Love is a Laserquest - Alex Turner/Arctic Monkeys Fan Fiction

2007

I feel ill as I sit in my London dorm room, spring sunlight streaming in through my window, staring down at the envelope in front of me. The final results of my latest exams are inside, and I can hear people outside, yelling, singing, celebrating, but it feels like even touching the envelope will burn me.

After two years at King's College, fumbling my way through an English Literature degree, it's beginning to become unbearably clear that something is going to have to give– and the contents of the envelope might just be the tipping point.

The truth is, I didn't want to go to university. I wanted to read books all day, write whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I wanted to write novels. But I wasn't like Alex, I hadn't written anything that was worth a damn in college, and then had to make a decision– work, or university. So, I went to university, thinking I could get through– get a degree– get a job in the publishing world, write a book, be who I wanted to be. But the problem was, I wasn't a good student. Academics did not come naturally to me. In fact, it was becoming clear how averse to them I was.

I struggled within the structure of academia, found myself unable to concentrate in my classes, hated reading and writing what I had to read and write. I couldn't help myself from jotting down made up stories when I should have been taking notes in my lessons, felt anxiety come crashing down around me as I spent hours revising for exams I knew I couldn't possibly pass. Even when I really pushed myself to focus, to do my best, to reach out to my tutors, I fell short. The marks for my first year at King's College were dismal at best, but the second year was drawing to an end, and I had been sliding into real failure since the fall.

So, I have to make a decision, I know.

Dad doesn't have the money for me to continue to fail through school– and I don't either. Not to mention, it's bloody miserable to have to slog through something that I can never possibly succeed at.

It's why I've decided that if these results are bad– really bad– I'll withdraw from King's College, get a job, and figure it out. I won't waste any more time or money. It's not worth it.

I lift the envelope with a wince, holding my breath.

I open it. I read.

My stomach tightens into a hard ball.

I've been expecting it– have been struggling for two years now– so it shouldn't come as a surprise, especially when you're bracing for it. But, failing is never easy, never painless.

I have to withdraw from university.

I'm on the verge of actually crying my phone rings, distracting me.

Alex.

"Hello?"

"Lils!" his voice is light, high. "What are you doing the end of June?"

My eyebrows pull together. I haven't seen Alex since Christmas. He's been so busy with the Arctic Monkeys, writing, performing, recording– and they just released their second album, have been walloped with a huge amount of press and success– that I'm surprised to hear him ask about my schedule.

"I don't know, why?"

"We're doing Glastonbury!"

For a moment, I'm confused. He and I are doing Glastonbury? Is he asking me to go? And then– of course– he means the Arctic Monkeys are performing.

"I want you to come," he goes on. "It'll be a piss up!"

I'm looking down at my exam results, eyes unable to focus, stomach still tight.

"We'll celebrate the end of exams, yeah?" he says, because I still haven't said anything. "I'll get you proper pissed and we'll see The Who, and Amy Winehouse– it'll be brilliant!"

My throat constricts. I haven't told Alex anything about how bad university has gone. He's been so busy, and so successful– that every time we speak or see each other he's floating on air, or we're not alone, we're drinking, out at a club– and I just don't know how to tell him. And then there's the part of me that doesn't want to tell him, feels embarrassed that I've failed out of university– feels ashamed to admit that to my best friend who has one of the fastest-selling debut albums in British music history, and a #1 selling second album. It's not a competition– I'm happy for him– it's just pathetic in comparison, and something stops me from revealing it to him.

And I've been reminded of it constantly, have never told him about my struggling in London because of it.

Since starting at King's College, since leaving Sheffield, it's been a surreal dream. While coming to London and trying to truly move on from my feelings for him, do well in school, I've heard people saying his band's name in passing– in the library, at the cafe– heard his songs playing in pubs, and I kept thinking of the boy who practiced in a warehouse in Sheffield, who went from pub to club to lounge begging for gigs with Matt. And while he's invited me to several shows, to meet his (now ex) girlfriend Johanna, I hated to admit I still loved him– and I felt more and more embarrassed.

Not only was I failing at university, I couldn't move on from my famous best friend who had a girlfriend.

Pathetic felt like an understatement.

"That's great, Alex!" I finally manage to get out, feeling a wave of nauseous anxiety crash into my stomach.

If I'm going to tell him, now would be the time– when I'm about to withdraw, when everything is coming to a head and forcing me to make a major life change. But something stops my tongue, keeps the truth strangled within my chest.

"What's wrong?"

Fuck.

"Nothing," I say, forcing myself to sound brighter. "I'd love to come to Glastonbury! It'll be great!"

He doesn't sound convinced when he presses, asking, "How's university?"

Fuck fuck FUCK.

I don't want to talk about it, feel the burn of tears again, feel the weight of how pathetic everything is fall into my stomach. My best friend just told me he's playing Glastonbury, I'm not going to dampen that by telling him about my failure and withdrawal from school. I'll tell him later, after Glastonbury, once I've found a job and everything is settled.

"It's fine," I tell him. "Everything's fine."

There's a pause, a beat of silence that makes my palm go sweaty against my mobile.

"So do I get in for free?" I joke, referring to Glastonbury, hoping to bring him to that happy lightness from when I first answered the call. "Or are you not that important?"

He immediately jabs back at me, laughing, and the moment has passed, though the exam results still lay in front of me, reminding me of the truth.