Chapter 11
Taylor shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, even now, sitting in front of the gas fireplace, the fire crackling before her, she was unable to shake the chill that had settled into her bones that morning. She had walked through the streets of New York with Austin, Starbucks cups clutched between cold fingers as they looked at the Christmas decorations that adorned the avenues. She had made sure she kept her expression mild, a smile on her face as he chatted about his upcoming graduation. She couldn’t believe her little brother would be a college graduate in the spring.
They were pretending they were a regular, normal brother and sister duo, doing some last minute Christmas shopping. They were pretending as if Greg wasn’t trailing behind them, glaring at anyone who dared to get too close. As if she could actually do any of her Christmas shopping in person. It was impossible, someone always took a picture and it always ended up on the internet, thus ruining the surprise for whoever she had been shopping for. Taylor’s favorite part of Christmas shopping was seeing the surprise on a recipient's face. But with the way the paparazzi followed her, the surprise was always ruined. She wondered if that was some kind of metaphor for her life that she hadn’t figured out yet. She had never felt less normal.
Already articles were popping up, speculating that she and Matty had split because they hadn’t been seen together since brunch with Jack and Lena. She had thrown her phone in frustration when she saw the first one on her Twitter feed, it was ridiculous, they were adults in a supposedly new relationship, they lived on different continents they didn’t need to spend every waking moment together to be in a stable relationship, as if their relationship was even real in the first place.
Even if they were together for real, it was too soon in a relationship to be spending Christmas together. The article seemed so focused on Matty’s tour ending, his subsequent departure back to England after her birthday and how it clearly meant trouble in paradise. Taylor wanted to scream, Matty wasn’t even a US citizen, his work visa only allowing him to stay in the country so long without returning to the United Kingdom, so even if it was a real relationship and he had wanted to stay he legally couldn’t.
She had hesitated, her finger hovering over the share button, meaning to send it to Matty so they could commiserate, before thinking better of it. She might have his phone number now, finally, but they weren’t friends, not really, not like that. The only communication she had received from him after he had left on the sixteenth was confirmation that he had landed at Heathrow. He had sent her a blurry selfie of him and George presumably in their flat in Hackney, smoke billowing around their fuzzy faces a few hours later. Because the fact of the matter was, while they may have spent the last few days curled together and kissing for the cameras, Matty would always return to George’s bed when given the option, rather than her own. Because Matty was with George in the physical geographic and biblical sense regardless of how she felt about it. She knew she didn’t have any right to feel anyway about it, not really. But jealousy still bloomed in her stomach when she looked at the picture, a bubble in their meager text thread that she found herself constantly pulling up and reading through.
She missed him, she realized guilty. They hadn’t spent much time together, but even when she was annoyed with him, she enjoyed his presence. He had slotted into her life in such a way that she felt his absence clearly. She wondered if she missed him in particular, or if she just missed having a partner. The wounds left by Karlie still fresh and bloody.
She should be happy for him, she thought, setting her phone back down on the floor. He and George had been arguing before he left, and Taylor had a sinking suspicion it has something to do with her even if Matty had refrained from going into any kind of detail. George was his actual partner, not her, and she needed to be happy for them. She couldn’t imagine how George felt, watching them parade around, kissing for the cameras. She thought about how she had felt, seeing pictures of Karlie and Josh, and her stomach burned.
“Surprised to see that thing out of your grasp,” said Andrea with a smirk, coming and sitting down on the sofa behind Taylor. She twisted her body to face her mother, a frown playing on her red lips.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, her brow furrowed.
Andrea snorted. “Just that you’ve been glued to your phone since we got here,” she teased, “texting that boy I presume?”
Taylor flushed, guilt burning in her stomach. When she had agreed to Tree’s proposal of a fake, PR relationship with Matty, it had been on the condition that it was need to know. She had decided, and stressed to Tree that no matter what, her mother did not need to know .
She knew that Andrea would be disappointed in her, for not only roping Matty into it, but for being so blatantly dishonest with her fans and being untrue to herself. There was a difference between keeping things private and outright lying . She also knew that Andrea would be disappointed for her which Taylor found to hurt even more. She knew her mother would be sad that she felt the need to hide herself behind a fake relationship. She would blame herself for not being able to protect her, as if Taylor hadn’t been knocking on record label doors since she was twelve, yearning for the fame that now plagued her. She lived her life in a fishbowl, and knew now to be careful what you wished for.
