anothermicrocosm

[anothermicrocosm]

Chapter IV - My Love, When You Dream Them Up

I’m alive! I’m so bad at consistency in general but I was suddenly struck with inspiration so I decided to write a new chapter. I’m hoping I’ll be more consistent from now on so this story can actually progress. Thank you to my two friends (you know who you are!) for bullying me into writing a new chapter, I forgot how much I enjoy it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

x

I hate you.

I hate that you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever laid eyes on. I hate that you know this.

I hate how smart you are. You’re smarter than me and you’re smarter than anyone else I know. I hate the amount of words that are stored in there, in that big, wonderful brain of yours.

I hate your pretentiousness and how you refused to ever say “fuck” when referring to intercourse and only ever used the term “make love”.

I hate your inability to wash dishes.

I hate how you exclusively chew peppermint gum with your mouth agape, loudly. And I hate myself for finding it attractive.

I hate that I feel your absence like a gaping black hole in my chest. I hate that whenever I’m with anyone else, I can’t help but think that it would be better if I were with you.

I hate that you’ve tainted everything I ever shared with you. I can’t listen to “Something” by The Beatles anymore. I just think of the first time you kissed me.

“Do you remember the first time?”

The words resound in my head.

I hate how premeditated that phrase was.

Premeditated - like everything you do. We’re both over-thinkers, except you think about things before, I after. You, wise, me, naive.

You were, of course, referring to the Pulp song. You know it’s my favourite song. Fucker. You fucker. You know the power you have over me, you know you do, so you decided to go on and taint it.

I take my headphones and my phone out of the handy pocket my tailor sewed into my gown. And I play “Something”. And I think of that sunny afternoon spent with you, the one our first kiss took place in. And I think of the song you wrote for me about that day, that glorious, “pulchritudinous” (you un-ironically used that word), picturesque (I’m speaking like you), day.

And I think about how you decided to cover the song with your obtuse metaphors and twist it into being about Arielle. And I hate you even more.

I’m at the café we agreed to meet up in ten minutes early. 12:30 on the dot. We’d met several times after that party and had numerous phone calls. I had officially moved to sunny Los Angeles three months ago and I was immensely grateful for our meetings because it meant I had a friend in that hot, large city I already despised.

In the end, you weren’t able to produce my album because you had to record an album of your own. I wasn’t even disappointed. I was thrilled you even considered it.

“Don’t be late”.

That’s what you ended yesterday’s conversation with. And that’s why I was there half an hour earlier.

You were already there when I arrived.

You smiled at me through big sunglasses and waved me over to the table you chose outside so we could smoke.

As I sat down next to you, I noticed something was different about you. Something had shifted. I later realised what it was, when I got to know you better.

You were nervous. You already knew what was going to happen.

Another example of your overthinking. You had the whole afternoon planned, all of it. Down to the kiss. But you were nervous. I made you nervous. Me.

Honestly, I don’t remember anything about that meeting. I can’t recall what was said. I was too busy drooling over you like a total idiot. I really liked you. A lot.

The only thing I remember was you complimenting the black boots I bought myself for my birthday.

“They’re space cowboy boots. I love them. Very Kubrick-esque”, you said, chuckling.

I had to chuck the boots I so adored in the storage room I rented to put all my tainted belongings in. I just couldn’t have all those things around me. It burnt my heart in ways I couldn’t understand.

The coat I was wearing that day also went in there. And the dress.

“I like your cheetah print coat. Now that I think about it, your whole outfit is straight out of a sixties french filmé. Even your makeup!”, you exclaimed through a cloud of smoke from the cigarette you were holding in between two fingers.

I laughed. “Thank you, although it’s leopard print, not cheetah. For someone who knows so many words, you sure don’t know a lot about fashion”, I teased.

It was a cool yet sunny September afternoon. It was cool enough to keep my coat on, which was wrapped tightly around my black slip dress.

You payed for our lunch despite my arguing and on we went with our adventure. We didn’t stop talking the whole time as we slowly walked, calm and content towards a local record store you knew.

You took me there without my asking because you remembered I kept a collection.

The record store had a secluded listening booth.

