ARABELLA • Alex Turner

TWENTY

~

     Alex didn't know what he was thinking when he left, practically without a word. All he knew was that he needed fresh air.

   The fact that people were following him to his girlfriend's house was a big fucking deal, and for Arabella to stand there and act like nothing was wrong when she was clearly scared had frustrated him to no end.

   He was already stressed about the bloody Olympics, on the verge of panic some days, and now he was worried about his girlfriend's safety on top of it all. Not that it was any excuse to treat her like shit, of course, but he couldn't help feeling irritated and upset.

   He had always hated the vultures in the media, the ones who would do almost anything for a story, but at least they didn't show up at people's homes and scare them half to death. It was the crazy fans that were the worst.

   He never wanted Arabella to be twisted up in the mess of his public life, and even though he knew that it would be near impossible to shield her from the carnage considering how many people in Sheffield knew who he was, he wanted to try because he loved her.

   Alex loved Arabella.

   He loved her bright smile and the way her eyes shone whenever she got excited. He loved her kind soul, and her selflessness, and the way she laughed so joyously that it was impossible not to join in.

   And even though he didn't yet know her favourite ice cream flavour, or what her childhood bedroom looked like, or how old she was when she learned to ride a bike, he knew what he needed to know about her. He knew every inch of her face; every little dimple on her skin. He knew the way she kissed and the way she held his hand like he was all hers.

   He had fallen for her harder than he had ever fallen for anyone, and his brain was so occupied by thoughts of her that it was hardly his own anymore.

   So maybe his reaction had been a tad dramatic, but when he received the news that she was being stalked because of him, the first thing he wanted to do was to clear his head for a few hours.

   Sue him.

   He had made a beeline for one of his favourite hole-in-the-wall bars in the city as soon as he'd left her house, ordering a whiskey on the rocks and dropping his head into his hands. The clock above the bar ticked as time passed by meaninglessly, and the more he sat there the more selfish and downright idiotic he felt.

Arabella hadn't asked for any of this, and now she was suffering just because he was mad at himself for putting her in danger.

   She was his girlfriend, not a punching bag. He was supposed to support her, not kick her when she was down.

   Not that it justified his dickish behaviour, but he hadn't experienced any of this before.

   Alexa was the only other girlfriend he'd had since the band took off, and she had already been in the public eye when they started dating. Their relationship had been under a microscope from the beginning, and he therefore never had to worry about exposing her to the glare of publicity.

He just wished that he could have prevented something like this from happening with Arabella. She wasn't aware of the risks that came with life under the spotlight, and she also didn't have the luxury of twenty-four hour security.

   He should've warned her about the crazy fans from the very beginning and been a lot more careful about visiting her house.

   Hindsight was a wonderful thing.