#Matt Albie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junedenim · 27 days

Text

2003

beneath the boardwalk, part 1 (series masterlist)

bigger boys & stolen sweethearts

warnings: long-haul series, drug usage, fluff, angst, etc.

word count: 13k

As a favour to my friend, Joanie, I went to Barnsley College. She was my best friend and it was between that or going to Wakefield College. I didn't want to go to Wakefield. Everyone from Wakefield went to Wakefield College. Albie, my recently ex-boyfriend was going to Wakefield. So, I went to Barnsley.

I decided to study English Literature solely because I had no idea what else to do. I hated reading at that age and I don't know why I fathomed in my mind that it would be a proper fit for me other than the fact I liked to write. Still like to write.

Barnsley was more about my "friends" than education. Joanie and I got drunk most weekends and my whole friend group seemed to indulge in some version of friend-cest with one another. By the end of that first year, it seemed like everyone had seen a peek of someone else. I'm sure I got around more than most. I don't think I even enjoyed it half the time. I don't think most people enjoy sex at that age other than the rush of doing it and the inevitable quick release.

Matt seemed to be the only guy I wouldn't touch. I had met Matt in a photography class we both took and he became a good drinking buddy. At those booze-filled parties where people's noise would practically shake the building, Matt and I would sneak out and share a smoke with one another.

One night, as we were sitting on the curb next to each other, he asked me, "How come out of everyone at this school we've never hooked up?"

He passed me the cigarette. "I don't know," I told him. "I just don't see you that way, Matt."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Think it would be too weird."

Right before our first year was finished, Matt told me his band had their first gig in a couple of weeks. He didn't say it like an invitation. It was all casual, like, "There's this place called The Grapes. The band's got a gig there."

"Oh, cool," I told him. I'm not sure if he was expecting me to show up or just inform me. "Do you want me to come?"

He shrugged and took a bite out of the sandwich he was eating. It was silent for a moment and I thought that was it until he said, "You could bring a couple of your friends. Joanie or something. Make a night out of it."

I had already been informed by both parties that Joanie and Matt had hooked up last week but neither knew that the other had told me. I knew I wouldn't be seeing most of my friends over the summer and it felt like a rather nice bon voyage event.

So, I invited a group of friends like Matt requested. Rosie, Will, Claire, AB, and, of course, Joanie. Will and I had a complicated relationship, to say the least. We'd go back and forth from having sex like rabid bunnies and hating each other. When I invited him that night I had expected that I would end the night in bed with him. I'm sure he had the same impression.

AB was the gentleman of the group and in typical fashion resigned to being the designated driver. The rest of us were planning to get completely hammered.

The Grapes was bigger than I had expected. When I pictured a band performing their first gig, I suppose I imagined a garage somewhere. It wasn't giant by any means but there was a little stage that they all would squeeze on together.

I had met Alex before—in passing at any number of parties. I can't remember if I had been introduced to him before I knew Matt but I recognized his face somewhere. Like I had seen it before in some picture. I was likely too intoxicated at our first meeting to make much sense of what I said or what he said but the next time I was introduced to him, at this Grapes's show, he looked nervously fidgeting like he was desperate for a cigarette or something to choke back on.

"Jeanie, right?" He pointed his finger at me and smiled uncomfortably.

"Jane." I corrected him. To be honest, I think I only remembered his name because Matt told me he was the lead singer. I couldn't picture Alex as a lead singer.

He was endearingly embarrassed by his mistake and repeatedly went, "Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry." Like he had just rear-ended me or something. "Jane. Jane. Jane. Jane." Like it was his mantra helping him calm himself.

"It's fine," I told him. I was itching for a cigarette now too. It was awkward and the air at The Grapes felt too hot and sticky for North England.

"I'm Alex." He stuck his hand out like he was being interviewed for a job.

I shook his hand and said, "Good luck with your show." I smiled and passed by him walking over to where Claire had grabbed our seats. Something tells me his eyes were following me as I left.

I don't think of myself as some style icon. Others have placed that upon me, which is quite the honor, but at 17 I didn't feel that so much. However, that night I felt comfortable. It was a feeling I hadn't felt in my skin since maybe nursery. In my opinion, I hadn't worn anything marvelous. It was this orange and red plaid mini skirt with a red tank top I had tucked into it. I had brought a red cardigan with me if it got cold. I didn't often coordinate my outfits but I suppose it felt like a special occasion to me. I didn't think there was any need to impress anyone. So, on a rare instance, I was dressing for myself.

I think Will must have been grabbing my ass for half the show. I didn't tell him otherwise but I think if I was older I would have rejected it. Back then I didn't think I had the option. I regretted wearing that skirt.

They didn't blow me away but they were better than I expected. Matt was cocky when talking about them but Matt is still cocky talking about anything. But most times, he's being honest. I suppose I have to agree with his comment: "We're fucking brilliant. You'll see one day, J."

I didn't think I would ever talk to Alex again. I've been trained to avoid those awkward conversations and Alex was often the type to stay huddled in a corner, sometimes with a drink, sometimes with a lass. I hang around my own bunch. My arm rarely strayed from wrapped around Claire's side and we affectionately called each other "babe" just to have someone call us "babe."

Later that night, I accepted my fate of having to go out for a solo smoke. Matt was practically grinding up against Joanie at this point of the night. I went out and there Alex was, leaning up against the wall, having a smoke.

I decided to act like I didn't see him, which was probably rude but I didn't think he'd want to talk to me either. He was against the left side of the wall so I went to the right.

"'Ey, Jane." He called out to me.

It took me a second to get my feet to move and it took me too long to realize it was him calling me. I turned and he stood straight, staring at me. I felt myself get warmed in the cheeks with a mix of shame and flattery. I couldn't tell where he was heading with this and Will's hand had been on my ass for the past hour.

"Did we do alright?" He seemed to genuinely care. Now, I can tell you that this was a special thing. Then, I thought he did this with everyone.

"I thought so but I'm no critic."

He quickly shook his head refuting my comment. "Nah, nah. Matt's told me otherwise."

I snorted. An ugly snort. "Really?" I don't have the belief others talk about me when I'm not there. I'm some ghost in their mind.

"Yeah, yeah," he sounded like he was pacifying me. "He says you're a writer."

I shrugged. I didn't consider myself to be much of anything. "Just studying it. It's not like I've got anything published."

"Nah, nah." That was his most popular word. Some double-jointed phrase he said so much but had no clue that he did. "I don't believe all that. If you write then you're a writer."

"Everyone writes." I reasoned.

He didn't verbalize it this time. Just shook his head. "Not everyone."

"Are you a writer?" I was distancing myself without moving an inch. I looked away from him and went down to my cigarette. It seemed Alex had gotten a hold of me without ever holding a conversation with me before. I felt as though he must know all my deepest fears and insecurities like he was a psychic or something. That scared me more than anything. At the time, it was more violating to me than an unwanted grab on the ass.

He shrugged to answer me and returned to his smoke. I didn't let him off easily, I thought I had control now. "Would you say you're a musician just because you play music? Plenty of people do that."

I thought I would sway him off. Alex was a little lamb and I was about to bite his head off. Until, as always, he saw right through it. "You're trying to tease me, Jane, I can tell."

I scuffed and rolled my eyes. I stared at my shoes and in a nervous fit swung my left leg back and forth. "Deflecting."

"I suppose so," he conceded, "but so are you."

At that time I was a debater in all aspects of life. I liked the thrill of arguing. I suppose that's why I went back and forth between fucking and hating Will so much. Or I was just 17. They are much of the same.

"So," he interrupted the silence we were enduring together, "how was the show?"

I smiled softly. I wanted to be endearing to him. Fool him into thinking I was this sweet little girl and then trample him. "I'm very opinionated. You wouldn't want to know."

He chuckled and leaned away from me, up against the brick wall. Most guys I had known before—most 17-year-old guys I had known before—took my girlish smile and batting of my eyelashes as an invitation to try and mess about with me. Alex took it for what it was. A facade.

"I like the opinionated girls," Alex told me, "Means they have something going about in their head."

I gasped. "Most girls have a bunch more going about in their heads than boys."

He nodded. "I'm sure that's true." He took a puff and said, "Most people I can't see playing pinball with their own mind."

I crossed my arms and thought I was one-upping him when I said, "I'm more a solitaire kind of girl."

Alex chuckled, threw down his cigarette, and scuffed it out. "How lonely."

I was utterly exposed. In shock, I said, "What?" He shrugged, unsure of what to say. "I'm not lonely."

He shook his head. "I never said you were."

I rapidly nodded mine and needed to throw off any sign that he was right. That in some 5-minute chat outside a pub, he somehow knew everything about me. "Yes, you did."

"I just meant..." he trails, tossing around what to say in his own head. (Now I could realize he knew me so well because he knew his own mind so well.) "The mind is a lonely place to be."

I shook my head. I was sure of this. "You're just not being imaginative enough."

"I suppose not." He agreed. He stood up straight from the wall. Put one hand in his jeans pocket. Then, the other. "But I'm not a writer."

He headed off back into the pub and I stood outside thinking more than smoking my cigarette. I decided to myself I could think about what he said there in those minutes I had only outside and then I would never think about it again. I wouldn't lie awake that night and give thoughts to a boy who once vomited in the middle of a game of Spin the Bottle. One who spent most of our drunk nights, chatting about with one girl, and then not even going home with her. Then, I thought I must have been the girl tonight. I felt sorry for all the girls before that had to deal with him. I thought about yelling at him. Then, I thought about fucking him. Then, I just felt sorry for myself.

I didn't finish my cigarette and went back inside. I'm not sure what point I was trying to prove to Alex. I guess that I wasn't lonely, but, like everything, he was right about that too. Will grabbing my ass didn't disprove that.

I made eyes at him for most of the night. Challenging him. He was too busy talking to someone else. There always seemed to be someone else. Will was grabbing my ass and chatting a girl up at the same time. I began to question why I endured all this.

I excused myself to the bathroom but went to the bar where Alex was trying and failing to order a drink. "You have to be more assertive."

He smiled cheekily at me. I placed my back up against the bar and leaned my elbows on the edge. I was a character in a movie. A femme fatale. "I'm too quiet for that," Alex says.

I nodded. "You seem it."

"I guess I have that reputation." He acknowledged.

