Chapter Text
Sunday July 28, 2024
Morning comes like an unforgiving train, threatening closed eyes with its harsh beams of light. Matty was still half-asleep, a bit hungover from the party him and Gabriette’s friends held yesterday. ‘Gabbriette-eve’, she would call it. It was her birthday weekend, and with everything Gabbriette-inspired, it had to be big, bold, and well, hot.
The seriousness of the theme doesn’t escape him when he watches as Gabbriette bursts into the room with a string gun and a pink fluffy cowboy hat.
“Guess who’s birthday it is, mothafucka!” she exclaims, shooting beams of pink gooey strings in his direction.
He lets out a boyish giggle, and holds out his arms for an embrace to which Gabbriette warmly receives.
“Happy birthday, darling.” he says earnestly, kissing the top of her blonde head.
She responds with a very warm, sloppy kiss to his mouth and jumps off the bed as if she’s on a mission.
“I have a huge day planned out, as you can guess. And it doesn’t involve sitting in bed all day!”
He rubs his eyes, trying to gain focus. This was the first birthday he got to spend with his fiancee . Even testing it out in his head felt strange. New, but strange. Of course, he proposed and she said yes, but it felt so fast. So sudden. So….. real.
“Darling, how old are you turning again?” Matty asks, groggily. He felt embarrassed to ask, but that’s how little he really knew of her. 26? 27? The time flew by so much, he wasn’t even sure he remembered his own age.
“Matty, I know you’re like pushing senior citizen age and all, but can we pleaseeeee keep up here?” she giggles.
Leaning toward him, she placed a playful kiss on his cheek. “Twenty-seven, grandpa. Twenty. Seven. Now, get dressed!”
She scurries off, practically running down the stairs to finish her plans. The last thing Matty notices before she leaves is her blonde hair. He wishes she hadn’t died it blonde because then it reminds him of….. her.
Fuck. He wished he’d erased her completely from his mind. Scrape off any trace of her with a knife and throw the remains into the fire, leaving them to turn into dusty ash. But instead, she marked him, body and soul. Engrained a small T that could never leave his brain, no matter how hard he fought it off.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t stalk her on the internet. Watch her live streams from some excited Swiftie. Read the comments. Ever so often, he’d sit and wait to hear the surprise songs. He liked hearing her sing with just an acoustic guitar or the piano. It was calming. Therapeutic, even.
He also knew that she still wanted him. And she never hid it. Months ago she released that bombshell of an album that had him in solitary hiding for weeks to process whatever the fuck she had just said. Then in her live shows, she incorporated a whole section for the album, including the fan ‘fuck you’ favorite The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived.
If I wrote ‘The Smallest Woman Who Ever Lived’, I’d never live to see the day, he snickered to himself.
He couldn’t forget the ‘whatever she wanted’ song mashups that were undoubtedly pointed towards him. Just recently, she played fucking Speak Now on Gabby’s Vogue article drop day.
What. A. Lunatic.
He knew how easy it was for him to just do something. Anything in response. She wanted to evoke a reaction from him. To show he still cared.
Fuck that.
Silence was his best weapon in times like these. He learned the hard way that the best way to respond to Taylor Swift is by not responding at all.
So, he left it. There was nothing more to say. His therapist assured him it was the right decision. Gabbriette said they needed to jumpstart their future together. The boys said he was better off.
But there was still the unsatisfied itch. The urge to call her up in the middle of the night and seduce her to being his again. The urge to run his fingers through her natural blonde curls and see those blue orbs sparkle in fascination at him.
Fuck that.
By getting up and turning on his shaver, Matty felt like he made his decision. He had a life with Gabbriette now. And that life involved gathering a big LA party with young models and influencers.
What has he gotten himself into?
* * *
As expected, the party is bright, loud, and rambunctious. Sweaty backs grind against one another like insects cramped up in a hole. Charli XCX’s BRAT album is projected high over the crowd on the DJ’s speakers. The house is decorated in some pink chic goth aesthetic, and Gabbriette, the Birthday princess, is its face, shunning a tubeless pink dress and black high heels.
It’s so not Matty’s vibe, but happy wife, happy life, right? Well, not yet, he supposes.
Matty’s somewhat dressed for the occasion in a black graphic T-shirt, but he still feels out of place. Like a fish out of water. He seems to be the oldest one there, with all of the LA influencers being 25 and younger.
Even his conversations seem like they’ve been hitched straight out of the garbled mouths of Gen-Z.
“Do you know that one Sonic Youth song they had playing at the party yesterday?” Matty had asked an influencer.