We looked through the bins while talking about music and other unimportant things that seem huge in those moments.

I later found out how comfortable you were with me from the start. I thought you were only shy with interviewers since you were funny and charming with me from the start. Until I saw you with other people you were supposed to be close with. I don’t think I ever saw you talk to anyone else the way you talked to me.

You held up a record. A “Something/Come Together” 7” single by The Beatles.

“Let’s listen to this”, you said, cocking your head in the direction of the listening booth.

I sat down in one of the chairs and watched as you put on the record.

I heard the soft drums and the first seven guitar notes of “Something”‘s intro. All of a sudden my palms were sweaty and the room was too small…

…Something in the way she moves…

…You looked over at me and I looked right into the dark galaxy of your eyes. And your mouth, slightly agape as you leaned over…

..Somewhere in her smile she knows…

…I watch you close your eyes as you get closer to me and my chest feels too tight and my stomach flutters. Your mouth is almost at it’s final destination and you slowly put your hand on my thigh…

…You’re asking me will my love grow…

…I feel my face redden as I close my eyes and lean towards you, my mouth in a pout to help you finish your journey…

…I don’t want to leave her now…

…You taste of coffee and cigarettes and faint peppermint gum and of the tuna sandwich you just had for lunch and your lips are soft and I can smell your cologne and your men’s deodorant and fresh shaving foam and the pomade in your hair and the leather of your jacket and the detergent of your shirt and your skin I can smell your skin itself and your hand is on my thigh and your ring is pressing against my soft skin and I’m melting and I know the song is about to end and you’ll pull away from me and I want this moment to last forever and…

…You know I believe and how…

…The last notes of the song play and I look at you and you’re blushing too and I can feel how hot my face is and your hand is still on my thigh and I don’t want to move and I want to stay there in the booth forever staring into your dark, expressive eyes…

There’s a loud knock on the door and a voice tells us to get out.

“Coming!” I yell back at the voice.

You take your hand off my thigh, put the single back in the sleeve, help me up, and open the door for me.

And just like that, the moment is over.

[anothermicrocosm]

Chapter III - Landed in a Very Common Crisis

I wrote this one next to a body of water so I hope it’s not “the odd one out”, like Alex says. I wrote a lot more dialogues in this one so maybe it gives the story more personality. I struggle with them so please, let me know if I made any mistakes. I might not post another chapter in a while because I have exams, but I’ll try my best. I hope you like it! 

x

After the introduction, we had gone outside to smoke and get away from the noisy party. We had barely met each other and it was like we had been friends for ever. We were laughing at everything, buzzing from the champagne bottle we had swiped from the kitchen. Puffing on our cigarettes and talking about nothing and everything all at the same time. 

I blew out the smoke from the cigarette you gave me, already on my fifth one. I took one more drag and put it out with the front of my expensive black stiletto I’d bought for the party. 

Before I even said anything, you already had another cig in your hand, which you lit for me with your engraved black and silver lighter. 

“I want to ask you something“, you said, taking a sip of champagne.

“Go on. I would say we don’t have all night, but I think we do“.

“I actually only came to this party because of you“, you claimed, with a cheeky grin and a twinkle in your eye. “The label sent me some of your demos last week and I loved them. I know you’re looking for a producer. So this is my official application“. 

I was shocked. 

“I already sorted it with the label so we could start looking for studios as soon as possible. What do you say?” 

“I- uhm- well-“, I stammered.

I tried to speak but it was like something was choking me. I froze, unable to even move, so I was just stuck, staring at my hands in shock.

A look of worry clouded your face. “You feel ok love?”, you whispered anxiously and put your hand on my back, stroking my neck. I nodded slowly and gulped down the surprise. I took deep breaths while you made little circles on my back.

I didn’t think much of this gesture. Little did I know how familiarised I would become with the little strokes on the back of my neck you always gave me during moments of both love and lust. 

I took a big drag from my cigarette and a gulp of champagne and tried to calm down. 

“Oh, Mr. Turn- I mean, Alexander”, I kept forgetting to call you by your name. It was hard to call someone this important by their first name. “There is nothing in this world I would like more“.

