Stuck on the Puzzle

Prologue

•January 28th•

"It's getting late. You should go home," she told me.

"I'm fine. You go ahead, I'll call you tomorrow morning, Georgia."

She stood from her seat and scurried out as quickly as she'd come. She had one last fleeting glance of me before she shut the door behind her. I sat alone in the Grapes, watching people come and sit at the bar across from me, like cheap-looking, pinup-esque women clinging on the arms of their clients who paid them to be their escorts, even men who looked to be tired fathers desperately trying to catch a break by getting pissed up.

I placed my hand on the side of my face, and used the other one to swipe strands of hair behind my ear. My feet ached from some scrappy heels I had to wear to my brother, Fletcher's housewarming party, and my skirt had stains and small tears in it for whatever reason. I felt cruddy, and just a bit tipsy. I'd only had one drink, but due to my cursed Chinese genes I had a major intolerance to alcohol that caused the slightest bit of liquor to make me intoxicated within minutes.

I nearly drifted off to sleep with my chin in my palm, but there was an unsettling ruckus in a barstool a couple of seats away from me, to which I snapped out of my daze to see a young man with a fairly battered guitar case a couple of seats away from me.

He was tall and slender, and held his thin frame as if he was quite insecure and unsure of himself. Half of his face was covered with chestnut-coloured, long, tousled curls, but his large, twinkling brown eyes were still clearly visible. His nose was slightly big, but certainly not in an unattractive way. His lips were mindlessly parted as he searched for someone to wait on him. On the counter, he tapped his fingers, which I noticed were rather long, a sure guitar player's fingers, and he seemed rather impatient. He had a certain je ne sais quoi about him that I very much envied yet adored.

He noticed me eyeing him, then quickly shifted his vision to the floor and halted his finger-tapping.

"In a rush?"

He pushed his hair aside to acknowledge my existence with a sneer.

"Unfortunately. What about you? You look like you're about tuckered out."

His voice was thick and slow, but somewhat sweet. Like molasses. He had a Northern accent, which told me he'd definitely grown up in or around this area.

"Not really. Probably should be, but instead I've decided to take my time. Where are you on your way to, a gig?" I nodded towards his guitar.

"A gig, yeah. At 10."

"What's the name of your band?" I asked, smiling.

"Arctic Monkeys. We're quite small at the moment. It's me and three of me best mates-known each other for years. We took a year off of school to see if we could make a livin' out of this. Though, I've just finished writing the last song for our debut album, and I've got a good feeling about it."

"Ah, so you're the lyricist?" I raised my eyebrows, actually rather impressed.

He chuckled at my remark.

"I am. Also the singer, but let's just say I probably wasn't the best choice," he laughed at his own joke.

"Oh, that's ridiculous. I'm sure you're wonderful!" I snickered along with him.

"That's very kind of you to say. I guess it doesn't really matter as long as you like what you're doing. What do you do, what are you passionate about?"

I stared at him blankly for a few moments.

"I've always been infatuated with photography and music, and just a bit of writing. Although, I've never been good enough with any of those things to make a career out of them."