She squeezed her eyes shut, cheeks burning with shame that she hoped her mother interpreted as embarrassment. She had never told her mother about Karlie, or that she liked girls in addition to boys, sometimes even more than she liked boys. She wondered if she had suspected that there was something between the two of them, closer than even the best of friends. She told herself it had been to protect Karlie, who wasn’t ready to come out, terrified of her conservative parents who would never accept her. Taylor knew that despite her own mother’s small town rural upbringing, and despite some initial confusion, her mother loved her. She would accept her even if she couldn’t understand. Taylor told herself it was to protect Karlie, but she knew deep down it was also to protect herself on the off chance that she was wrong. She had tried to tell her mother so many times, but each time she opened her mouth the words lodged themselves in her throat, clogging her airway until her only option was to swallow them back down. But Karlie didn’t want her. There was no point in breaking the status quo now.
“Mom,” Taylor whined, knowing that even if she told the truth, that she had been texting Selena, commiserating about the articles, her mother wouldn’t believe her. Selena pointed out that the articles kept calling Matty, Matt and Taylor felt guilty, he was caught up in her whirlwind, and they couldn’t even get his name right.
“What?” Said Andrea, a twinkle in her eye. “He’s not your usual type, can’t blame a mother for being curious about her daughter’s new lover. ”
Taylor’s blush deepened. That’s what Matty had saved his contact in her phone as. He had thought it was hilarious. She bit her lip. Matty wasn’t her usual type, but she knew her mother was thinking of Lucas and Taylor, not Karlie . Her mother had no idea her type wasn’t athletic actors, but really, blonde lingerie models. Matty didn’t fit either type, even if he was pretty enough to model, she thought, a sort of soft femininity to his masculine form that was sought after in high fashion.
“He’s sweet,” she said, deciding on being as truthful as she could, feeling absolutely awful for lying. She wasn’t sure why she thought she’d be able to make it through her family’s entire Christmas visit without the subject coming up. She was impressed she had even made it the first twelve hours. “And you already know I’m a fan of his band.”
Andrea hummed, and Taylor’s heart sank. Her mother didn’t approve of Matty she realized all of a sudden. That’s why it had taken her twelve hours to bring him up instead of launching the interrogation the second the plane landed. It hurt, and the way it hurt surprised Taylor. They weren’t really together, but it felt unfair that her mother was now judging her relationship with Matty, when he was going above and beyond to pretend to date her because he was contractually obligated to. She swallowed hard, if her Mom didn’t like her and Matty together, what would she have thought of Karlie? How would she have felt about that relationship?
“And he treats you well?” Andrea asked carefully.
Taylor flushed, thinking of the little things that Matty had noticed. He remembered her coffee order, her drink of choice, the way he had stood up for her when Karlie had shown up the day after her birthday party. She hated lying. She hated the way the lines had started to blur in her own mind. He was at least a friend now. She decided, and she was allowed to be upset that her mother didn’t like her choice of friend .
“Yeah,” she said, “he’s really sweet, and very thoughtful, it’s nice.”
“I’m sure that accent is a nice bonus,” teased Andrea and Taylor flushed. “I just worry.” She paused, “I was reading up on him, he didn’t have the most stable upbringing, growing up. He seems like he drinks a lot, and smokes?”
“It’s more part of his stage schtick,” Taylor lied, purposely not thinking about how she wasn’t entirely sure she had ever seen him one hundred percent sober. She shook her head. She was being ridiculous, and judgemental like her mother. Matty was fine, they had been celebrating all weekend, of course he had been drinking. It would have been weird if he wasn’t. “And he’s good about only smoking outside. He’s English, it’s a cultural thing.” She found herself defending.
Andrea hummed again. “As long as you’re happy,” she said after a moment, taking the time to carefully consider and weigh her words. Her tone made it clear that even if her words were pleasant, she didn’t actually approve.
“I am,” said Taylor, the pit in her empty stomach reminding her that she was anything but.
“And that’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Andrea elaborated. “I’m excited to meet him, Tree said he’s coming for New Year’s right?”
“Yeah,” said Taylor, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “He’ll be in town for a few weeks, the rest of his band is coming a few days later to work with Jack, they really hit it off.”
Andrea nodded. “That will be nice,” she said, but the way she said it made it clear she thought it was anything but. Taylor sighed, she couldn’t believe she was now trying to justify a fake relationship, that her mother thought was real, to her.
Taylor didn’t want to admit, even to herself, but she was nervous to meet George. She was nervous to meet Matty’s actual partner, especially when she found herself to be enjoying playing the role. She opened her mouth, trying to formulate her own response when Austin interrupted. She knew there was a reason she kept her little brother around.
“Hey,” said Austin, coming into the living room, “do you have any cash? I was going to pick up dinner from that pizza place we like but it’s cash only.”
