Maybe It's Been You All Along - Alex Turner

62

Alex woke up to an unfamiliar room and a pounding headache. He shifted uncomfortably in his jeans and leather jacket as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. His memory of the night before was mush. He did remember someone escorting him to this room at some point during the night — he dreamt it was Rosanna but knew in his state of consciousness that that couldn't be true.

  Pushing himself up to a seating position he stretched out his stiff back and pulled out his phone to check the time. Ten forty-three and he had a message as well. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at his screen. There was no contact name, just a number. Confused, Alex opened up the message and read what he'd been sent.

  "Call me when you get home
  - R"

  Alex sat upright immediately, his eyes flying wide open. It had to be Rosanna. I wasn't dreaming? He questioned himself. Did she really take care of me? Holy shit I must've let her down so much. She messaged me. I can call her. She wants me to call her.

  Alex felt his heart beating into his chest. He wanted to call her right then and there but knew he should wait until he was home because that's what she wanted. But holding himself back from even sending her a message was one of the toughest things he had to endure emotionally. For the first time in years, she was in reach.

  He climbed out of the bed he found himself on and ran his hands down his legs, cursing internally for falling asleep in jeans yet again. He trudged over to the very large en-suite and looked at himself in the mirror.

  "Fuckin 'ell," he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked like a mid-life crisis. Fuck I looked like this in front of her. He remembered throwing up and cussed again, tossing his head in his hands. You really have a talent for embarrassing yerself in front of her, don't you?

  He turned the tap on and washed some cool water over his face, slapping himself awake. He tied his hair back in a very small and unsuccessful bun — only the back strands were long enough to actually remain secured — and decided it was time to make an entrance, apologise to Andrew and then get home as fast as possible to call Rosanna.

  He timidly opened the guest room door and walked out into Andrew's now empty house. Praying no one else was home, Alex made his way around looking to see if Andrew was there. His nose caught a whiff of freshly brewed coffee. Following the scent, Alex found himself in Andrew's kitchen as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

  "Oh, you're up," Andrew said and put the coffee pot down. "Sleep well?"

  "Like a glove," Alex said and stretched his neck to the side. "Sorry bout last night."

  "You weren't a hassle," Andrew said, "you were pretty tame."

  "Shouldn't 'ave drank so much," Alex sighed shamefully.

  "'ere have some coffee," Andrew said and poured Alex a mug. Alex downed half of it instantly and kept his hands tightly around the mug as if he was scared of dropping it. "Rosanna took good care of ya last night," Andrew said.

  "It was her?" Alex asked. He just needed that second person confirmation. He was used to dreaming up realities that never existed.

  "Not surprised that you don't remember," Andrew said. "Yeah, she were with you all night, cleaning out your vomit bucket and all."

  "Shit," Alex sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Fuck I feel like shit."

  "I mean you did drink a fair amount," Andrew said and moved over to his refrigerator.

  "No not about that," Alex said, "bout Rosanna. She shouldn't have had to take care of me."

  "I think she wanted to," Andrew said.