"Among other things." I was flirting but I couldn't tell if he was falling for it. He intrigued every corner of me. I couldn't tell if he was shy, not interested, or just oblivious.

He tried to flag down the bartender again. Failure. I faced the bar, lifted my hand, and received attention immediately. I experienced some perks as a woman. "What do you want?"

Alex didn't say anything for a moment. He laughed. He shook his head. "Whatever you've been having."

He made me laugh. "Two lime margaritas." I ordered and the bartender got to work.

"Is that a skill?" He asked me. "Like hailing a cab."

I shrugged. "I've never had to work at it. Some of us are naturally gifted, Turner."

He raised his eyebrows. "How'd you learn my last name?"

I smirked at him. "I don't have some glamorous spy story. Matt talks about you guys all the time. You've known each other for a long time."

"Yeah," he nods, "over a decade now."

"We're getting old now," I told him.

"I think you have some time until you have to worry about that, Jane." He said to me.

I disagreed. "You're old when you realize you're actually living a life."

"So, when you're 6?" He joked.

We both received our margaritas. I ran my fingertips around the rim of the glass. "Percisely, Turner."

"You're an awful cynic." He told me.

I returned to my old position of leaning on my elbows against the bar. Margarita in my left hand this time. I ignored his comment and said, "You fascinate me, Alexander."

He exhaled loudly. "I'm not very interesting."

I bite down on the lime I had been given. "That's exactly why."

Alex laughed. "You're not being very nice to me, Jane."

I giggled. "That's not what I meant. I like people who aren't full of themselves."

"Then, why do you hang out with Will so much?" He questioned.

I sighed, leaned my head back, and placed the back of my hand on my head in a form of dramatics. "I have no clue." It made him laugh and that made me laugh. When we both quieted down, I leaned closer to Alex. "But I'm here with you and Will is over there. You're very interesting, you just don't know it. I can't wait to see when you realize that."

"You sound like a psychic, Jane." He looked so dreamy there and for a moment I think I was looking into a crystal ball. Futures where we were side-by-side like this, smiling at one another, making eyes at one another, saying unwritten truths to each other in whispers. I felt he already knew all my secrets, he was letting me in on them and was interested in looking into my eyes with those chocolate pools of his. It was probably then that I knew I wanted to love him.

"I hope so." I smiled at him and he smiled at me and that was that. "You're very pretty, Turner. Has anyone ever told you that?"

He chuckled softly and boyishly. "My mum maybe."

I laughed too, soft, and boy, I could get used to this. I traced my own nose as I said, "You have this angle to your nose." I grinned wide and pearly, just admiring him. I pointed left and right to my eyes as I said, "Puppy dog eyes." He was a fan of that one, he smiled but tried to hide it. I pointed to the middle of my forehead as I said, "Strong widow's peak. Those are genetic, you know?"

"Yeah, we've got a couple of widow's peaks in my family." He told me.

"See." I kept my smile on. I pointed to my lips. "You always look like you're trying to find something to say. Rolling it back and forth and tasting it before you spit it out."

He smiled at me all lovely. "You've got a way with words, Jane. You should write that somewhere."

"Write about you?" I fanned disgusted. "Never."

I wrote about him in my diary that night. He became a main character in every story I told. He wormed his way like a true bookworm. He poked holes in all my stories and forced himself into them. I'm writing about him here.

Maybe he was the psychic.

In the nook of summer, I spent a month in the Bahamas with my family where the main food source was drinks and my father let me sit in on his poker games for the first time. When I returned, tanned and lush, in July, Joanie turned 18, the first of our group of friends. To my surprise, Joanie and Matt were still together. I never doubted the affection they had for each other but our group of friends went through relationships like my mother did with her liquor.

Two days after I'd returned to Wakefield, she threw a birthday party at Will's house because Will had the luxury of being an only child with parents who were always going on these couple retreats that we all thought were code for sex trips to Vietnam.

In my typical fashion, I arrived an hour late with a dumb present and a dress that was too short. Mini-dresses were my religion at that age (maybe still are). I felt cute and exotic with a glowing complexion compared to the pale Brits. I had my hair in loose braids with bows tied to their ends and had stolen my mother's diamond earrings. I suffered from a deep superiority complexion and didn't care much that it was Joanie's birthday. I had turned it into my homecoming party.

"Janie Cavendish! Is that you?" Joanie exclaims too perky for my liking. Being called Janie made me want to barf. "We all thought your plane went down in the Pacific!"

"Atlantic," I corrected. Joanie likely eliminated some brain cells with the amount she had drunk before I'd arrived.

"Oh, oops! Come, come, sit!" She grabbed my hand and dragged me over to Will's mother's ugly Boca Do Lobo wrap-around couch likely already ruined by drink spills. I had noted the flimsiness Will cared for expensive things. For the first time, it revolted me.

The room was on fire with excitement, alcohol, drugs, and sex, but over on the filthy couch was just Rosie, who was nestled into Will, a development I wasn't aware of and hurt my heart more than I wanted to ever admit. AB appeared from out of thin air and yelled, "JC's here!" He then crashed into me with a hug and I never understood how he survived these parties sober but he refused a drink and offered you a ride home. He probably saved all of our lives.

On the other end of the couch's prongs was Paul, who I had definitely slept with and not remembered, and his girlfriend, Cecilia, who he had definitely been with when I had slept with. Not that I felt any guilty over it back then. My parents did it, why should it matter if I did it? It was Paul's problem, not mine.

Next to Cecilia was Jamie Cook doing something weird with his tongue, stretching his mouth with his dirty fingers, sticking his tongue out, and trying to touch his tongue to his nose. It both impressed me and disgusted me and if I had a drink I'd probably spit it out in laughter at the sight of it.

Matt was egging him on saying he was so close when his tongue was a mile away from his nose. Joanie left her place beside me and dove into Matt's arms, all drunk, flirty, and cutesy. She tapped his nose like he was her prized poodle.

Right at the end was Alex. Roughed up in some scruffy red tee and jeans that had a hole in it that his mum patched up and there was writing down the sides of them. He was talking to some girl and something bubbled in me that I couldn't explain away. I was offended his eyes didn't stare at me from the moment I walked in. To me, he was some lost pup who would follow me wherever I went. It wasn't true, I was the pup begging for attention. I found it ridiculous he wouldn't be all over me. I needed that to feel I had accomplished something.

When AB left, I was on the other section of the couch, facing him, staring at him to convey some spell: look, look here, notice me, notice me! Alex only grew closer to the other girl and I must have missed something in the month I was gone. It felt like an atmosphere shift had occurred and I didn't feel pretty because Alex wasn't staring at me and Will was feeling up some other girl.

Drink.

It was the clearest solution for occupation purposes but Joanie's high-pitched voice irritated me and Rosie's tits nearly spilling out over Will made me feel the need to vomit. I ran into Claire, who hugged me, gave me her drink, and made me take Molly with her before leaving with her now-on-again boyfriend, Ollie.

Claire's drink tasted like cherries and she could work as a bartender if I wasn't convinced she'd drink all the liquor at the bar. I poured vodka into the drink and returned to the couch where not much had changed except that someone else was sitting in my seat now.

"You're in my seat," I told the man. He was older, a few pounds overweight, and suffering from a massive neckbeard.

He scoffed, "It were empty when I got here."

I smiled and bowed my head, "Yeah, I went to get a drink but now I'm back."

He waved me off. "Ya got up."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm back now. Joanie's one of my best friends and it's her birthday party."

He laughed. "What are we at a 5-year-old's birthday party?"

I furrowed my brows. "What are you 40 hanging with teenagers?"

Rage covered his face and I'm certain his neckbeard moved like it itself was going to attack me. "Fuck off."

I grew pleasure inside me for the first time that night. If I couldn't make someone fall at my feet, at least I could knock someone down. "Give me my seat back. You could probably use the movement."

"Fuck. Off." He enunciated.

"Give me my seat back."

"Fuck off!"

"Give me my seat back!"

"Fuck off!"

"Just give me the fucking seat back!"

"Fuck off!"

"Give me the fucking seat!"

"No, now fuck off!"

"No, give me the fucking seat!"

I didn't really even want the seat. I just got a kick out of the vein popping out of his forehead and the way a girl could make him sweat bullets of rage over the end piece of an offensive-looking couch.

But then he stood up, 6 feet 6 inches, and 15 stones of him towered over me. I felt small again like he was going to snap me in two. But my seat was empty! I twisted around him and sat down in my seat.

"Get up!" He yelled.

"No, fuck off!" I yelled back.

"Get the fuck up, bitch!"

I supposed we were both too focused on the other to notice that the party's population had turned toward our display. Everyone was either engaged or snickering at the display.

"It's my seat," I said calmly.

He didn't respond verbally, instead, he picked me up. I heard Joanie scream, "Matty, help her!"

I laughed. I didn't find the whole ordeal funny, I just wanted everyone else to feel I found it funny. My bones hurt, I was riddled with goosebumps and had my underwear exposed for everyone to see.

Joanie would later comfort me and tell me it wasn't a big deal because "everyone has seen you in your underwear already pretty much, I mean, you know, cuz you've slept with everyone." It didn't comfort me much to be called a slut in Joanie language.

Matt tried his best to rescue me but he was scrawny and this guy looked like Andre the Giant. Eventually, the commotion of the party and the embarrassment got to the guy and he dropped me to the floor where I fell onto my ass. My hair was falling out of my braids and my dress was twisted up.

Matt helped me to my feet and to distract myself from the pain of falling straight onto my ass, I laughed into his shoulder. The ecstasy helped too.

"Are you okay?" He asked me.

Before I got an answer out Joanie rushed over and hugged me tight, highly increasing the already likely chance I'd be bruised tomorrow. "Oh, my god, Janie!" A shiver went down my spine at the word. "You're going to be okay. Get that guy out of my party!" She acted like she was the Queen of Hearts ordering for him to be executed. Andre the Giant had already left. I think she just wanted to feel like she helped in some way.

"Yeah." I felt like crying but I turned to where the crowd had gathered and curtsied to them. "That's all folks!"

Once people got the okay, they were quick to go back to their conversations, now discussing what had unfolded. Music played up again and the world kept spinning.

Alex sat alone in his place on the couch. No girl, no chatting, no smile. When I looked at him, he looked at me. It didn't make me feel any better. I had wished for it the whole night and I finally got it and it was a look of pity.

"Do you need anything?" Matt asked me.

