cigarettes ☹ alex turner

XVI

XVI

Kimberly Eve Browne

I watch him as he walks in, closing the door quietly behind him, making timid movements towards the living room and I run in a hurry, giving him a big hug.

"Hey baby," I croon, laughing a little at me calling him that. But he was stiff and unmoving.

Thinking that my paranoia was having a laugh, I ignore his strange gesture and kiss him on the cheek.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about?" I ask, confused as ever. I couldn't think of anything Alex had to tell me; nothing at all came to mind.

He answers with a weary smile, before he takes a seat next to me, as I knot my eyebrows together. "Seriously, Al, what it?"

His choice to continue to not reply to my question only caused more anxiousness and worry to bubble inside me. "Al, you're worrying me," I exclaim.

"There's something I need to tell you," he speaks, and an unsettling, uncomfortable aura floods the room, and my leg automatically begins to shake.

That phase was so commonly used, so cliché. Except this wasn't the cute cliché, the cliché everyone wished they had; it was the cliché everyone avoided; yet here it was.

It was the introduction to destruction, the beginning of the end. "What is it?" I ask, although the answers that he could possibly tell me are completely endless.

"You aren't good enough for me," was the one I was betting on, as it was the only one that could possibly make sense to me, despite Alex's numerous reassurances of otherwise.

I couldn't help but feel a strong disagreement to when he said that I was good enough for him and more. Alex was the Photoshop perfection everyone strived for, but better and even more out of reach.

When he cares, he really does care; he sells his heart and soul. When he loves, he really does; I can see it, clearer than anything else, as everything else seems like a blur.

Not only was he a goal to many by personality, but within looks too. Why couldn't I find a single flaw that linked to Alex?

"Alex, if you're going to pull of a plaster, do it quickly," I smile, hoping it would slightly lift his spirits.

He buries his face in his hands and I couldn't help but panic even more. "Oh my god, Alex. Are you okay? Oh my god, I am so-"

"IT was fake, okay?" He cuts me off and my mouth is sealed as I try to take in and process the information.

I smile, and shake my head, before the smile left my face. "What? Al, what are you on about? Are you sure that you aren't tired? You must be stressed, I mean exams-"

"I mean what we had is fake, okay?" He jumps up, and I am immediately taken aback. What was happening? Did he forget to tell me something? Is he okay?

"Alex-"

"Stop, okay?" He speaks, slightly louder and mumbles something beneath his breath before inhaling deeply. "Just let me explain," He reassures, and I fold my arms, continuing to look at him with misunderstanding.

"When you were first put in my class, Sir Bloomsbury had a frank conversation with me, explaining how your mental illness was killing you, and that he thought that I could help you," He talks, before fiddling his fingers. What was going on?

"So when I saw you smoking, I-"

It was then when it all clicked, and it was my turn to interrupt. "You saw an opportunity. You used me," I whisper, shaking my head.