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

Do Me a Favour

2014

I can't speak when I get into the rented car, I'm absolutely paralyzed in the backseat beside Rosie, seething with something I can't name. It feels like something has broken inside of me, and all my years of loving Alex and pining for him unconditionally have morphed into cold, fuming anger. Rosie doesn't say anything, just squeezes my knee and then gives me room to process everything, to fume in silence as Sheffield passes behind my window.

When we pull up to Dad's house, I can see that it's already full of mourners. My chest spasms at the thought of mingling for hours, of chatting about Dad, and sharing memories, and accepting more condolences after everything that's happened. I'm about ready to jump out of my skin, so when the car stops I get out and cut my way across the lawn, hurrying through the front door. People look up, move to approach, but I push my way to the kitchen before anyone can get to me.

Mrs. Turner is filling up a platter with mini sausage rolls, and just the sight of her makes my throat constrict further.

"Lily?" she says, wiping her hands on a dish towel, frowning at the look on my face– which I'm sure has gone stony and pale.

I suck in a deep breath and go to the cabinet above the fridge, pulling down a bottle of whiskey without saying a word.

Rosie comes in behind me, waiting in the doorway.

Mrs. Turner looks to her, back to me, and then back to Rosie, confused.

"She's smacked your son," she tells her, quite inelegantly.

"Oh dear."

"He brought that leggy blonde slag to the cemetery."

"Leggy blonde?" Mrs. Turner sounds absolutely mystified, but then watches me, taking another swig straight from the bottle. "Oh dear."

I don't know for sure if she realizes, in this moment, that I've been in love with Alex our entire lives, but I can guess she does from the way her eyes go soft and she looks like she might cry.

I can't cope, so I take another glug of whiskey before I push past Rosie and go back into the living room.

I'm immediately pulled into a current of conversation. People come up to me and apologize again, talk about Dad, share fond memories, tell me how alike we are. It feels like there's a rock the size of a fist sitting in my stomach, and I swallow down the glass of whiskey Rosie discreetly hands me, hoping the weight will dissipate. I feel overly sensitive and fragile, like my body has been flayed open and my insides left exposed to the world– like I'm suffering from shock after seeing Alex. My thoughts ping back to slapping him across the face, machine gun memories battering the inside of my eyelids with every blow I laid against his chest. I can see the way he stumbled backward, looking so fragile and vulnerable himself, shocked, when he's always so calm and cool. I almost feel bad. But then the giraffe-tall blonde floats across my vision and I throw back the rest of my whiskey.

I might be having an out of body experience.

When Matt and Breana come in not longer after, he makes a beeline for me, looking harried.

"It were a fight, but I told 'im to stay away," he says into my ear, as soon as he reaches me. "Told 'im to let you cool off."

"I don't need to cool off, Matthew," I spit back, the fire of rage resurging under my skin. "This is not a schoolyard row."

"Lily, 'e didn't–"

My dad's boss is approaching me though, so I don't let Matt finish his sentence, and I avoid having anything more than superficial conversations with anyone until the end of the night. Rosie plies me with alcohol without anyone being aware, and it numbs the feelings of exposure, dulls the sting just enough.