I looked at him and shook my head. Joanie pulled him back to their reserved seat.

Alex stood up and walked to me and I felt nervous. If some psychoanalyzing was to begin, I think I'd cry in front of the whole party. He lightly grabbed my elbow. I looked into his eyes, deciphering slowly what he must think of me. I was scared of every move he'd make. I wanted him to like me. I wanted to be the cool girl. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to cry. "Do you want to go for a smoke with me?"

One of his hands tugged on my heartstrings, the other pushed me through the crowd by the small of my back. It was the most forward he had ever been but any intentions he had were unknown to me.

Outside, he placed distance between us. Away from the large portion of the masses, we walked side-by-side. I followed him. He led the way. The stragglers that messed about the lawn must have annoyed him as he walked until he was away from the whole scene. In other instances of my life, I'd think the guy wanted a moment alone with me for a snog or shag. I thought Alex didn't want to be seen with me.

"We can sit if you want." He was polite in his voice and he gestured slowly to the bench in the house's decadent garden.

I sat first on one side and he sat on the other. He pulled his pack out and tossed me the lighter. He stuck one in his mouth, then handed me the pack. I felt like one of the boys and it made me laugh for some reason. I plucked one out like a lady, like my mother would. I lit my cigarette and when I went to light his, he took it out of my hand and did it himself. I felt stiff and awkward and that I must have grown a seventh head when I was in The Bahamas.

"You went to The Bahamas. Joanie said." He was taking slow drags of his cigarette and I was taking slow drags of him.

"Yeah." Maybe I was being evasive for enigmatic purposes. Maybe I was uncomfortable. I can't quite remember.

"How was it?"

I thought about lying. But I didn't see the purpose anymore. "Boring."

He chuckled light-heartedly. Everything is light-hearted. "Why?"

"I just sat on the beach all day. Maybe if I went with friends." I shrugged and pulled my legs up behind me on the bench.

"I'd like to travel," Alex told me.

"Where?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'd like to do it more though. Like when I'm older, you know, that kind of thing."

I laid my head on my arms on the bench's backing. Ash collected on the end of my cigarette but I ignored it and looked at Alex. "We could go somewhere together."

"Really? Where do you wanna go?" His head was leaning against his hand. I felt we mirrored each other in some way that if I dug deeper then I would've known why.

"Away. Doesn't have to be far but I don't feel like myself here." I slipped. All those things I spent days pushing down, fell out mid-conversation with no remorse. I didn't care because I knew Alex wouldn't blab. He already knew everything about me. I wasn't revealing anything by saying this.

He didn't talk for a while. He sat with what I had said. Then he told me, "I don't think anyone feels like themselves at this age."

"Do you?"

He sat with that too. Then said, "I'm trying to."

I sat up straight. "I have an idea." Alex smiled at me and I felt wind sweep through me. "Why don't you act like your true self and I'll act like mine."

"I don't think I can do that."

He knocked something in me. "Why?"

He hid himself. He looked down at the slits in the bench. He bounced his foot. He tossed some idea in his head. Then, it spilled. "You make me nervous."

I was shocked by this. I found him intimidating. I got a boost in myself knowing he found me an equal representation. "Why's that?"

"I'm not good at telling people to fuck off."

I vowed, "I'll do it for you."

It wasn't a hit to him; a woman defending him. In fact, I think he got a kick out of it.

"Did you get into fights in The Bahamas?"

"Only with my family."

"Do you get along?" He shifted forward like he had some actual interest in me. It was conflicting with every other interest I'd attracted from a man. It was a perked-up ear instead of a perked-up dick.

I shook my head. "No, not really. We kind of...I don't know. Things have never been great with my parents but getting older I've drifted more away. My siblings are a wild card."

"How many you have?"

"2 sisters, one older, one younger, and an older brother. I've never been close to the two older ones but Stacey, my younger sister's 11 so other than being annoying we get on well. You're an only child?"

His eyebrows raised, his eyes widened, and he looked as if I was some private detective. "You snoop me out, Jane?"

I took a drag of my cigarette and tried my best to look abject. "You act like an only child."

He looked affronted and on guard but had a toothy smile. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"All I'm saying is you never act like you had someone yelling over you at the dinner table. Only children fall into two categories: selfish or selfless. I'm assuming by your interest in me you must be pretty selfless."

Alex tilted his head from side to side. "I don't think so."

I shook my head.

"Eh! Why you doing that?" He chuckled.

I laughed at him. We were laughing together. "Take the compliment. My mother always says to say thank you for a compliment even if it's not true."

"Well, thank you and it's not true."

Alex puffed away as I looked out into the garden. The gardener cut the bushes this morning and the flowers had reached their full bloom. I didn't move a muscle but I moved my eyes to look at him. He was small in both figure and persona. He didn't burst away. He sat quietly on the bench, smoked his cigarette, and looked at me. I was looking at flowers and he was looking at me.

"I think it's true."

When our cigarettes had finished, we didn't go inside. Neither of us made a move and I decided that he must either like spending time with me or hate the party. We didn't talk after my comment and I didn't know what to say. I thought about teasing him. I thought about flirting with him. I thought about kissing him.

Then, I decided to walk around the garden. He didn't move, he stayed nestled on the bench and watched me skim my hands along each petal.

"They have tomatoes here!" I gasped.

Red, plump, and hanging heavily off the vine begging for plucking. Alex came up behind me looking at the lush beings. "I don't like tomatoes very much." He told me like it was some hushed secret, pinky promising not to tell a soul.

I gasped again. "How can you not love tomatoes?" I pulled one off the vine and took a bite of it. Nobody else seemed to be enjoying them due to the unruly way they grew and the surplus of numbers.

Alex, however, seemed to think I stole from a poor family living off the street, ignoring the mansion in the backdrop. "You eat it like an apple?"

I had tomato juice running down my cheeks and while I looked particularly gross, he didn't say anything. "I like them."

"You do indeed."

We walked around the garden, cluttered and looking like no one partook in its pleasures other than the man being paid to tidy it. The stone path led out of the garden into the large backyard, fit with trees and a birdbath.

Alex walked with his hands in his pockets and I walked with mine holding each other behind my back, tomato in my left hand. "What have you done this summer?"

"Oh." He was shocked the conversation had turned to him. Do I really talk about myself that much? "Me and the band played around a little. Went to a few shows 'round here. Wasn't too big."

I almost didn't ask him but an unknown being tugged at me to ask, "Who was the girl you were talking to before? I recognized her." I had never seen that girl before in my life.

"Uh, Lauren? I went to Stocksbridge with her," Alex told me. "Joanie knew her somehow."

"Joanie knows everyone."

We were walking in circles now, rounding the house, but I didn't want to go back inside. I wanted our secret garden. "What'd you take from Claire?" He was watching me. He was watching me. He was watching me!

I giggled. "The Molly?"

"You do that?"

I nodded.

"I've never done anything like that. You know, other than drinking."

We took a few more paces, rounding ourselves to the front of the house. "Do you want to?"

He shook his head. I felt embarrassed and ashamed like a mother had caught my nefarious habits. "You go clubbing a lot, right?"

I shrugged. I usually boasted about my nights out like it was a badge of honor for me. I felt he ripped the badge off.

"Live music at those things?" Alex asked.

"Some," I answered.

"You think you'd be able to—I don't suppose you could. Maybe." He stuttered.

I giggled feeling at ease again. "Spit it out. I won't judge you. Well, unless you're about to bring up something gross."

Alex looked me in the eye as we stopped on the front lawn. He tapped his foot and dug his hands deeper into his pockets. "I thought maybe you'd be able to get us some gigs."

My lips slowly upturned. "I'd love that. I'll be your bookie."

He laughed. "Don't let power get to your head."

I tossed the tomato to the ground, citing that it was a gift to the rats that lived here and it would decompose just fine. I eyed the door but held no desire to reenter that world. I looked back at Alex, scuffing his trainer into the ground and swallowing whatever idea he wanted to say to me but didn't. I thought to ask but didn't.

"I think I'm gonna go home," I told him.

I got a borderline pathological level of joy when his face showed minor disappointment. He nodded and said, "Okay."

I wanted to prove him wrong. I didn't want to be the girl he talked to all night, and didn't take home, before chatting up some other girl. That's what I told myself but it probably wasn't the whole truth. Then, I realized, he was too nervous to ask me home with him. He was more occupied with his shoes and knew he'd have better luck dissecting my being than attempting to kiss me.

So, I asked, "Do you want to come with me?" I didn't want to sleep with him, at least not explicitly. My intention was to, in some way, prove him wrong. In another way, the bigger consuming way, I wanted to talk to him more. "I don't live too far from here. We can walk. A girl really shouldn't walk alone at night."

Alex smiled suspiciously but nodded. "Shouldn't we say goodbye first?"

I furrowed my brows. "To a drunk Joanie who is probably too busy making out with Matt to care about either of us?"

He tilted his head. "Fair enough." He was a gentleman first and a teenage boy second.

"I got Joanie a shitty present anyway," I said as we began to walk away from the scene.

"I didn't even get her anything," Alex told me. "What you get her?"

"A snow globe from The Bahamas."

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back in express joy. He was contagious and I fell ill. "Does it even snow in The Bahamas?"

I shook my head through laughter. "I don't think so."

I don't know why he found it so funny that we had to stop walking. He was bent over laughing, holding his knees, and trying to catch his breath. I was laughing, more at him than the dumb snowglobe. I was infatuated. He was entrancing and I suffered from whatever his spell was. He stuffed himself into this laid-back body and busted through it with spoils of laughter. I thought about every joke I could make. I wanted to incite it more, force it out of him, have him tell me how funny I was. How I was the funniest girl he had ever met and he would like to stand by my side until my next joke. If that joke never came, he'd stay standing with me just in case it came.

Alex stood up slowly, exhaling loudly, collecting himself before we began our steps again. His face was red like I felt. On fire of sorts, lit ablaze by some force he beheld in no need of extinguishing. It was sudden and all at once, no stopping it.

When we reached my house, my father was out front in his car, which meant he and my mother were fighting. Often times my father would drive around but his car stayed parked and he was smoking a cigarette out the window. All the lights in the house were turned off, except the living room, which meant my mother was drinking.

My house wasn't unassuming by any means. It dwelled in comparison to Will's but I knew it loomed over most individuals. Sometimes, it loomed over me.