"I brought you a little celebration gift. This is yours”.

You handed me your lighter. It was black with the words “suck it and see” in silver. Small and square. I couldn’t take this.

You must have seen the expression on my face, which is why you shook your head and placed it on my hand anyway.

“I think you should have it. Proof that I trust you“.

I close my hand around it.

I’m going to keep it.

I flick the lighter for the twentieth time. 

I suddenly realised I didn’t want to go home yet. I told the driver to drop me off in front of a random tesco. I need a smoke and I need to think.

I go in the shop and buy a pack of camels. Your cigarettes. Your cigarettes which I’m going to smoke with your lighter. 

I stand outside the tesco in my gown and I smoke the entire pack in one. One after another. I don’t think I’ve ever done this. Will I die? Probably. It’s the least of my worries right now. 

Maybe I do feel guilty. No, I’m just saying that to feel better. I never did feel guilty then. I don’t now.

Arielle. How did you ever pick me over her? Strong jawline. Beautiful cheekbones. Plump lips. Wavy hair. Perfect body. Clear skin. And even though I’m not bad looking myself, there was no way I could compare.

Why did you pick me? I was barely twenty and you were six years older. Did you want to take advantage? Maybe you did. But it never was like that. And even now that I’m older I still don’t think it was that. Stockholm syndrome? No. Maybe. No. Fuck. I need to stop overthinking everything.

The reason you cheated on your model girlfriends is because she never connected with you the way I did. There it is. Finally.

I put out the last cigarette and then the tears finally start flowing.

[anothermicrocosm]

Chapter II - Said She Wasn’t Going but She Went Still

You can probably tell how excited I am about this new fic by the speed in which I wrote this second chapter. If you couldn’t tell, the present of the story is in italics and the past/memories are in normal text. I think the story is coming together very nicely and stay tuned for more soon!

x 

I heard you. After we were both done I heard you say it. I don’t think you noticed because when I asked you if you had said something you shook your head and buried yourself under the covers. But I heard you. You had rolled off me, panting, our hearts beating at four times the normal speed and you whispered: “Do you remember the first time?”

I do.

I remember every first time.

To be quite frank, I remember everything.

Let’s start from the very beginning…

It ended with a party. And it started with one too.

Almost ten years ago.

I had been thinking about this party for weeks. I didn't want to go. I was terrified. But I had to. At my twenty years I had only released a couple of singles and this was an important party full of important people and if I ever wanted to make a record, now was the chance to pitch it. 

I don’t remember much about the party. I only remember you.

I had been walking around, greeting people nervously and trying to start conversations with the familiar faces all around me. I knew everyone in the party. That’s how famous everyone was. I still don’t know how twenty year old me managed to get an invite. 

I often wonder where the fuck I would be now if I hadn’t managed to get in. I would have probably gone to uni, gotten a degree in something boring (law, like my parents always wanted) and worked an office job for the rest of my life. Or I would have married my high school boyfriend and ended up taking care of our children.

Either way, boring. I would have wasted my life away doing shit I never cared about. Maybe I would think about the few songs I released in my late teens and wondered what could have happened. The what if. 

No use thinking about what could have happened. Because it didn’t.

I met you.

You were leaning against one of the walls, observing the party while sipping a drink, your other hand in the pocket of your neat black suit pants. Effortlessly cool (like the articles about you always said), with your hair styled into the quiff I had seen on TV a hundred times before. I couldn’t help but stare at your chest and arms, which were uncovered since your crisp white shirt was unbuttoned and rolled up. 

I couldn’t muster the courage to go up and talk to you. I don’t even know what it was about you that scared me so much. We’re about the same height and you’ve got a thin frame (despite all the workout attempts). But you radiated some kind of energy which attracted me and scared me all at the same time. 

But it wasn’t your height which intimidated me. It was the way you looked at things carefully and curiously, as if you were inspecting everything it. It was the fact that I had always looked up to you as a musician and I was a bigger fangirl than I would ever care to admit. It was your confidence and cool. 

I spent about ten minutes just looking from a distance until I took a deep breath and walked up to you. Finally. I could do this. 

I needed to do this.