Taylor’s stomach lurched, she couldn’t imagine eating pizza not when she had to perform in a week. Her Rockin’ New Year’s Eve costume had been carefully tailored within an inch of itself, she wasn’t about to risk it not fitting now. She had a bag of frozen veggies in the freezer, she’d steam those for herself.
“There’s some in the kitchen drawer, where it always is,” answered Taylor, rolling her eyes as she pulled herself to her feet. Thankful for the excuse to end the conversation with their mother. She grabbed onto the edge of the coffee table to steady herself, feeling light headed from the change of position. The gingerbread cookies she had made after her walk with Austin were probably cool now and ready to be frosted.
Austin frowned, “the drawer is empty,” he said, “that’s why I’m asking you.”
“Oh,” said Taylor, frowning herself, “that’s weird, I thought I had a couple hundred left in there.”
“You need to keep better track of your finances,” Andrea scolded and Taylor resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had an accountant that kept track of her finances, misjudging the amount of petty cash she had on hand was not the end of the world. She bit her tongue, resisting the urge to say just that.
“I should have some in my purse then,” she said, grabbing her Louis Vuitton bag off the hook by the front door and digging through her wallet. “Is forty enough?” she asked, “because apparently that’s all I have.”
Austin snorted, “it’s more than enough, thanks.”
“Of course,” Taylor agreed, trying to recall what she could have spent the money on. She couldn’t recall paying for cash for anything other than the Chinese food she pretended to eat the day after her birthday. Oh well, she thought. She’d go to the bank later. Or rather, someone else would go to the bank later for her.
Andrea followed her into the kitchen, and sat down at the island. Taylor didn’t think about how that had become Matty’s seat in the few days he had stayed with her. She mixed up the royal icing quickly and scooped it into a piping bag so that she could get to work. Andrea continued to watch her without speaking.
Taylor swallowed a swear as her shaky hand slipped and royal icing splattered onto the counter. The way her mother was just watching her silently putting her on edge. She felt like they were engaged in battle the way only a mother and daughter could be.
“You know I just want what's best for you,” said Andrea softly, getting up from the bar stool, returning a moment later with a damp paper towel.
Taylor sighed. “I know,” she said, her voice nearly as shaky as her hands. Fuck . She thought, wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist, careful not to smudge her perfect cat eye.
“Do you mind taking a picture of me with the cookies?” she asked, forcing herself to smile. It was an olive branch, a peace treaty. “I want to post it on instagram.”
“Yeah,” said Andrea, signing the peace agreement the way Taylor knew she would. “Smile!”
Taylor leaned down over her cookies, holding onto the piping back and smiled. She had been faking smiles for so long, she knew her fans would have no idea it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Thanks,” she said, taking her mom’s phone to scrutinize the photo before sending it to herself.
She pulled up her instagram account and dropped a filter onto the photo, captioning it “Happy Christmas Eve Eve.” She hit post. She was wearing Matty’s Darth Vader Christmas sweater, left in her hamper after her birthday party. She knew her eagle eyed fans would piece it together, and know that there was in fact no trouble in paradise. Not that there was any paradise to have trouble in, in the first place. She hated that, like the sweater she had given him when they went to brunch with Jack and Lena, the Darth Vader sweater had looked better on him, draped over his slender frame where it instead clung to hers. She swallowed hard and went back to the cookies, she wasn’t going to think about it, she decided, even as she already decided she was going to skip the steamed veggies for dinner.
*
Matty was breathing heavily, his eyes rolling back in his head as George kissed his neck, nipping at the thin, sensitive skin of his throat before soothing the sting with his tongue. Matty wanted to tell him to watch it, he couldn’t leave any marks. Publicly he was with Taylor now, and Jamie had stressed the importance of making a good impression, and being on his best behavior. It was good press for not only the band, but Dirty Hit as a label to find themselves associated with Taylor. He was so high that he couldn’t find a way to form the words, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. It was like his tongue was too big for his pallet as George kissed his way down his chest, tracing the outline of the tattoo on his chest with his lips.
Matty liked being high, he wished he could be this high all the time. His body felt fuzzy, like it wasn’t his own, his thoughts slow and syrupy, like crystalized honey. Nothing hurt when he was this high. Matty was tired of always hurting.
“Hey,” said George softly, one of his large, warm hands gripping Matty’s shoulder, “hey, Matty, are you with me?”
Matty blinked, trying to force his consciousness back into his body. He knew his eyes were red, his pupils blown wide. He hadn’t even realized he had left. Of course he was with George. He wanted to laugh, where else would he go. Not home . His parents were getting a divorce and his Mum was drinking again. He didn’t need that .