As we headed up the front steps, my father yelled out to us, "Janie!" Everything was cold here. In this hot spell of summer, my skin turned goosey, and I prayed for a regular conversation with my father for Alex's sake.

I turned and took two steps toward my father. Alex remained on the first step but watched us. My father gave us a look: a raised eyebrow, a tilted head, a shifting glance. A pit felt in my stomach and I thought he was going to send my Alex away. I had stolen him away from the party, from everyone, from Lauren, and he belonged to me unless my father smashed my plans all up.

And then he yelled, "Tell your mother she's being a bitch!"

A pit sank even further in me. My father never cared. I didn't utter a word and my father didn't wish me goodnight as he started the engine and Alex and I ducked into the house. Part of me wanted to do something nefarious with Alex to prove some point to my father. Another part thought I would be giving him too much.

Then Alex smiled at me and I didn't think my father's opinions and choices mattered much. It felt like my choice for something. Not something forced upon me or some vengeful decision.

I whispered to Alex to follow me up the stairs quickly as we dashed up. I didn't want to get hold of my mother who was clanking bottles around in the kitchen. I hoped Stacey was asleep through their whole fight. Likely, she had her ear on the door or worse was forced to witness and choose sides—something my mother made us do during fights.

Alex and I ducked into my room. He seemed to get a kick out of it. "I feel like James Bond."

I rolled my eyes and flipped my light switch on. My room had acquired an extra messiness since I had yet to unpack from The Bahamas. I was too tired to care and Alex didn't mind. In fact, he seemed to get a kick out of it.

My walls were pink and covered with pictures from unknown drunken nights and childhood memories. Little trinkets I had collected over the years that no one knew the meaning of except me sat around across my room.

Alex picked up a plastic flower I had placed on my desk. He stayed taciturn.

"That's from my first boyfriend." I giggled. It seemed silly to talk about Tim. I felt dumb for keeping such a thing for so long but it was a sweet gesture and I took savouring to a near hurtful level.

He laughed too. "Oh." He put it down gently as if the fake petals would fall off any moment. "Holding on for safekeeping."

I folded my arms and leaned against my desk. "I hold on to everything. Too much."

Alex shook his head. "I don't think I do that enough. I wish I was more sentimental about things."

"Don't be. It's the worst fate you can have. You either become a hoarder or you become one of the people that think having something that reminds you of a person is an excuse not to talk to them."

Alex looked around on my shelves. Examining each item with detail. "Candy wrapper?"

"That's just trash."

We laughed and he moved onto the Madeline doll I had sitting on lopsided on my shelf. Likely last touched years ago. My mother had gotten the doll for me and I didn't want to talk about that. About how my mother or what used to be.

"Do you want to sit?" I gestured to my bed, a foot away from my desk.

He sat down and I didn't move. Our feet intersected but never touched. We were quiet and then Alex asked, "Did you write anything recently?"

I shielded myself and lied with a shake of my head. "I'm not a writer. I told you that."

He smirked. "I don't believe you. Come on." I shook my head and I watched as his eyes traced down to the open notebook on my desk. "What's that?"

"A book."

"What kind of book?"

"Notes from school."

"Why are you looking at notes from school over the summer?"

Before I had time to react, he launched himself toward the desk. I blocked the book with my body. He tried to swing around to try and grip it from the other side. I swayed my hips to prevent him. Soon it turned to a dance and soon Alex tried other efforts by tickling me. "Stop!" I squealed.

"Oh, come on, Jane!"

"No!"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Such a typically salacious comment came off as charming and playful and my room filled with laughter. We reverberated through the house and sliced the silence. My house hadn't been that loud since Stacey was in the throes of the terrible twos. It was a delightful charm that a home should have.

I pushed his hands off of me. "Stop it. Stop it." I giggled uncontrollably. Alex laughed along and rested back on my bed. He leaned back onto his elbows. It oozed coolness and my body was burning alive from the inside out.

"Eventually?"

"Eventually," I promised. I was too nervous to show anything to my peers. I took it deeply seriously and if somebody—somebody like Alex—told me it wasn't any good then everything would be for nothing. I would be a talentless loser and to show that to Alex, who viewed me in a revered spotlight, meant that I truly had no future. Nothing to escape Wakefield, my parents, or myself.

"What about your writing?" I asked him. I tempted fate and hopefully Alex by moving onto my bed. I lied on my stomach beside him, resting forward on my elbows.

"I don't know. I don't really think I'm any good." He gazed off, examining the room an inch at a time.

I was reminded of an off-handed comment. "Matt says you are."

"He's just being polite, you know." Alex played things off with ease. He never made a show of compliments, even truthful ones. I don't think he believed the good himself. He put on a show of things but never had a deep confidence. Everything was locked within himself too deep for even him to know it.

"I don't think so. He had nothing to gain by telling me," I said.

Alex faced me, eye to eye, closer than we'd ever been. "What did you think of them? Those ones at The Grapes."

He read me. The wheels turning in my mind trying to formulate a response. "Be honest, Jane," Alex urged.

I didn't want to discourage him. I liked some of it. They took you on a journey and fit the music. I sat up on my knees. "Well, they were good."

Alex threw his head back. "There no good, Jane, you can just say it, you know. Don't have to tiptoe 'round the whole thing."

I grabbed his hand, the one closest to me that was lying against my blanket. It was quick and unintentional, like some gut instinct. I held it tight. "No! I like them. You're a storyteller, Alex Turner."

"But?" He smiled at me, taking no offense to my critiques.

I bit my bottom lip to prevent my own wild grin. "But...they need some work. Which! Everything needs. Revising is key to any good written work." I jostled our shared hands unconsciously while speaking. Neither of us noticed. It was an attachment that made sense to be joined together.

"So what should I do? Employ the Hemingway method and write drunk, edit sober?" He joked.

I corrected him, "Hemingway never said that. That's from Reuben, Reuben. But that's beside the point."

"Reuben, Reuben?" He questioned.

"Yeah, it's a Peter De Vries novel and movie with Tom Conti, but whatever—"

Alex cut me off, "What's it about?"

I scowled at him for interrupting me. "It's about this poet who has writer's block and drinks all day. It's pretty much about Dylan Thomas. Anyways—"

He ignored me again. "Is it any good?" He cocked a smile at me. He knew what he was doing getting me all riled up and irritated at the interruption.

I pursed my lips at her and dropped his hand to shove him. "Shush!" Alex cackled, pleased by my annoyed attitude, and the way my nose puckered up. I watched as his hand slithered its way back to mine, grabbing hold of it. It was the first time I realized I had been holding his hand. I didn't say anything about it. Maybe he had done it unknowingly and I didn't want him to stop doing it. His palm was soft but held callouses on the edges and he fit just right.

"The whole 'writing drunk, editing sober' idea isn't actually bad," I told him.

Alex raised his eyebrows. "You want me to become Dylan Thomas?"

I giggled softly. "Not that exactly but why don't you go out and write about all the shite that happens 'round Sheffield. You know, like fools picking girls up in the air or Joanie's hideous spray tan."

He chuckled. "I mean, I've kind of done that. Ravey Ravey Ravey Club might be shite—"

I insisted. "I never said that!"

Alex eyed me suspiciously. "It might be shite but isn't that what it's about?"

"It's a try-hard song. You're an observer. I know you're not just sitting in the corner daydreaming. You watch."

A shit-eating grin spread across his face. I thought he had been struck with inspiration. That I'd given him a brilliant idea. One that would launch a thousand ships. Instead, he said, "You watching me, Janie?"

"Ugh!" I groaned. He erupted into laughter. He dropped my hand and fell onto my back beside him.

"Don't be embarrassed. Most writers are observers." I gave him a look translating to knock it off. "What do you see?" Alex asked me.

I tap my chin like I have to think about it. "You're shy and you sit in the corner most nights unless Matt or one of the guys is with you, then you stand next to them like you're their teddy bear or something." His laugh makes me laugh. "If you're in the corner, you're usually with a girl who you'll talk with all night but never kiss or leave with. It's very bizarre."

"Maybe I'm looking to take home the girl who is doing the robot—hey!" I punch his arm and he clutches it in exaggerated pain.

"You're a little too observant," I noted.

Alex explained, "You're very entertaining to watch."

"You make it sound like I'm a stripper."

I turned my head and his head was turned to look at mine. Inches apart, perfectly aligned, his eyes dashed across every inch of my face, while mine never strayed from his eyes.

"If you want to kiss me, you can," I whispered to him.

I wanted to kiss him but I wanted him to do it first. I wanted to take my time, not jump him. I wanted to handle him with care because I knew he would be with me and I'd never experienced that before. I only experienced rough and snapping touches. Alex would caress me and take me with ease. He would look for my permission at every step of the way. He would push my hair behind my ear and hold my head so delicately in his hands. He would kiss me slowly and tenderly. His hand would gradually rub my thigh before I told him to take my dress off. I could imagine his eyes widening at my boobs, braless and perky. I would shred my underwear because he'd be too nervous while he would take his shirt off. I wouldn't be rushed, it would be thought-out and delicate. For the first time in my life, it would be me who was cared for. He would tend to me, ask me what I wanted, and then do it. Do it perfectly. I would offer to do the same to him and he'd shake his head and say some other time. He would lie over me but it would be me in control. I'd call the shots and he'd accept them, he'd want to do them. He'd be slow until I told him to pick up the pace. We would end together and then he'd hold me. He'd hold me. In a loose manner that didn't strangle me. I would smile over at him and he would smile over at me. It would be the best thing I'd ever experienced.

"I don't want to do that with you, Jane." I hated him. He wrecked all my dreams and I realized he must be just as bad as every other guy. Will might have grabbed my ass too many times and collapsed over me dripping sweat before I even got started but Alex emotionally assaulted me. I never expected Will to care about me but Alex sat here and acted like he did. He got off on this. Getting girls' hopes up. I wonder if Lauren thought he was going home with her tonight. If she had planned an evening of fun after he laughed at her jokes and told her she was talented. He made me feel special but I was only a special dumb girl who revealed myself to him in vulnerable ways. He must laugh at this at home and cum in his pants at the thought of me crying when he leaves. It would be the worst thing I'd ever experienced.

I sat up quickly. I didn't look at him. My heart felt heavy and my eyes begged for me to let them blink but crying in front of him would be worse and giving him some sort of power.

