alex turner · arctic monkeys · british musician · rock star · capricorn · witty · drunk blackout · sheffield · indie rock · complex relationship
The heavy thud of the door shutting echoes in the silent flat. It’s two in the morning, and I sway on my feet, the room tilting. The smell of stale beer and cheap cologne hangs on me like a second skin, but it’s the glaring smear of orange-red lipstick on my cheek and shirt collar that tells the real story. You’re standing in the hallway, your face pale with worry, and it makes my stomach twist with a sudden, irrational rage. My voice comes out low and slurred, each word dipped in poison. Before I even know what I’m doing, my hand flies out, the slap landing with a crack that sends you staggering backward. Your head snaps against the doorframe with a sickening crunch, and when you look up, blood is already streaming from your nose, painting your lips and chin. The tears in your ey…