“What’s a sonic youth?”
That was the end of the conversation.
Gabbriette tries a few times to get him into conversations with other models, but most of the time, it was more of the same. Most didn’t even know who The 1975 were.
When the party starts to die down, and Gabbriette is far and away with her girlfriends, that’s when Matty’s phone blows up.
-3 New Message Notifications From The Boys-
George: dude wtf lol. She’s crazyyyyyyy
Hann: looks like it’s matt healy night. AGAIN💀
Ross: well fuckkkk me. AGAIN? On gab gabs bday?
The boys had been updating Matty occasionally on his ex’s surprise songs. And today’s selection and the timing had been well, interesting , to say the least.
-1 New Message Notification From Lewis Capaldi-
lewis: this shit worse than the album mate lolz
No, no, and fucking no.
He can’t have a Taylor situation. Not right now. Not at his fiancee’s birthday party.
He could just ignore it. He’s done so with the other ones. He should’ve told her to fuck off right then and there with the Speak Now/Hey Stephen mashup. Ask her what the fuck she’s playing at. But he kept his cool. Like he could do right now.
…..Or not.
He starts to text furiously. His heart rate is rising at an all time-high. He’s not even sure if that one number still works or if she’ll ignore it, but it’s worth a try. This last try.
To get her out of his life and stay out, for good.
It’s stupid, really, and he shouldn’t even be doing this. He’s at his fiancee’s birthday party for fuck’s sake.
He knows she knows that it’s Gabbriette’s birthday too. If there’s one thing Matty knew about Taylor, it was that she was batshit-crazy.
He sends it.
Matty: It’s not going to work. Stop it.
Pauses. Curses himself out for doing so. Then, a deep sigh.
He did the right thing, he hopes. Fuck if he knows. She’s probably not going to respond.
Maybe she sees it and gets the message. Bloody moves on.
Or maybe she just texts instead.
He sees it before he hears it.
Unknown: Stop what?
She can’t be fucking serious.
He looks around quickly to make sure no one’s watching him. Of course, they don’t give a fuck. He cannot be doing this right now.
He takes his phone and saunters quickly upstairs into the balcony of his bedroom, before sending another text.
Matty: Are you fucking with me right now?
Unknown: I should ask you the same thing.
Matty: We shouldn’t be talking.
Unknown: Well, we are now.
Matty: Well, I wish we weren’t.
Unknown: I would say you don’t mean that, but nowadays I don’t know what you mean.
Matty: Well, take a fucking hint for once. We’re not talking.
Unknown: You know what? FUCK YOU. I’m tired of being nice to you only for you to treat me like shit. Let me remind you YOU are the one who left. So don’t take your self-deprecating bullshit out on me. I’ve been nothing but kind to you and your fragile ego who still to this day, can’t even fathom a SORRY. When my fans tried to come after you, I stopped them. When you were getting shit, I defended you. So you could at least treat me, the girl you dumped rudely without even saying fucking goodbye, with some respect.
Now she’s done it. Driven him to madness.
He wastes no time hitting the small phone button on the right-hand corner of the screen. It’s risky and basically relationship suicide. Gabbriette would ask him who he’s on the phone with. He’d have to lie again. It’d be much easier to text and delete the messages after. But his anger is too urgent, too necessary. It has to be screamed into the void.
Thankfully, she picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?” her nimble voice whispers into the speaker. She knows who it is, but is taking the time to ask anyway. Typical Taylor fashion.
“Cut the shit, Taylor.” He barks through gritted teeth. “You know why we broke up. You know how fucking difficult it was for me. For the band, my family. The death threats? The shit they were saying about me? About us?”
“None of that mattered.” she interjects, emotion rising in her voice. “None of that mattered because we were going to face it together.”
“Except it did, and I felt the shittiest I’ve ever felt in my entire life,” he counters.
“You never supported me.” Matty continues gruffly, tears forming in his pupils. “You left me out to dry like some carcasses in a desert and labeled me as the fuck-boy rebound. That’s what all your fans said.”
“Fuck what my fans said!” she practically screams into the phone. “You know that’s not fucking true! I released Tortured Poets for you. For us!”
“Yeah, a bloody year after the fact. How fucking thoughtful. Thanks a bunch, darling. It really helped a lot.”
“You ungrateful asshole!”
“You lying……fuck!” he began, but ended up huffing into the air. Even at his most vicious, he couldn’t insult her.
There was no one--no one in the entire world-- who could inspire so much anger out of him.
“I hate you.” he says into the phone, knowing it wasn’t true. “I fucking hate you.”
“You once told me you loved me.” she replies, softly.