I quietly cleared my throat and your eyes snapped onto mine. I couldn’t meet your gaze. Now that I think about it, I never could manage the intensity of your dark, deep set eyes boring into mine. Which was a problem, since you always stared into peoples eyes when speaking with them. 

“Uhm... hello”, I awkwardly mumbled and stuck out my hand. You took it and narrowed your eyes slightly at me and you furrowed your eyebrows. You were giving me The Look. 

Back then I didn’t know The Look. A look of “I feel like I know you from somewhere but I don’t know from where”. A look of vague recognition.

A look I would eventually get to know from it being everywhere. Oh, the pains and hardships of fame. Such a hard life.

I blushed and stared at my feet. “I’m-”

Your eyes widened suddenly and you gave a satisfied half smile. “I know you. You’re the girl with that one song that’s always playing on the radio. The one with the cool guitar solo that goes like”, (you started humming the song), “like that, innit?“

You knew who I was. You knew my song. My teenage idol knew who I was. Me. This girl. If the night didn’t feel surreal enough, this certainly did. I felt like I was dreaming. 

“Yeah, I’m the one“, I couldn’t help but giggle and give you a wide, nervous smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Turner”, I said, sticking out my hand. 

[anothermicrocosm]

Chapter I - Remember When You Used to Be a Rascal?

Hey! Long time no see! I haven’t been writing a lot recently but I decided to start writing a new full-length fic I am SUPER excited about! This is the first chapter and I hope it’s a good start to this new fic! It’ll also be up on AO3 if you prefer reading it there. Enjoy!

x 

This is the last time I’m going to see you. I don’t even need to tell you because you knew this from the moment our lips collided. But you still decided to kiss me back. I look over at you and I see you’re still asleep. Perfect. No one needs to find out and I’m certain that no one ever will. I pick up the gown I was wearing yesterday and put it back on, and I quietly leave the hotel room.

I wasn’t drunk. I wish I were because that would mean that I wasn’t totally conscious when I decided to hook up with you. I shouldn’t have. Because we’re no longer young like we once were. You’re practically married. I don’t think you’ve ever kept a girlfriend for this long.

And I knew this, yet I still let you make love to me. And I wish I felt guilty. But I don’t. 

Because how could I? You’re the best lover I’ve ever had and the best lover I ever will. I miss you. No one could ever be like you. And that’s the reason I decided to kiss you the second I saw you at the party and the reason I let you stick your hand under my shirt and the reason I let you take me up to the hotel room. 

I order a cab and try to hide from anyone who could recognise me. I remember that you always told me not to complain about paparazzi because “they’re paying my bills”. Always this exact same phrase. And then you’d wink at me and I would roll my eyes and pretend to be annoyed. And then we would laugh. Always the same little bit we would do. 

I’ve never been connected to anyone like the way I’m connected with you. 

The cab driver definitely recognises me. It’s a special look that I can easily recognise immediately after so many years of getting it everywhere. But he doesn’t say anything. I tell him my address and give him a relieved half smile.

I think about what would happen if somehow the press found out. Your girl would kill you. I can just imagine the headlines: “Grammy nominee Alex Turner has drunken sexual encounter after a decade with former protégé”. Articles never seem to mention my name when you’re involved. There used to be a lot of them when we were “best friends”. Everyone always thought we were an item. I can’t blame them. 

I lie back on the cracked leather seat and think. I think about last night. I think about being young with you. I think about the first time you kissed me in the listening room of that record store. I think about how I expected it as soon as I saw you in the café that morning, about how there was something different about you. You were nervous. I still don’t know what it was about me that changed you. Because that first kiss was gentle and fast and your cheeks were tinted with an emotion I had never seen in you before: embarrassment. I think about how you looked ten years younger the first time we hooked up, and how that first time you were slow and awkward and it was like you’d lost all experience.

I don’t know what it was about us, but whenever we touched it was like we were fifteen all over again. I didn’t know you at fifteen but it was like I did. And last night it was like old times. Your hands were visibly shaking when you undid the zipper at the back of my dress and I kept stammering your name over and over. Like we were kids. 

I guess some things never change.