbled down. Matty was standing there, in a black t-shirt and black joggers, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
He looked like his whole world had ended at the sight of the girl he loved half-clothed and wrapped up in the arms of another man who happened to be his best friend. What the hell had I done to him?
"Matty!" Claire gasped.
My best friend stared at us, as Claire stepped toward him and I crossed my arms over my chest nervously, apologetically.
"Mate, it's not what it looks like, we-" I said, but he interrupted me.
"Sorry," Matty swallowed and looked away from me. He paced quickly to the couch and grabbed his phone. "Em, I forgot my phone."
Tears were in Claire's eyes now as she put her hand on his forearm.
He looked at her like he had no idea who she was, and he looked at me the same.
"Matty, we weren't-" Claire said, but Matty interrupted again.
"It's fine, sorry for walking in. The door was unlocked. I've got to run," Matty said the words so quickly they jumbled together.
He was out the door as quickly as he came in it.
Claire looked at the front door for a moment, like he would turn around and change his mind.
He didn't.