“Yeah, well you told me that too. Guess we’re both liars, baby.”
Taylor flinches. She begins to speak, but stops, and musters a short laugh.
“Don’t call me that.” she says. “I’m not your baby. Not anymore.”
“Well, don’t call me whatever the fuck it is you’re doing every night at your shows. It’s fucking pathetic.”
“It’s me expressing my feelings, if you had any.”
The fucking nerve of her.
“Here’s a feeling: go back to your football wanker and leave me and Gabbriette the fuck alone. We’re starting a new life and you’re not included in it, so move on.”
“I wonder if you believed yourself just now.”
“Well I do, so fuck off.”
“Here’s the thing, Matty. If I truly believed you were over me, I would have moved on. But it’s clear you haven’t so I’m stuck where you are. In purgatory.”
“And how the fuck do you know that?”
“Because you’re still talking to me.”
He hangs up immediately, a silence looming between him and his pitch black phone screen. He wants to call back, get the last word. Scream at her. Insult her. Anything. Just to feel something. But it’s useless. She has a sickening, tightly wrapped death hold on him. She’s a siren, and him, the sailor, always beckoning at her high-pitched wail.
Not anymore, he thinks to himself, going back to delete the messages.
He’s done. Seriously this time. He did an admirable job erasing his past. Pretending like the whole thing never happened. Never existed. If Swifties could play revisionist history on his songs, he thought, why couldn't he do the same with Taylor?
Because with Taylor, history’s never finished. It repeats itself and spins in circles, but it’s never over. It’s endless hell and heaven.
He shakes the unwelcome thought from his head. If he forgets about it, it all goes away. It seems to have worked so far.
He quickly fumbles for a cigarette from his unfinished pack and dangles it between his lips. He lights, and the anxieties blow away like leaves on a dying tree. In the corner of his eye, he sees Gabbriette.
Her arms are folded playfully and she’s smirking at him with a flirtatious glint in her eye.
What did he do to deserve her? After what he’s just done?
“So, badass birthday presents. Check. Badass birthday party. Check. Super hot, cool friends here to celebrate with me? Check.” she begins walking toward him.
“But the only thing I don’t have…” she says, wrapping her slender arms around his neck and inhaling his scent. “...is my super sexy, hot, badass fiancee tucking me into bed at night.”
Matty smirks, taking a long drag and then bumming it out with his fingers.
“Fuck, well I guess the super sexy, hot badass fiancee has to do something about that, shouldn’t he?”
She giggles playfully, turning his head for a kiss, while he lifts her up into his arms and back into their bedroom.
* * *
The engaged pair cuddle close to each other like a cocoon. Matty plays the part of the big spoon, running his thumb over Gabby’s knuckles. Contemplating. Counting sheep in his head.
He tries to think about anyone-anything- that can get his mind off her. The new music. George’s new DJ set. Lincoln’s new art exhibit.
And then he hears it. He wished he hadn’t turned over. He wished he would’ve left it there. But then, it’d be at risk of Gabby finding it.
He couldn’t have that.
It could be anyone. It could be the boys. Jamie. Fuck, maybe even his mum with an emergency.
But deep down, he knew who it was. He always knew when it was her.
Slowly, he untangles his arms from Gabby, and leans over to check the message. The phone unlocks, and a bright blue message stares him in the face.
Unknown: I’m coming to LA. Tomorrow night. My house. Come after 8.
We need to talk.
What the fuck?
He stares at it in shock, his eyes tracing the words over carefully to make sure he didn’t misread it.
Delete it, Matty.
Stop it, you muppet.
Stop it. Right Now.
Part of him wants to tell her to get lost, ignore her text, and move on with his life as if nothing happened. But another part of him is disturbingly turned-on. Flattered even. Her footballer is getting cucked right before his very own eyes.
He knows she doesn’t want to talk, that part is obvious. It’s always been fuck first, talk later with her. But what is there to even talk about at this point? How fucked up and toxic their relationship has been since the start? How neither of them care about the very hard lines they have been crossing in their current relationships?
And then there’s Gabby. Fuck. His fiancee Gabby. Could he do this? Walk out on her? To the very person he swore he cut ties to? They never swore to be monogamous, but still…..
A shitty start to a future marriage, that’s for sure.
Fuckkkkk.
His body language was strikingly obvious, because Gabbriette, half-asleep, notices.
“Babe, you okay?” Gabbriette asks, startled by Matty’s expressions. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I did,” he mumbles, looking straight into the looming darkness of their bedroom.
And her name is not something you’d wish to know right now.
-End of Part One-