camera girl {alex turner x femme reader}

alex x yn part 13

trigger warnings: alcohol and tobacco depictions, mention of slight physical abuse
authors note: some edits have been made to part 10 that slightly affect the trajectory of this chapter, but its nothing that affects the entire plot line so if you don't want to reread, don't worry about it! xx

i hold my breath as she stands in front of me, looking me up and down. her fingers are carefully looped around the camera, tapping against the plastic.

i become hyper aware of everything and every move i make. what if there's something on my face, or what if the way i'm standing is awkward, but i cant change it because then it's obvious i'm self conscious.

she places down the camera and reaches towards me, carefully taking down a front piece of my hair like she did the first time, behind the couch. her hands are cold against my skin as she wipes something off of my cheek, certainly leaving it red in embarrassment.

her black flannel rides up her arm as she extended it, revealing most of her arm. a large red mark trails up around her wrist.

she looks down at her wrist, and quickly back up at me. now her face is flushed a dark red. she furrows her eyebrows in a way as though she was shaking her head, with only her eyes.

i pause for just a moment. her eyes. i've never noticed them the way i do now. they're a dark bark with undertones of green hazel, even speck of gold. it's almost as if she hold an entire colourama wheel in her iris, bringing them to life with emotions she feels so deeply.

i snap out of it, realizing she's already picked up her camera again and snapped a few photos of my newly styled hair. it feels odd like this on my face, but i'm trusting her to let it look good. 

• • •

i'm going to talk to her. the feeling of her hand lingers on my face as i speed down the road, blowing my cigarette out of the window.

there was a mark on her arm, a dark red mark that would turn into a bruise the next day. when i looked at it she said no, not to bring it up. that means she knows about it and the topic of how she got it is something she doesn't want to talk about, meaning that allen tadien is giving her bruises.

it's in the same spot he was holding-or gripping-her arm in the photo on the article. maybe it wasn't intentional, but there's no reason to hold her that aggressively. she's not going to run away, even if she probably should.

on the way to her apartment i stop at a nearby coffee shop to pick something up for her, as a peace offering of sorts.

when i walk in, i almost feel an urge to turn back around and walk out again. but the worker has already heard the bell ring and says, "welcome in!" with her back turned to me as she wipes down an espresso machine.

i pull my glasses over my eyes and tug on my leather jacket like it'll do something, make me look any less recognizable.

pictures of me are plastered across the cafe, with posters and vinyls, scraps from recent news letters and photos that i've never seen surface the internet. someone has put a lot of time into this display. i look to my right and my old acoustic is hung on the wall, the one i signed and let yn take. i never knew where it ended up, but she must've brought it here.

does that mean she put this whole thing together? the news print outs and photos range from the first of my career to the most recent release of suck it and see, which is propped up against the record player, recently played.

when i turn back to the waitress, i nearly jump. she's looking at me in silence, leaning against the wood countertop.

"so yer the infamous 'alex turner' are ye now?" she asks, shooting me a crooked grin.

"uh yeah, that's me," i awkwardly laugh, walking back over to the counter, "i didn't know this place existed to be quite honest. who put all this together?"

"i thought she'd tell you, yn? she's here everyday, always hangs out over there," she says, pointing to the small couch in the corner by all the vinyls.

"always talking about you lot. just here this morning, listening to that new album of yers. anyways, names ana. what can i get ya?"

i blink, realizing i have to order. "um..what does she usually get?"

"medium mocha in a black ceramic mug," she replies, pointing to a single black mug sitting on a nearby shelf.

"uh i'll take two...in to-go cups. thanks." ana nods and begins to make the drinks.

i feel warm inside, seeing the arctic monkeys display. these pictures i never thought i'd see printed, some i didn't even know existed. but they all ring a memory in my mind.

a moment later, ana pushes the two cups across the table and i hand her a tenner.

"keep the change," i say as i quickly walk out. ana nods and calls goodbye, smiling. i get back in the car and pull out of the parking lot.

as i get closer to the apartment, i feel my palms begin to sweat, gripping tighter on the steering wheel. i pull into the community, where clusters of paparazzi are positioned outside of the lobby, in hopes of someone important walking out. or in.

"fuck me," i cry to myself. i'm already here. i sigh and pick up my keys and the coffee, kicking the car door closed behind me. immediately, people begin shouting and flashing their cameras.

this is better than they could've expected, the rumored boyfriend going to the girls house after she goes public about a relationship with someone else. the media will have a field day.

i'm almost running, hitting the revolving door a little too hard for comfort as i rush into the lobby. the paparazzi can't come past the parking lot, or they're trespassing onto private property.

the attendant is clearly stressed, a pale color washes across her face. "good afternoon," she greets, her voice cracking. i nod as i get into the elevator, straining to remember the floor number.

i make it to her door and pray to everything that allen isn't in there as i knock. the door creaks open to just her, staring at me. i'm red and distraught, hot coffee almost to the point of burning both of my hands, but hair just the same as she left it.

"hi."

"hi."