I heard Alex rustle behind me. I thought he was about to touch my shoulder, pretend to comfort me, and say he had to leave. I snapped around to look at him, propped up on his elbows again, looking confused. He should be some actor, not a damn singer.

"Are you gay?" I asked. I knew he wasn't. I wanted to shame him in some way. Like he wasn't some suave guy. He was some repressed homosexual.

He let out a snort. "What?" He played clueless perfectly.

It wasn't some playful anger I felt now. It was rage. Rage at him and the games men play and whatever this stupid act was. I thought about yelling at him but I think he wanted me to do that. I felt he loved that kind of thing. Extra ammo.

I turned back around and the room fell silent. It was everything else that happened in this haunted house. It sucked every drop of joy out of everything.

"I shouldn't get involved with my bookie, you know." Alex laughed awkwardly. The way it came out, forced and choppy, cracked away at something in me. That hidden crevice in me that not everyone was out to get me.

"Yeah." I sighed and mustered something up in me to look at him. "Do I get paid for this bookie thing?"

"Well, I mean, the band isn't exactly making much money. Not really any."

"You can pay me in drinks."

He grinned. "Sure."

I stuck my hand out for him to shake, completing the interview process. I sniffled and it was the worst thing I could have done because Alex's face flashed pain at the realization that I was hurt by him. I could've taken it as him not having ulterior motives but I chose not to.

He shook my hand and I walked him out. I gave him my number and he gave me his but everything was done under the guise of business. I told him to get home okay but I didn't watch him walk away. I just went back inside and went to sleep.

A week and a half later, Alex and I set out to get the band gigs. I invited Claire to come with us, too terrified to be alone with Alex since my self-inflicted embarrassment. My reasoning—which was in part valid—being that Claire knew Sheffield way better than I did. Alex had a set of knowledge and a list of places he thought of, but he had the voice of a mouse and no boobs.

Claire and I walked hip-to-hip, arms hugged around each other, and Alex trailed beside us. He was an excluded child not allowed in our sandbox. I felt awkward. Alex looked awkward. Claire didn't really give a shit. She's just had to pee.

"Ooh!" Claire cheered. "Let's stop in The Boardwalk. I can pee and then we'll ask them for a gig or whatever. I know that bar guy. Joshua. Jane knows who I'm talking about." She was talking a mile a minute and definitely on something.

The moment we stepped foot in the bar, Claire ditched for the bathroom. Alex and I were left alone. I hated myself for making it awkward, a thing I seem to still have a commitment to doing.

"Do you want to sit?" Alex offered a barstool.

We sat beside one another and I placed my bag on the one beside me to save for Claire. I couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. It felt more practical to sit in silence. Take in the ambiance of the bar. Everything felt caught in my throat, or rather, caught in my head as I couldn't think of a single thing. I resigned to not make eye contact with him. He resigned to do the exact opposite.

"Why'd you bring Claire?" Alex asked me.

"She knows Sheffield better."

He scoffed. "I know Sheffield. I didn't ask Claire. I asked you."

"I'm still here." That's not what he meant and I knew it but denial is the key genetic trait subjected to every Cavendish.

My eyes looked down at the floor. It felt uneasy and ill-fitting but, to me, it was better than looking at his eyes. Alex tilted his head down, trying to look at me. "Is this summat to do with the kiss thing?"

I answered with a "very" convincing performance of "I don't give a shit" by saying, "Pft, no way. Don't flatter yourself." It was mean and said with bitterness but I was too down on myself to be nice.

When I looked at him, his eyes were cold and uninviting, he turned away and looked at Claire as she came skipping back over. My insides twisted in on themselves at the way he smiled at her and it felt ruthless. I reminded myself that he turned me down so if he went for some other girl, I never stood much of a chance. But if he went out with Claire I'd probably kill myself.

"Right, shall we give it a try?" Claire asked us. We both silently nodded. Claire stuck her hand in between Alex and me and tapped insistently on the bar. "Excuse me!"

A man came over, dragging his feet, and it felt obvious that we were a bunch of underaged kids. But he responded, "Yes?"

"Is Joshua here?" Claire asked.

The man began to snicker. "Joshua got canned because he was giving liquor to a bunch of underage girls."

Claire's smile dropped. She attempted to recover steadily but her reaction told her story for her, despite what she proceeded to lie about. "That's unfortunate." She sounded just like her mother. "Well, we'd like to speak to someone about getting a gig here."

The man shook his head. "No can do if you're minors, I'd like to keep my job."

Claire giggled. "I'm smitten"—Alex and I both shared a look with one another and chuckled at the word usage, softening our cold war—"that you'd think I was so young. You're very kind."

"Nice try. I let you use the bathroom but you're not getting much further."

Claire rolled her eyes. "It's just a gig."

The man fought back. "I've got nappies to buy. Shoo."

"Don't shoo me!" Claire was growing feisty and that meant a business that no one wanted to witness. She was pounding and loud and usually not forgiven.

I grabbed a hold of her arm and dragged her back. "We'll leave," I told the man.

When we exited, The Boardwalk, Claire sighed loudly. "Sorry. That fucking idiot Joshua probably fed some 12-year-old. I've had no issues before!"

I laughed at her dramatics. "It's fine, Claire."

She sighed again. "I hate to leave you guys but Reg called while I was in the bathroom and I forgot I had a shift at work."

I panicked. "So, you have to leave?" My eyes were wide and I was not winning any awards for my acting. I was rigid and displayed raised eyebrows.

Claire frowned. "Sorry and since I'm not getting paid for this I can't quit my day job. I'll call you tomorrow, J." She hugged me tight and waved at Alex. "See ya, Al."

Alex waved back and Claire dashed down Bank Street. We were left alone and I debated turning away from him but I had agreed to give him a ride home. "Sorry," I mumbled to him.

He shrugged. "I assume we're done then."

I digested a pit into my stomach and there wasn't much I could do. I didn't want to hang around him but I felt I let him down more by coming up empty-handed. I nodded and he set off toward the car.

I walked three steps behind him. I didn't bother to catch up. There wasn't much point since I didn't know what to say to him. He didn't turn back to check if I was still behind him. The clicking of my shoes was enough of any indicator.

About a block away, he stopped. I slowed my walking until I was beside him. "What's wrong?" I asked. He was frozen, with no motion, and I worried for him.

Alex hesitantly turned his head to look at me. "You are a terrible bookie." I laughed and then kept walking.

He cracked through our tension and left me standing on the corner of Queen Street. I chased him down while wracked with giggles. When I caught up to him, I told him, "A bookie is someone who takes bets for sports. I think you wanted a booker and I got confused."

Alex grinned and reached the passenger side. We got on much better on the way back to his house than on the ride down the City Centre.

When we reached his house, I apologized for the bad job I'd done. He shook his head. "It's fine. We probably need more time to practice anyway."

"I'll get you a gig. I swear. I'd never pass up free drinks."

Alex laughed and thanked me anyway. He waved goodbye to me as he unlocked his front door. I pulled away about 5 minutes into my drive I realized I had gone the wrong way. I was headed south toward the City Centre. I decided my misdirection was giving me a sign and I drove back to The Boardwalk.

I snuck in and the same man was at the bar. Trying my luck and hoping he didn't notice me behind Claire, I approached him. "Is there someone I can talk to about booking a gig?"

His eyes peered up and his look wasn't welcoming. "Determined."

I smiled because charm was going to be the only way this worked out. "I've got a job."

He raised his eyebrow. "This band has minors. I don't think the boss is gonna like that."

"What if I could promise you a crowd?" I asked him.

"A crowd of minors?"

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "No." There totally would be but ask for forgiveness, not permission. "A promise of a crowd of legal paying customers and that no minors will be drinking. Swear."

He hesitated. His eyes moved up and down my body, before he said, "I'll ask."

I smiled pleased but demanded, "Now." I was rarely authoritative, especially around strangers, but I felt that I had to do this. I couldn't imagine disappointing Alex. I had a job to do.

He smirked. "Fine. If you'll come out with me tomorrow."

It was probably some form of prostitution but I didn't care much about my body. It was a tool for me and if I had to use it to get ahead in this, then so be it. I had little regard for myself. I convinced myself that I somehow had the power in these situations.

Later that night, I knocked on Alex's house. When his mother answered, I felt nervous like meeting my boyfriend's mother for the first time. She smiled and when I asked for Alex she called out for him with the promise there was a pretty girl at the door for him.

He came to the door the same as I dropped him off. His eyebrows furrowed. "You okay? Your car okay?"

I couldn't hide the grin on my face. It was unstoppable, wide, cheek-aching. I almost jumped up and down in front of him. "You have a gig at The Boardwalk on August 14."

Frank and I went out the following night. It was nice enough for us to start dating in a sloppy manner. I got free drinks, too, even if I was still 17.

On the night of August 14, I sat at the bar while Frank tended it. With the promise of action at the night's end, he fed me as many drinks as I ordered, no payment required. Besides the blowjobs, I suppose. My opinion on the Monkeys didn't shift much when they took to the stage. Their setlist was similar to their night at The Grapes, besides a new cover.

My job as booker was done and I was more focused on my glass and Frank's hands. Joanie was attentive enough for both of us. She stood at the stage's edge and jumped around. I upheld my promise of a crowd, even if most of them weren't focused much on the music and definitely not minors.

When their set had come to an end, they came around to the bar about 20 minutes later. Still sweaty and hair hand-run-through. Matt was the first one to appear, saying, "I knew we could trust J.R. Cavendish."

I scrunched up my brows. "How do you know about my middle name?"

"How you think?" His head gestured to Joanie, still dancing around. "I think we should keep you on."

Frank came behind me. He was no longer behind the bar and his arms around me made me jump. "Well, I certainly had fun, but that was more from Jane though you lads."

My body was rigid. I wasn't a fan of this affectionate public display. I wasn't a fan of doing it in front of any of the Monkeys, but Alex's eyes darting around in confusion made me feel even more stiff in both body and mind.

I tapped Frank's arm. His hold only tightened. "You can thank Frank for the gig," I told them.

"Oh, Joanie told me 'bout this. New boyfriend," Matt teased me. Alex had snapped over to Matt and the instant pleasure—the endorphins that flooded my system—was the biggest high I had ever experienced.

Frank relinquished his hold on me and took two steps back. "Well, I don't know anything about that." He snickered and my high crashed. "Don't get any ideas, Jane."