“Yeah,” he slurred, knowing he sounded anything but convincing. George was wiping his cum from his stomach with a warm, damp rag, gently cleaning between Matty’s legs with a tenderness he felt as if he didn’t deserve. Guilt burned in his chest as he forced himself to sit up, the room tiling as he did so. He shook his head, his stomach lurching nauseously. He had blacked out, he realized. He wondered if George had noticed. He hoped that George hadn’t noticed.
George tossed the rag to the floor and sat back on his heels, not looking convinced. Matty didn’t like the way he was looking at him, with pity and concern, almost like he didn’t recognize him. Matty pulled the sheet up over his bare body, feeling uncomfortably exposed.
“Come here,” said Matty, leaning forward unsteadily, looking to redirect and distract. Thankfully, George met him in the middle, and Matty grounded himself in George’s kiss, in the light pressure as their lips pressed together. George was kissing him hesitantly, like he was worried he had over done it, like he was worried that if he pressed too hard Matty would break.
Matty had accidentally slipped into subspace before, with George’s hand pressing at his throat, his nails digging into his hip. George had panicked after, guilty and anxious that he had somehow hurt him. Matty knew that wasn’t what happened this time. It had been the pills he swallowed, chased with red wine on his flight back to London. It was the fact that he took more after he landed in the airport bathroom, realizing that even in London, suddenly people cared who he was.
He was Taylor Swift’s boyfriend and for some reason that meant he suddenly mattered. It made him angry. He was his own person. Their band was fucking good , but people didn’t care about that. When he was a child, people only cared that his Mum was Denise Welch, and his Dad was Tim Healy. Now, people only cared that he was allegedly shagging Taylor Fucking Swift. He wondered if he would ever be good enough to matter because he was himself.
He got all of the bad parts, people watching his every move, private security meeting him at the terminal when he got off the plane and shuffling him into the back of a blacked out car while girls shouted at him, asking where Taylor was. Yet none of the good parts, he didn’t even get to shag her. Not that he was even sure he wanted to. The entire situation felt complicated. He thought of the way their bones had slotted together, like they were puzzle pieces built to fit together.
She didn’t judge him, not the way George currently was. She was her own kind of fucked up, and just seemed thankful there was someone else in hell with her. It made him sad for her, made him like her even if she was the source of his current hurt. But he hadn’t been hard when he woke up, but then maybe that wasn’t a surprise with how many chemicals he had poured into his body to try and sleep that night. To try and sleep any night, to try and make his always racing thoughts just stop .
“Are we going to talk about it?” George asked.
He pulled away from Matty who let out a little whine of frustration. He liked kissing George, it brought him back to his body when he felt like he was floating away, spinning out of control. He was a balloon, drifting too close to the sun, and George was on the ground, keeping him tethered, keeping him safe. Things were bad when George wasn’t there. He thought of the night of Taylor’s birthday. She had fallen asleep and he had fallen to the bathroom floor, his heart racing as he tried to keep quiet as he vomited for what felt like hours. He had thought that was it for him, that his heart was giving out, that he had taken too much, that he was going to die on her floor, that she would find his body the next morning. But he was invincible, he had managed to pull it together, and she was none the wiser.
“Talk about what?” Matty asked, he wasn’t trying to be difficult, not on purpose, his head just felt hazy. He reached over, fumbling on the nightstand for the joint that had been abandoned after he had initiated sex. He placed it between his lips and fumbled with the lighter, growing frustrated by his lack of dexterity.
“You know what,” said George, taking the joint from Matty’s lips and the lighter from his clumsy fingers and setting both back on the nightstand just out of reach. “Also I think you’ve had enough.”
“Fuck off,” said Matty, surprising himself with how much heat he was able to inject into the words. Who was George to tell him when he had enough? George was the biggest stoner Matty had ever met. He tried to reach for it again, but his limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, like he was trying to fight through a pool of jello.
“You’re scaring me,” said George quietly, and Matty wanted to laugh.
He was scared too. There were cameras being shoved in his face, people shouting at him, looking for a piece of him in a way he hadn’t expected, hadn’t had a chance to adjust to. The worst was that they didn’t even want him, they wanted her and he had just been identified as the newest weak link, the path of least resistance to their idol.
It was emasculating, that he wasn’t seen as his own person anymore, he was just a prop in the Taylor Fucking Swift narrative. They couldn’t even get his name right, every article that came out declaring “Who is Taylor Swift’s new boyfriend?” and “Get to know Taylor’s new man!” with Matt Healy written in the subheading. His name wasn’t fucking Matt. He had never gone by fucking Matt.
George rolled off of Matty, and stood up, his look of concern growing. That’s when Matty realized he was laughing. The sound cruel and high as if tore it’s way from his throat before he broke off into a sob.