The library

March 19th 2004

As my feet, clad in a pair of denim converse that were now too small for me, slowly carried me up the steps to the entrance of The Boardwalk bar, I could already hear the loud, pumping music coming from within the wedge shaped building.

My ears cringed when I opened the doors to the nightclub and was met with a wall of sound. I identified the song being played as "Stickin' to the floor," more specifically the solo towards the end of the song. I imagined Alex being up there on that cramped stage, his fingers rhythmically and perfectly finding each string and fret to complete the quick and difficult guitar solo.

"Hello!"

My head whipped round to the source of the agitated voice. A middle aged man with a slightly weathered expression and retreating hairline sat behind a small wooden table with ear plugs stuffed into his big, pink ears. He wasn't the most appealing thing I'd be looking at tonight.

"Yes?" I asked politely with a small smile, although I had to majorly raise my voice for the man to hear me.

"You buying a ticket or what?" He scowled.

I was taken aback a little by just how irritated he was, "Oh, right. Yeah of course." I began fishing in the pockets of my flared denim jeans and as I did so, I couldn't help but feel his uncomfortable gaze on the centre of my tight, white shirt which made me squirm on my feet slightly.

"Five quid." He spat the words out, coldly.

I set the note down on the table and snatched the small pink permit, muttering a mixture of a thank you and a swear.

I made my way down a short corridor with framed images of various bands on each side of the wall. I then took a right angle turn to the left and spotted another pair of double doors.

I wasn't prepared for the explosion of noise as I opened one of the black doors and slipped in.

It was as if the band were playing loud enough for an entire arena to hear, inside a small bar. Or maybe that was what they were going before because I'd never seen them play to such a big crowd before.

The room was packed and it took me a whole song, a mixture of pushing and being carried by the crowd and just sheer luck to make my way to the middle of the makeshift mosh pit.

As the band were talking to each other at the front, ready to queue up the next song, I looked around at the small sea of people all tightly pressed into the small bar and wondered why I hadn't remembered that the gig was going on earlier.

I watched Alex. He had on a pair of baggy denim jeans paired with a brown polo shirt with an ill fitting yellow stripe through the middle. Stylish.

I was drawn out of my thoughts, however, when everyone dropped their voices slightly and focused on the stage in front of them.

As Alex introduced what seemed to be the final song, I was shocked at the reception each of his sentences got, the crowd bursting into cheers and applause at the conclusion of each one of his points.

"But this is our last tune now it's called Choo Choo and it's for you, you bitch." As Alex's eyes made direct contact with mine, I froze on the spot; a complete contrast to the people around me who roared at the statement and started singing along to the guitar riff.

We hadn't talked since Alex had dreadfully attempted to serenade me at my house, but in all fairness it's not like either of us had tried to reach out to one and other.

I let him get on with the band, he left me alone to get on with my art.

The wind was completely knocked out the sails of my ship of potentially getting back to talking with Alex at that moment.

Or maybe the wind was just knocked out of my own fucking lungs when I involuntarily found myself at the very centre of the entire mosh pit, being thrown about vaguely in time with the music.

It astounded me how every single person in the room knew every single lyric to the song. Just a matter of months ago the Monkeys were mine in a sense; my little band that I adored almost by myself.

But as Alex spoke once more into the microphone following the conclusion of "Choo Choo," introducing "Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor" as the actual final song to the loudest ovation of the night, I realised that Arctic Monkeys most definitely weren't my little secret anymore.

The first solo gradually built up and up, higher and higher as Alex's fingers, as usual, perfectly found each string. The chaotic crowd were like a bubbling, boiling pot that finally burst and spilled its contents when the first verse began.

I was once again entranced by almost every single voice in the room singing at the same time as Alex but I was also shocked by how well Alex was handling the crowd, high-fiving and shaking hands that were thrust out towards him from the front row when he wasn't masterfully shredding through chords or working his way up through solos.

The excitement I had felt after the first solo was nothing like when the song reached it's climax.

"Well I bet that you look good on the dancefloor!" Each person shrieked at the top of their voice as all the instruments stopped, allowing everyone's ears a quick rest before the final chorus.

"Dancing to electro pop like a robot from nineteen eighty four! From... nine- teen eighty... FOUR!" The band slowed down and let Alex dramatically deliver the last few lines and powerful blows to his guitar strings before the song ended.

I didn't quite catch the moment it happened but I was alerted by the sound it made, an audible thud followed by a loud, piercing noise.

I spun around, using the hordes of people around me and just about saw Alex's black fender on the floor of the stage snapped in half.

I was mortified.

But no one else seemed to care. Hell, why would they? They didn't gift the guitar to him just three months earlier.

"Thank you for a fookin mental night everybodeh! You've been fantastic!" Alex grinned as he spoke into the microphone. He was addressing the whole audience throughout the sentence but as he took a small step back and wrapped his arm around Matt who had come to the front of the stage, I could clearly sense his eyes on mine.

I watched as the band disappeared through a door behind the stage that I hadn't noticed before. Andy and Jamie walking through first, then Alex and Matt with their arms slung around each other.

I felt sick. I had to talk to him