I didn't care for Frank ever. I was never in love with him. I, like him, was just getting my fill of things. But the way he snickered, it wrapped around me and constricted me. I was numb to this. I had been numb to this for so long. Even if I was mad at Alex, or embarrassed, he never made me feel insignificant. I felt interesting and important, even if he confused me more than anything I'd ever encountered.

The Franks and the Wills of the world had tortured me for extensive periods that didn't feel significant. It didn't feel significant when the first one of them treated me this way because I was my mother. Simple as that.

It felt significant to share a thought and that thought be appreciated.

"Don't worry, I don't like slumming," I told Frank. I grabbed my purse and left, too drunk to drive, too early to go home, too filled with remorse and anger to ask for help.

I walked two blocks, no tears because Frank didn't deserve tears, I deserve tears. I deserved a weeping apology from every fucking loser guy who had come near me. I didn't know what to do with the hole growing in my stomach. The black hole that was coming for my heart. I was once a sensitive child. I'm a sentimental being. So, why did every relationship mean nothing? Why was I hoarding fake roses from Tim Hoardecker for nearly a decade but never cared for real flowers from all those stupid boyfriends? How much of a loser was I that my best relationship was one that lasted a week at summer camp when I was 10?

School began and I shielded myself from much of my former world. I hadn't heard from Joanie since The Boardwalk. I didn't care much. Rosie was with Will and Joanie was with Matt, secluded away, so I ate lunch with Claire and AB. They were the sanest anyway. I had known Claire since primary school, much like Joanie, but we'd never been close like Joanie and I were. Claire and I only grew in our bond in college while Joanie's and I's bond diminished.

Claire was the closest thing to a model I had ever witnessed with my own eyes, despite what my mother insisted about her past lives as an "actress," "model," and beauty queen (the only one that had been confirmed due to the tiara she displayed on the mantle). She was kissed by the Sun, blonde, and what I imagine every Viking in the village fought over for a chance to look at her.

AB was brunette and always looked like he had been in a fight, even though he couldn't kill a fly. He was the sweetest guy I'd ever known and girls prayed at night that they could marry him. I hoped, after all the jerks I'd end up with a guy like AB. I never attempted anything with AB because I was an immature rascal who was at least smart enough to not ruin a guy like that.

I heard through AB that the Monkeys had a concert at The Pheasant. None of us went. Sheffield was too far for any of us to drive and AB was sick of hanging out with a bunch of drunks. Claire and I had a sleepover instead, which I can confirm was much better because her mom's cooking is made by angels.

But after intentionally avoiding Alex for a month, I ran into him on campus grounds one day. On a walk between class and the parking lot, he snuck up behind me in a way usually reserved for kidnappers and murderers. "Hey, Jane C."

I, obviously terrified, shrieked and nearly tripped over my feet over each other. He rested his hands on my shoulders to steady me. I hit him with my textbook, a brick and loaded nonsense. "Alex Turner, you don't sneak up on women."

I kept walking and he kept in step with me. "I haven't seen you in a while. You quittin' on me?" Something had changed about him. His appearance was much of the same, except he was bundled up in a cheap tracky jacket. We contrasted each other in too many ways, I thought. I was a snob but not in an extreme fashion. The only thing I turned my nose up at was clothes. My coat was wool and lined with buttons. I hadn't worn a jacket with a zipper on it since the one week my mum allowed me to play football. I was charmed by it. It wasn't in some rich girl pity kind of way. Plenty of rich losers wore tracksuits, including my mother, but they weren't as cute as a button in them.

"I wasn't aware I was still on retainer. Not like you need my help much anyway. I heard about The Pheasant gig."

Alex chuckled. "Yeah, that nobody came to. We played The Boardwalk again too. Not so much fun when there's nobody there."

"Well, I'm sure your luck will change." We'd reached my car and I wasn't trying to force him away but I was eager to get home and the wind chill was some of the harshest I've experienced.

"I wanted to talk to you about that." I had to resist an eye roll because I was making it a goal of mine not to be off-putting to people when they were being nice. It was going okay.

I looked up at him. He was on the opposite side of the car. Almost like he knew I was going to invite him into my car. I raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to explain. Instead, he slid a notebook across the roof of my car.

I grabbed it before it flew to the ground. He had bookmarked a page. "Don't be snoopy and read other shite that's in there."

I furrowed my brows, looking at the scratches across the page. I was unsure what to make of it. The writings looked more like his notes for psychology than "It's a song," as he said.

I held my thumb down on the page and squinted as the wind rattled the pages. It became impossible to read and I looked up at the anxiety written on his face. I was pretty good at reading him too.

We escaped the wind in my car and I was finally able to read through it. I dissected it in an eager manner. Noting the way it flowed and how vulnerable Alex had been to show it to me. His leg bounced, he tapped his fingers on his thigh and refused to make eye contact with me.

"Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts," I read aloud. I looked up at him. His body leaning away from me, his head resting on his left hand balanced on the door. His hand framed around his face, covering his chin and cheek, shielding himself, as best he could.

"Who's it about?" I asked. Please be me. He's a boy and he takes time to get it right but he's got it right and this song is an offering that he wants me back. It wasn't the most flattering song for a girl. He says the girl is "pretty fucking far from nice" and I was still young enough to not take offense to those kinds of things.

"How do you know it's about someone?" He questioned.

I shrugged like his lyrics didn't read as some obvious figure, even if he was talking in the 3rd person.

"That Lauren I ran into at Joan's party." Now 17-year-old me, felt this was an attack. Like Lauren was out to get me. A Lauren that I'd never met and would never meet. She was the obstacle preventing me from being the subject of the song. "I'd written this one a while ago. The advice you gave me, I went back and combed through some old ones lying about."

I pushed my anger to the back of my mind. I focused too much on what I didn't have in those days. Not the fact that Alex wrote something and thought of showing it to me first. I was the first second pair of eyes. I couldn't appreciate things, no matter how much I should've and wished I had.

My silence was irking him. He leaned over the console. Alex tried to decipher what part I was reading. My eyes darted across the small page too much for him to figure out. "What'd you think?"

Alex has never been good at believing in anyone's joy. You'd have to wrangle pride out of him and he'd doubt your belief in him no matter to constant reassurance. For the majority of people, it could be misconstrued as fishing for compliments or would become rapidly annoying. I never minded because I have always been the same way. It was a shared vulnerability.

"I like it," I earnestly told him.

He shook his head. "You don't have to placate me, Jane." For Christ's sake, he was a teenage boy who used the word placate, I don't know why he thought he was some idiot.

"I honestly do. I only have a few notes but they're small and you must think it's good too or you wouldn't show me."

Alex slowly smiled and then laughed. He was pleased with himself. It was his version of puffing his chest out. "Maybe."

"I think so and I have great taste. Well, in some things," I corrected myself. "Why don't you write it in first person?" I suggested.

"I like it in third," Alex said.

"You like hiding behind a character."

He gave me a pointed look. I had caught him in the act. I had given him the Alex treatment. It wasn't intentional. It was an easy thing for me to discern and I wasn't judging him. After months of languishing over it, I realized that if Alex did this to me, then it must have been instinct, not judgment.

I told him, "We all do. Don't worry. That's what being a writer is."

"What would you know about being a writer, Jane?" Alex was teasing and flirtatious. He could switch between innocence and naughty ways in a quick compelling method that only made him increasingly attractive.

I bit my bottom lip to prevent the upturn of my lips and if I wasn't scared of being turned away again, I think I would've kissed him. "I have some experience." I had yet to admit it to myself before I told Alex about it. It seemed fitting that he would be the first to know before I even knew.

He grinned and I figured Alex only felt pride in two ways, a hidden, buried-in-his-ribcage pride and proving-me-wrong pride, which usually ended up meaning pride in me.

a/n: so...this is the first part...i hope you like it...more to come whether you like it or not because i'm already too invested in this. okay, thanks for reading!

#alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner #junedenim #beneath the boardwalk

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in-need-of-gally-content · 7 months

Text

|Chapter•Twenty•Nine|

•|Masterlist|•

"It's taking longer than usual..."

Gally blinked while looking at the sky, it had turned grey and the clouds were slowly covering any sign of sunlight. It was another Box day, it was long past the afternoon and it hadn't come up yet, which made them wonder what was going on.

"Yeah... I just hope it arrives before it starts raining, or we'll be unloading it for hours," no one liked it when it rained during Box day, and thankfully, it rarely happened, but it was also coming later than usual, that was more common around in the Glade, but it never eased the worry they felt of the possibility of the Box never coming back up.

That was a fear that clung to only a few, the day when they would no longer be provided with what they needed, and would just... Perish. But of course, no one was allowed to comment about that fear since it would bring nothing but problems.

Mikah looked at Gally, who kept staring up at the sky, and his blue eyes observed around for a while, "Where's (M/n)?"

Gally glanced at the curly blond, "He said he was gonna be in the Deadheads, something about... Finishing a thing," Mikah nodded in response and they turned back to staring at the sky, waiting for the Box to arrive.

They just hoped it wouldn't start raining or it would be near impossible to get everything out of it dry or in good condition.

//////

Sitting on an overgrown root, (M/n) looked around, picking up the scent the air would have before the rain would fall. It was oddly relaxing.

He sighed and went back to writing in his journal, he wanted to write down a few more lyrics, and possibly make another song, but he wasn't sure if he liked how it was turning out, even so, he kept writing it, maybe he'll be able to fix it later on.

But when he ran out of ideas and felt his lower back and legs going numb from sitting down, he stood up and continued to walk around for a while, trying to find another spot where he could be comfortable. While doing so, he heard thunder, and shortly after, rain began to fall down on the Glade.

(M/n) chuckled and held the strap of his journal, hanging it on a branch where it would be protected from the rain, and ran to start playing with the mud, soaking in the feeling of the cold rain, hitting the leaves and dripping down to the ground, falling on him and making him smile.

Nearby, someone was walking very slowly, trying to not be spotted by (M/n), peeking from behind a tree. He didn't do anything nor tried to, he was only there to observe. Zachary would never disobey orders from Stan.

So he stayed put and watched over (M/n), to make sure he wouldn't leave before the plan was ready.

And that plan was truly shucked up, but it was gonna work. It had to. Even Alby who was somehow friends with (M/n) would have to act upon his actions, and face consequences.

