ARABELLA • Alex Turner

ONE

~

     Arabella stumbled through the back door of the club in a whirlwind of emotion, barely hearing the shouts of her name above the pounding techno and the static in her head.

   The sky was starless, and the wind's icy fingers gripped her bare arms in the darkness as she sank to the sodden curb. Every heaving breath formed white crystals in the air, almost tangible in the blistering cold.

   She fumbled for a cigarette with shaking hands, mumbling out an expletive when she realised that she'd left her lighter in the pocket of her fur coat. The fur coat that just so happened to be tucked away in the cloakroom.

With no distraction, the mental image of what she had just witnessed circled her mind repeatedly. She wasn't even aware that she was crying until she felt the tears dripping from her chin.

   Before she could gather her thoughts, the club door slammed open against the brick wall of the alleyway and she came face to face with the source of her pain.

   "Bella? Bella, I'm sorry baby—please, let me explain. It's not what it looks like. I–"

   Without a word, Arabella unfolded herself from the crumpled position she had assumed on the curb and rose to her feet.

Andrew–her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend–moved to stand directly in front of her, clearly intoxicated. His hungry eyes roamed her scantily-clad figure as if seeing her for the first time that night, before they settled on her face and a lazy smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

   "Baby, she kissed me. I promise. Let's just go and we'll forget about the whole thing–"

Slapping him offered little catharsis, but Arabella could think of nothing worse to do in the moment short of killing him. Andrew stood, stunned, and was still reeling in the aftermath of the hit when the dark-haired girl finally found it in her to speak up.

"Fuck off, Andrew. Get out of my face."

   Arabella spat the words out as if they were on fire, before turning and depositing herself back onto the damp ground.

   Before the man could utter a word in rebuttal, the door creaked open and a pretty blonde poked her head out into the night. The same pretty blonde Arabella had just seen necking her boyfriend. Noise spilled out of the club behind her, a mixture of chatter and upbeat dance music, and it's intensity made Arabella's head ache.

The girl was tall, even taller than Andrew, and her makeup was so immaculate it looked as if it had been airbrushed onto her face. She wore a matching bandeau and mini skirt set which suited her irritatingly well, and her long legs were encased by thigh high boots Arabella was ashamed to admit she wanted for herself.

   "Drew, are you okay? What are you doing out here?" She asked in a silvery voice, genuine confusion evident in the way her eyes darted between them.

   Arabella's jaw slackened and she gaped like a fish, instantly wishing she had gone full Uma Thurman on Andrew while she had the chance. She couldn't even bring herself to be mad at the girl who clearly had no idea that she was the other woman in this situation.

   "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me. I can't believe this! Go to hell, Drew. Now, before I rip you to pieces and put you there myself."

The blonde was clearly taken aback by the red-hot words leaving Arabella's tongue. Her eyes widened and her boot heels clicked as she stepped back, as if trying to shield herself from the onslaught behind the door.

Arabella didn't know what she expected Andrew to do, but him merely pressing his lips into a hard line and following the girl back into the club stung like salt in the wound. She had been with the man for two long years and he hadn't even bothered trying to fight. Either he had been stringing her along the entire time or that blonde gave some fucking phenomenal head.