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𝗙𝗘𝗕𝗨𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟴
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... alex turner sat with his hands clammy and with his mouth dry, every breath of air he mustered sent daggers down his throat. his thumb was raw, swollen, and left forgotten in his lap. it had previously been glued to his teeth, falling victim to his wandering mind and racing heart. but when he got his first taste of blood, he panicked, dropping his hand in an instant. the metallic taste lingered on his tongue as he fought to swallow it away, one thought now at the center of his attention: what if my thumb looks gross on television? he piled it onto the ever-growing list of newfound fears he had gathered with him throughout the evening.
the last people were just bringing to file in now, finally satisfied with their red-carpet pictures and interviews. alex internally cursed them all out, baffled by their confidence, glamour, and their entire casual manner as a whole. outgoing fuckers he thought bitterly as he watched the doors close.
alex calculated that he was on that carpet for a total of seven minutes, having only answered three questions. he recoiled into his seat, cringing at the memory that was still fresh in his mind. in his defense, the questions weren't all that simple. they wondered about his lyrics, and where he found his inspiration. alex wasn't quite ready for the world to know that part of him just yet. to him, his music was personal. for everyone to enjoy, but just for him to understand. in the end, the poor interviewer was less than pleased, having only understood a total of three words that alex had said.
he looked around the table, his eyes finding a perfectly folded napkin in front of him. he reached for it, making a mental note to apologize to anyone he can, knowing this undoubtedly expensive towel would now be stained with his blood. he wrapped it around his thumb as discreetly as he could, keeping it under the table and firmly between his legs.
there was a rustle from behind him, the sound of heavy footfall, and loud voices that reminded him of his company. he was given no time to greet them however as his closest friends began to fall at either side of him, burdening the table with newly acquired liquors, booze, and ciders.
"you wouldn't bloody believe my last 10 minutes," nick o'malley beamed down at him, over-hyper and rushed with adrenaline and nerves.
alex found himself smiling at his friend, "what?"
from his other side, alex felt a pressure on his shoulder, a soft and sweet voice ringing in his ear, "nicholas thinks that amy winehouse just served him at the bar," marlene had informed him, her tone dripping with amusement. his smile widened.