Zachary observed (M/n) as he stopped playing in the rain and the mud like a little kid, and went back to grab his journal, climbed on top of the lowest branch, and focused back on his writing, more inspired this time. He briefly glanced back, to where Peter was being prepared by the others.

Peter himself had agreed to it, just to make it look as realistic as possible. He was willing to do anything to get (M/n) banished from the Glade.

//////

Probably an hour later, the rain began to ease, and he was getting a little bored, so he got down from the branch and started making his way to his treehouse, wanting to drop off his journal so it wouldn't get in the way of everything.

The moment he started leaving, Zachary was about to run back to the rest of the Sloppers, when Lucas came up to him, "Everything is ready."

"Good, 'cause she just left." They ran together further into the Deadheads, and Zachary observed with raised eyebrows, impressed at the good job they had done with Peter.

He was badly "beaten up", it looked pretty real in his opinion, now they had to get the act going, so they ran their way toward Gale and Matt, who were standing by the Homestead, keeping an eye out on the Box and everyone else.

They didn't want anyone finding out what they were scheming before it was ready after all.

"Everything is ready, she should be coming soon..." Zachary trailed on, trying to spot (M/n) walking out of the Deadheads.

And there he was.

"Hey, guys, need a hand?" He asked with a smile as he wiped the dirt off his hands. Everyone looked pretty tired after working all day under the rain and he wanted to help, even if it was something small, anything that could ease their exhaustion. Gally looked up at him and handed him the last crate left in the Box.

"They're gardening tools, you can hand them to Zart, bean," he nodded and began to lightly jog his way to Zart, who was putting stuff in their hut.

Silently, he placed the crate down and left with a wave, while making his way back to Gally, he was able to hear a passing conversation between Matt and Gale, and pretty much everyone around heard it too, "Have you seen Peter today?" And those around them frowned, as they realized that they hadn't seen him at all that day. However, he ignored them like he got used to and continued his way back to his Keeper.

And now that he was out of the box hole, (M/n) was able to see how messy he looked, he was practically soaked, and (M/n) couldn't help but snicker.

"Oh, you're having fun?" (M/n) smiled wide and approached Gally, reaching his hands out and poking his sides, successfully making the blond squeal and flinch.

"You look like a hot mess," Gally's eyes opened wide as he blushed and looked away, even though he heard the mocking and teasing tone in (M/n)'s voice at how dirty and messed up he looked, he still took it as a compliment... In a way, "Is there anything else I can help with?"

"Uh, yeah, there's-"

Gally's response was cut off by a scream coming from the Deadheads, "Peter!"

Those who were closest around began to approach the edge of the forest, while (M/n) and Gally stayed put, observing with a confused frown on their faces, they wanted to know what was happening. And soon, they found out.

There was Peter, unconscious. Jason and Stan were holding him up, dragging him out of the Deadheads. He had bleeding wounds seemingly everywhere on his body, and his face was bruised pretty badly too, blood falling out of his mouth.

(M/n) stood there for a second, internally freaking out, what could've hurt Peter that bad?

He took a few steps forward, trying to get to him and help him in any way, "Clint! Jeff!" The distant scream of a Glader echoed.

"What happened?!" Alby yelled as he was followed by both Med-jacks, receiving help from a few Gladers to take Peter inside and to the med room.

The way Jason made eye contact with him made (M/n) stop moving, feeling his breath getting stuck in his throat, "That happened!" He screamed and raised his hand, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Everyone around them went silent, a sudden quietness that shook him to his bones. Slowly, (M/n) looked at every guy nearby, staring at him. He was frozen in place, he didn't know what to do, he wanted to talk, say something, explain to them that he hadn't done anything to Peter, but he couldn't, and Jason took advantage of that.

"She did this! Y'all heard her yesterday! She said it!" The air turned heavy and many Gladers believed Jason's words, or so it seemed. Even so, (M/n)'s friends knew better than to believe anything coming from the Sloppers.

"It wasn't (M/n), I don't know what the shuck you're trying to pull here," Gally spoke first, taking a protective stance in front of (M/n), "But I assure you, he had nothing to do with that."

"Oh really?" Stan spoke, and something about the sound of his voice made everyone tense, "Ty! Come here!" He took a few steps closer from behind the Keeper, his body was shaking, and his eyes were filled with tears, "Tell them what you saw... Who you saw."

(M/n) took a step to the side, and looked at Ty from behind Gally. The poor guy could barely look him in the eyes, his arms wrapped around himself while Stan kept a tight hold on his shoulder, "I saw..." He took a shaky breath in, and turned to look at Alby, who had approached him to try and bring him his support, "I saw (M/n) h-hurting Peter in the De-deadheads, and... I got s-scared so I hid until... He left..."

"That's not true!" Gally yelled out loud, and soon enough, (M/n) witnessed how all the guys around began arguing.

He was so confused about everything that was happening. He wasn't sure if he couldn't hear anything, or if he could hear it all, he was overwhelmed by his emotions, and all of them were negative ones. He felt like he couldn't breathe, his head was pounding and his body was trembling uncontrollably, he felt his legs wobbling and he knew he was about to lose his stability.

Physical and mental stability.

His friends defended him, arguing that (M/n) didn't do anything to Peter, but they had no way to prove it. While those who were taking Peter's side were convinced that he had done that to him, but couldn't prove anything either.

(M/n) was the only one who knew the truth, and probably the only one who would say it. But... Nothing would change. They wouldn't believe him. And the issues wouldn't be solved.

He watched and listened to how their bond and trust, the one that took them years to accomplish, began crumbling down just like that, as easy as breathing. And it was all because of him. He caused this.

And there was only one way to fix it.

When tears began glossing his sight, (M/n) started taking slow steps back, observing how everyone fought with each other, some verbally and a few physically. Alby and Newt were doing their best to try and break them down, to make them calm down, but nothing was working.

That's when (M/n) realized he really... Could not stay in the Glade any longer, he had done nothing but cause problems and ruin everyone else's life since the moment he arrived. He truly believed he was welcomed and had become one of them, but he was just blinded by the kind gestures of his closest friends. He won't ever fit in with the rest, he wasn't a Glader, he was... Nothing.

And now... It was time to go.

As if aware of his thoughts and intentions, the Maze Doors made their signature sound whenever they opened and closed, and right now they were closing. The breeze coming from out there barely touched (M/n)'s skin as he was quite far away, light enough for him to be able to feel it, even for an instance. It almost seemed too convenient, as if the Maze wanted to get his attention. Calling him. Enticing him.

"It's the only way..." He glanced back at the Maze, watching the Doors closing as he kept taking steps back, now in a different direction. He blinked and the tears in his eyes finally gave in, and dripped down his face. (M/n) took one last look at the Glade, telling himself he would never forget this place and would always miss it.

But it had to be done, and it had to be now.

"Everything will be okay after this, just go..." (M/n) took a deep breath, and turned his body around, taking off running to the Maze Doors, taking advantage that no one was paying attention to him, or so he thought.

Chuck, who had been keeping an eye on (M/n) since this whole thing started, realized what he was doing, and where he wanted to go.

"(M/n)! What are you doing?!" His desperate scream caught the attention of everyone arguing, making them look everywhere until they spotted (M/n), running to the Maze, "Get back here!"

(M/n)'s friends, all of those who worried and cared about him stared with panic-filled eyes at how close he had gotten to Banish himself to the Maze.

Gally felt his heart drop at that, his blood running cold as he stared in disbelief, "Bean..." He mumbled to himself, his feet taking him forward one step at a time, "(M/n)...! (M/n)!" The raw feeling in Gally's voice made him falter in his steps, but he kept running, knowing he was being followed by his friends.

Gally started running after him, calling his name, trying to stop him, or go into the Maze with him. Minho and a few of the Builders ran too while Chuck stayed behind and watched the situation with tears in his eyes.

"(M/n)! Please, don't do this!" Gally felt helpless as he realized that he wasn't getting closer to him, the gap seemed to be growing instead of shortening, and he hated that, "Stay with me..." He whispered between ragged breaths, refusing to give up just yet.

"This is not the way, (M/n)!" Hearing Minho's voice so close to him made him run faster, feeling his legs and lungs burning from the effort of carrying his weight.

They watched with hopeful eyes as (M/n) stopped in front of the Maze Doors, they felt sudden relief, maybe he decided against his choice, but that wasn't the case. He glanced behind for a moment, his eyes immediately landing on Gally, as if drawn to him and only him.

He felt that same sting in his eyes as he tried to hold back more tears from falling, "I'm sorry..." He muttered, not breaking eye contact with him, and Gally's eyes opened wide, feeling his world crashing down as he watched how (M/n) turned around and ran into the Maze.

"No! (M/n)!" His legs did their best to push Gally forward, hearing the muffled sounds of Mikah, Minho, Fry, Winston and Chuck hollering out (M/n)'s name, their voices filled with fear, their hearts heavy with despair.

Minho was the first one to arrive at the Doors, and he stared helplessly at (M/n)'s back, watching how he squeezed himself between the Doors and moved ahead. Gally came soon after and Minho had to hold him back from following him inside, angering the blond as he fought Minho's grip.

"Gally, stop! The walls would crush you before you get to the other side!" With Fry arriving on time, he helped Minho hold Gally back, but he wasn't giving up the fight.

"I don't care-! I can't..." He stayed silent when he and (M/n) made eye contact. He had reached the Maze, and had looked back at the sound of his voice. They stared at each other as if it was the last time they would see each other...

It was. They won't ever see each other again.

(M/n)'s bottom lip trembled, and he took a shaky breath in, "I love you," he mouthed at Gally, hoping he understood what he said, their hearts breaking as the Doors closed, and they disappeared from each other's sight.

There was a heavy silence in the Glade that lasted no longer than five seconds, broken by Gally, falling to his knees as tears freely made their way down his face, his body trembled and he gripped his shirt tightly with his hands, over his heart, where an excruciating pain had taken place. He couldn't think of anything other than (M/n), watching how he banished himself from the Glade just to appease a group of slintheads.

His breath turned ragged and uneven, his mind coming to the realization of what just happened, whom he just lost forever. (M/n) had been the only person Gally ever truly cared about and who cared about him just as much.

Knowing (M/n) won't even come back was painful, too much, and he needed to let it out.

