Not A Happenstance » Alex Turner [On HOLD]

1976: That's what you get.

 "I'm not that reckless boy anymore." I sadly frowned, feeling the disappointment in my voice and seeing it spreading across her face.

"Maybe you are not a boy anymore, but I'm sure you are still.." 

"No, Marina. Stop forcing both of us to believe in your truths." I shook my head, now moving her away from me, getting up from bed and finally finding the pants lying next to the door. I walked up to them, ending to button up my shirt, without missing out any of the buttons. I grabbed the trousers from the floor, it wasn't my beloved jeans, but I decided not to complain now. From the quality of my clothing, I could have been sure, the guy I happened to wake up like this time was a rich one. In my life, I never considered myself as a wealthy guy, but then again, I never had to think twice before buying a motorcycle or a new guitar. They didn't look like expenses for me.

While my stupid brain was trying to count how much my possessions were worth, this guy Dante had a worse pain in his neck. This morning had to be the last for him over here. He never had to come back and hold her again. His reason was a right one, yet, he couldn't stop thinking about the ways to change his situation even when there were no ways.

"I have to go." He hesitated to say what's on his mind.

"Back to her?" She sighed with a hysterical undertone, in the drastic way jumping from her previous mood to the near nervous-breakdown act.

"Where else?" 

"Stay. Just fucking stay and never leave." She got on her feet, running across her bed, messing it up, and across the room, snitching my elbow as it could stop me.

My hand staved her fingers off, winding around to the door that had to be my escape from this place. "I won't. This is it."

"Why? " Her little fist punched my shoulder, barely causing any pain.

I felt my body swinging back to her, as my hands got up and the sound of clamorous voice left my mouth. "She's pregnant."

Her fists didn't touch my back again, she didn't say a word. I felt "I love you" sticking to my tongue, not finding the way out. Saying that my mind and heart was still alive by just consuming her closure would have been more than harmful for both of the sides. I could feel it already crawling down my chest and sucking the air out of my lungs, like there was no possible way to exist without her. Oh Dante. We are both romantic idiots, aren't we?

He was stronger than me, tragically. He left. I just lay around his brain twists, drifting away from the feelings taking over me, and now, finally flooding up his eyes. And when he fell apart, trying not to kneel on the floor, I was the one to urge him to leave that place. Maybe if I didn't, I could've changed his fate. As always, when I had the choice between two evils, I chose the worst one.

You would say, how's the baby the worse choice?

But how can losing the love of your life be any worse?

"Go. Go. Go." Dante repeated to himself, running down the stairs from her apartment, almost tripping on his own feet, choking on the smell of the old walls that trapped him between until he shut the door open, finally letting his feet hit the pavement. I couldn't feel it. I could feel his heart tearing itself in two, I could hear his screams in the argument of his brain against his soul.  However, afterwards he separated himself from the thoughts of the bright future in her arms, I couldn't get a thing from the outer world. Maybe it was only him, blocking himself from any sense, just moving forward, away. Away. Back to his home, back to his wife. Back to his safe, motionless life. 

The newspaper laying on the pavement said, that today was exactly the day when I was born, January 6th, just only ten years earlier. What did it mean? Dante is still alive? Maybe he could explain how did I get into his head, in his life, just wandering around his mind. I would find him and ask him if he felt me there in that moment. I would, if I would only leave this nightmare alive.

 Screaming. At this moment, all I could understand was that unbearable noise, bringing the sanity out of me and making me collapse on a cold ground, but somehow not even touching his skin with chills.

His feet turned us around, taking a faster and faster step towards her house. He wasn't the only one in this street, many people walked over to her yard, just where the ambulance pulled in. Red lights flashed Dante right in the face, blinding him with outstanding brightness, when he ran into.

We ran through the same corridor we just left, the stairs we nearly tumbled on. Walking through the door, his eyes discovered new details he never looked at when he was with her. Of course, the prettiest thing was Marina, so why he should have cared about anything else?

He stared straight at the calendar, hanging next to the door to her room. February 1st, he said to himself, now feeling the shiver running down his spine.

He heard the voices, and none of them was hers, and when we walked in, I understood.

There was no way he could ever hear her voice again.

But then, "I love you" tore his eardrums just right to the center of his brain.

Making him kneel behind the people who zipped the bag, carrying the body of the one he craved.

All he could see when he opened up his eyes, was the cut off rope, hanging and calling his name from the ceiling.