ALEX TURNER IMAGINES

The Dream Synopsis

warnings: it's a bit angsty

*

He was sitting opposite you in the living-room, nervously fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt. It was an absolutely odd thing for him to do, and it worried you. It worried you to the point that you were certain you were going to pass out from the intensity of the situation.

"I need to tell you something," Alex began, not being able to look you in the eye. You needed him to say it, as soon as possible, so the emotion that was nearly choking you to unconsciousness could finally break free from your throat.

"What is it, Al?" You demanded to know, your voice thick with impatience and fear. It was nearly unbearable.

"I slept with someone else."

There it was. What had been hovering above your relationship for quite a few weeks now, was out. It sat there, comfortably, between you and your long-term boyfriend of five years, staring at you with a dead serious, almost threatening stare.

"So you don't love me anymore." You stated a fact. It wasn't a question, nor an assumption, just a simple fucking fact.

Alex's face lost its entire colour. His open mouth closed and opened again, you could see him swallow hardly, his Adams apple bobbing up and down.

"Of course I love you, baby. That hasn't changed, I-" he tried to continue but you cut him off.

"No, Al. You don't. You don't do something like this to someone you love." You rose from your seat, noticing how weird your body felt, how much every fibre of your soul was hurting. Almost, your knees gave in, gave up carrying your body's weight, the weight of your pain. Alex stood up with you, reaching out for your hands, but you were quick to withdraw them.

You walked a few steps back to the living-room door which led to the hall. With trembling hands, you got a hold of the acoustic guitar Alex had placed on the stand next to the door. The guitar he would always use to play and sing your favourite songs to you in his warm, loving voice. Alex watched with wide, incredulous eyes when you lifted the instrument up in the air and smashed it against the wall without a second thought.

Shooting Alex one last glance,

you woke up.

Lying on your back, your pyjama and the bed sheets were clinging to your hot and sweaty skin. You could literally see your heartbeat hammering through your chest so furiously it nearly hurt.

You were hurt. Hurt in your sleep by a horrific ghost of the man sleeping soundly next to you with his warm hand resting on your belly. His mouth hung slightly open, and his long eyelashes fluttered delicately with the subtle movements of his eyes beneath closed lids.

6:32 am.

You gulped painfully. Your mouth was dry.

Carefully not to wake your boyfriend, you sneaked out of bed and grabbed a cardigan from the chair next to your dresser, tiptoeing out of the room. You knew Alex's alarm clock would go off at eight, which gave you 90 minutes to pull yourself together. Of course, you refused to let a stupid dream ruin your day.

Upon going downstairs, you couldn't ignore the urge to check the living-room in order to see if the guitar was okay. It was fine, sitting on its stand patiently waiting for Alex to play his next tunes. Everything was fine. You kept repeating the sentence inside your head like a mantra before brewing yourself a cup of tea.

-

Alex opened his eyes just two minutes before his alarm would wake him up. He grumbled something before discovering your empty, cold half of the bed. He sat up and frowned- you were usually up before him but most of the time, especially on a Saturday, he would wake up to you reading a book or checking your phone.