A soul-ripping cry echoed in the silence of the Glade followed by the heartbreaking sobs of Gally as he let out his pain, "Please, please, open the doors again, just for a minute, please..." He babbled to himself as his hands reached out for the wall, the cold walls of the Maze, helplessly trying to pry the Doors open with his bare hands, his head hanging down in between his arms, "I can't lose him, not (M/n), not my bean... Please!"

His scream of pain and agony triggered the tears of everyone around, those who had been trying to stay strong and not let themselves be swayed by their emotions, but they broke down at the sight of Gally so emotionally devastated.

Minho leaned on the Wall, letting the tears fall from his eyes, and he watched how others knelt to the ground too, or simply hugged each other, trying to bring as much comfort as they could to one another. Chuck had found his way to Gally, and had gone down on his knees with him, wrapping his chubby arms around the blond, who hugged him back tight as they cried together.

The air was gloomy and depressive, and they couldn't do anything except stay there for a short while, but their grief was short-lived, like everything was in the Glade.

Nothing can last forever.

"She got what she deserved," they heard Stan laughing as he approached them, a superior look on his face accompanied by a victorious grin. Immediately, Gally's crying stopped, and so did everyone else's.

There was a dark aura around them, but Gally's was screaming bloody murder.

He let go of Chuck and slowly began to stand up, one leg at a time and turning around, his face completely void of all emotion, taking a step closer to Stan, whose confident demeanour didn't waver.

"And this is what you deserve..." With one swift motion, Gally drew his arm back and punched Stan in the middle of his face, hearing the satisfying cracking noise of his nose breaking, "I'm gonna kill you."

No one around tried to help Stan or stop Gally, they just watched how he began to beat Stan within an inch of his life, a void in their eyes and expressions. Stan didn't deserve a quick, painless death.

He deserved the most gruesome one.

"Gally-!" Having witnessed everything that happened since the beginning, Alby had made his way over to the small group by the Maze Doors, and with Derek's help, they managed to pull Gally away from Stan, but not without putting up a fight against him.

Once they had a stable grip on him as he continued to struggle against them, Alby looked up at Sean, who had followed his twin brother on instinct.

"Take him to the med room!" Sean nodded and began to drag Stan's unconscious body across the Glade, quickly after receiving help from the rest of the Sloppers.

They all watched them as they left and Alby finally released Gally as he appeared to have calmed down again. The Leader had half a mind to scold and punish Gally for what he did, but judging by the expression on his face, he decided against it.

He sighed and rubbed the bottom half of his face with his hand, "Just go... And don't punch anyone else, Gally."

Without saying a word, Gally took off running into the Deadheads. Alby sighed and tried to cheer everyone else, telling them dinner should be ready in a while, and they made their way in silence to the Homestead. He stared at the Maze Doors and wondered for a few seconds, he wondered if (M/n) would survive the night... Maybe it was dumb, but he had hope.

After all, hope is the only thing that has kept them alive all this time.

"Alby," he turned around at the call of his name, Newt was there, looking rather stressed and disturbed, "It's about Peter, you might wanna take a look at this."

And they jogged toward the Homestead.

//////

After the Doors had fully closed, he stayed there crying for a few minutes, his legs giving up under his weight and he desperately pulled at the roots of his hair.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to go back. But perhaps, it was too late now. He made his choice, and now... He was going to have to deal with that.

The sound of the gears as the Maze began to change brought him back to reality. That's right, he's in the Maze, the deadliest place in the Glade, he had to run or hide.

He struggled to get himself back on his feet and he wiped his tears away, annoyingly clouding his sight and he began walking in a random direction, but paying attention where he was going... Maybe he could find his way back to the Doors, although that seemed pretty useless in his eyes.

He was already dead anyway.

(M/n) wandered aimlessly, observing the sky getting darker and darker as time went by, and soon, there was nothing but the subtle light of the moon brightening his path, he gripped onto ivies on the walls, and closed his eyes with deep and loud breathing, trying to calm himself down whenever he thought of the fact that he was trapped with creatures that will kill him the moment they see him.

He had to keep moving forward, find a safe place and remain quiet. But the longer it passed, his hopes grew thinner. There was nowhere to hide, it was pointless, he was just delaying the inevitable.

"At night when the stars..." He mumbled in a broken voice, dragging his feet across the pavement floor, maintaining his hand on the wall next to him to keep track of his surroundings, "Light up my room, I sit by myself..."

He leaned his side against the nearest wall and slid down to the ground, staring up at the night sky, he couldn't see any stars, only the moon.

"Talking to the moon... Trying to get to you, in hopes you're on the other side..." His voice kept breaking as the tears found their way down his face again, and he wrapped his arms around his legs as much as he could, "Talking to me too or am I a fool, who sits alone... Talking to the moon-"

The metal sound of clicking made (M/n)'s body freeze in place, shivers running down his spine and his skin getting covered in goosebumps. He knew what that was, there was no other explanation. It was a Griver, what else could it be if not it?

(M/n) closed his eyes and took a shaky breath in through his nose, holding back the urge to cry and scream. He wanted to move, he wanted to run away from it, but he couldn't move.

"(M/... N)...?" Hearing his name being said by it with its broken robotic voice was all he needed to push himself up on his feet and start running, but doing that made the Griever screech behind him as it began to follow him.

His feet were quick on the ground, but it almost felt like he could barely move away from it, his legs trembled with each step he took forward. The sound of its metal legs echoed in the Maze, and the sound only made him grow more and more desperate to get away from it.

Feeling panic and fear fill his body and mind, he screamed as tears continued running down his face at the abrupt realization that this was his end, it definitely was, the spark of hope he wasn't aware he had had completely vanished, leaving a path for terror to settle in his bones. (M/n) knew this was his end, but that wasn't the painful part, it was... Knowing he didn't get to say goodbye to Gally, or tell him his feelings.

And he would never be able to now...

The thought clung to him and hurt his chest, making him release the most guttural and pained scream he could, crying hopelessly and falling to the ground. He hadn't even realized he had run into a dead end.

He turned around and backed away into the wall, covered with ivy, and he gripped onto it. The Griever found its way around the corner, and screeched at him when it saw him. (M/n) watched it approach him slowly, like a predator hunting its prey, he stared at it, refusing to show weakness.

It stopped in front of him, and just stared at him, even though it didn't have eyes it appeared to have a lense located under the slimy flesh below its mouth, pretty well hidden.

"Kill me, do it..." The Griever stayed in place, and (M/n) clenched his jaw, standing up with some effort, "Kill me!" He yelled, charging at it.

The Griever screeched at him and bared its teeth, dripping with its gooey spit, stumbling back at the sudden approach from the male, before sinking its sharp teeth down on (M/n)'s shoulder. He cried in pain and managed to punch the Griever away from him, but he was still trapped on a dead end with no way out.

He had to run around it or crawl his way under it. And he saw an opening when the Griever's metal legs lost their balance after stepping on a rock under him, and (M/n) began to run past it.

However, the Griever wasn't gonna let him go. Its tail wrapped around (M/n)'s ankle, and dragged him back toward it.

He fought, kicked it and tried to hold onto anything to escape, letting out a hiss at the stinging and burning feel he felt running up through his leg. He was putting up a good fight, but the Griever was done with him.

(M/n) felt his body being lifted by his ankle and thrown against a wall.

"T... Er... A!" The robotic voice came out again and (M/n)'s consciousness began to fade away, his arms tried to lift his weight off the cold floor, and he watched through his blurry sight how the Griever walked toward him again.

"Kill... Me..." He whispered with the last bit of his strength, and he saw how the Griever bent over him, its teeth holding onto the fabric of his clothes, before he started dragging him away. He would have fought against it, but he could no longer stay awake, and the strength had fully abandoned his body by now, so he let himself be taken by it.

//////

Gally hugged (M/n)'s pillow tightly, holding it close to his chest.

He had decided to stay in his treehouse, as a way to feel close to him, he felt safe in there, and he tried to remain positive, he trusted (M/n) could find his way back to the Glade or stay alive in the Maze until the Runners find him, Minho had said (M/n) had great potential as a Runner, so he wanted to remain hopeful.

He didn't care if he was hungry or sleepy, he couldn't sleep, not knowing (M/n) was out there, all on his own-

A faint scream was heard well into the night, and Gally gripped the pillow tighter, holding back the urge to break down crying again, but the scream that came right after brought chills down his spine and the tears freely began to fall.

Gally rocked himself back and forth, his body shaking with his sobs and he felt like he couldn't breathe anymore.

A world without (M/n) was a world he didn't want to live in, not now, not ever.

His biggest regret would always be not having reached him in time, not having stayed by his side when it should've been obvious to him how affected he was by the Peter accusation. He should have kept trying to make the Sloppers stop and should've talked to (M/n) to make sure he was doing good mentally and not just pretending he was okay.

He will never forgive himself for this, he doesn't care about Stan, Peter, Lucas or any one of them, he let (M/n) down and now he was gone.

"I love you, bean... I'm sorry," Gally broke down crying again, burying his face in the pillow and curling on himself, his body trembled with each sob and he cried, and cried for hours.

He cried until he ended up falling asleep.

///////

The Griever slowly walked away, looking toward (M/n) one last time, watching his body shaking and twitching, knowing there was nothing to do other than leave, so it did.

(M/n)'s mind was overworking, loading it with new images that didn't last longer than a second, and if.

He wasn't sure what he was seeing, and he wondered if he was seeing his life in his last moments alive, but these images were unknown to him. Not a single image he saw were of his memories in the Glade, they were... From before.

The images were blurry and went by quickly, but he was able to identify a few of them. Like meeting Gally for the first time, when they were kids.

He saw blurry faces and heard muffled voices, he knew who they were but couldn't remember their names or their faces. But a few things he saw seemed to stick to his consciousness, although he didn't see a point in keeping these memories any longer. Remembering now of all times was something completely useless.

But this particular memory was longer than the rest. He could see and hear everything clearly.

"I trust... You will take good care of my son, (M/n)," a rather tall man with brown and grey hair stood in front of him. He was standing behind a chair, holding someone else's shoulder, and wearing an unsettling smile on his face, "Say hi to your new friend, son."

"Hello, doll," the nickname sent shivers down his spine, and he recognized Lucas as the kid sitting on the chair, although a younger version of him.

He sighed and looked up at the man, who hadn't stopped smiling down at him, "I told you I won't be your son's babysitter, Janson."

And the memory faded into darkness.

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