It's four am and something is very wrong with me. I have been sleeping fitfully for the past few hours, shivering my way through feverish dreams. Now I am awake and there is no denying it. I'm unwell. There is a sweat on my brow that shouldn't be here on this cold winter's night. Last night's drinking is causing the room to spin in a most inconvenient manner and there is a burning pain in the pit of my stomach. I take a deep breath and focus on the ceiling. Spidery, shifting patterns of light and dark. I smell a sickly mixture of vodka and the perfume that I so liberally applied at the start of the evening. I hear the shouts of the last of the jubilant drunks who are partying at the pub, trying to get another hour of unruly amusement before it is time to go home and nurse their respective hangovers. They are singing Nirvana at the top of their lungs while I lie here assessing the fire that is melting my abdomen. A tangle of burning snakes are raging war on my innards. Writhing and thrashing, they don't care how violent they need to get in order to eject themselves from my body. As they squirm up my throat, the nausea dims and blurs my vision.

Must. Get. Up.

I somehow make it to the bathroom and drop to my knees as the vomit spews forth and hits the bowl. The tiles are freezing cold but this is no time for getting a blanket. Realms of vodka and fluorescent yellow bile shower the porcelain like hypercolour acid rain. An exorcism of the evil demons that have been inhabiting my body for the past few hours. Now the dodgy kebab is making it's way out. Chunks of pita bread and hommus. Spiky tabouli floats in the bowl like mischievous green plankton. The disgusting, slimy chicken that did this to me is flying out of my mouth and nose in angry bursts. Pain.

The drunks outside are singing 'Wonderwall'. I rest my head on the seat and curse the winking kebab man who shaved that hideous chicken off the Rotating Skewer of Doom. Before I can further contemplate the downside of eating midnight kebabs, my gut gets pummeled again. I'm being punched from the inside out. Uppercut, jab, jab, hook. Bang! In record time I stand up and pull down my knickers. The enraged worms have found another way. Liquid spews forth again. This is bad. An image of Nick flashes in my mind. A second of clarity'� Something happened last night. I think I might have said something stupid. I quickly push my best friend out of my mind. Now is not the time to think of Nick. My head is hammering and my body is shaking from the violent invasion waging war at both ends. They sing 'Brown Eyed Girl', while I grab my doona and throw it onto the bathroom tiles. This is going to be a looong day.

Somehow I manage to sleep fitfully on the floor, often waking to worship the porcelain. Visions of Nick ebb and flow. Last night I dragged him out of the pub. Made him sit with me to have a 'chat'. What on earth did I say? My mind blanks out further memories'� Where did I pass out? Oh, this could be very, very serious'�
My flatmate, Nina, knocks on the door.
'Bella? Everything okay in there?'�
I find this an appropriate moment to vomit again.
'Ggg..no!'� I gurgle as the liquid spills out. 'Alcohol. Food poisoning'�.dodgy kebab.'�
'Aw dude, I told you not to eat that kebab. I reckon that shady kebab man does questionable things to the meat.'�
'Ggg'�..'� Another eruption. 'Gggg'�bllllrrrr'�..gggg'�..gross!'�
'Is there anything I can get for you? I'm just about to go out.'�
'No thanks. Ggg'�.Talk later.'�
The demon has been sated for now, but a tingling in my guts in indicating that another volcanic blast is slated to come from one end or the other very soon. At this point it would not surprise me if a shower of wax spewed forth from my ears, just so they could be part of the self-depraved joke that my body is pursuing. I want to ask Nina about the party'� Ask what I said to Nick. I want to find out how I got home'�but I'm too exhausted and occupied to chat, and I'm not in a state to handle the truth right now. Food Poisoning Land is not the time to talk about the love of your life.

The bathroom light casts a waxy glow on my sallow, sweaty skin. Lying on the floor I notice a cobweb in the corner, fluttering delicately in the bathroom draft. I must have kicked it or disturbed it somehow, but I see no spider. My retching has no doubt caused him to move on in disgust. I study the cracks in the tiles and desperately hope that no male visitors have misfired around the bowl since the last time I mopped the bathroom floor. I make a mental note to wash my doona cover as soon as my harrowing toilet experience is over.


Flashback!

I told him I was in love with him! We were sitting in the gutter chatting about people who were at the party, and I told him I loved him. I had a big emotional outburst and poured forth every feeling and emotion and girly romantic notion that I could think of. Stupid, half-witted girl! Your best friend knows you love him! '�What did he say back? Can't think, must spew. Acidic shards of onion spatter the bowl. My liver and stomach are rejecting themselves. Trying to leave my body, because they are sick of living inside a self-abuser. A drunk. A connoisseur of dodgy kebabs. A foolish, emotional girl! Lying back down on the doona, I curl into a ball while the internal Jerry Springer show rages. Wrestlemania of the Gut. I just pray that the vomiting and diarrhoea don't happen at the same time at any point during this toilet doce doe. Niagara Falls at both ends will cause me to have to make a choice I really don't want to have to make.
'Nick! You know you were meant for me'�.Guys and girls aren't meant to be best friends. I'm sick of pretending. I love you!'�
Then I kissed him.

Fuckshitfuckorama!

Did he kiss me back? Did he lean his head in? I can't remember! I think I felt a sheepish tongue in my mouth'� This is such a wretched business. My head is finally starting to clear and I think I preferred the blur. I've spent the entire two years completely and secretly in love and now he knows.

For months now I have been setting up little experiments with Nick. Testing the waters. Positioning myself at the opposite end of a group to see if he moves to talk to me. Ignoring every third text message that he sends to see if he notices or cares. The results: inconclusive. No concrete verification either way. Last year, when Nick briefly dated a vapid beauty named Emily, I spent a lot of time at home watching Sex and the City in the hope of forgetting my troubled, non-existent love life. It was brilliant living vicariously through four sassy Manhattan broads. In those couple of weeks I went on more dates and had more sex than I could ever possibly imagine'�all without leaving the comfort of my couch. Of course, Nick called trying to get me to come out, but I told him I was on detox and that it was easier to stay home. If only he knew that my heart was breaking. Even when he'd stopped seeing Emily I'd stayed at home for a few more weeks, secretly sulking.

There was one line from Sex and the City that stuck with me from watching all those episodes back to back.
'He's just not that into you.'�
Blaringly simple. Stupendously obvious. Nick doesn't pine for me if I leave the room. His body contact consists entirely of matey thumps and hugs. If it weren't for the massive spark I feel whenever I'm in his vicinity, I'd tell myself to get a grip. Still. That floppy brown hair, those eager green eyes and that constant cheerful smile ' he kills me every time.

Why do these boring, vacant girls get to be with him, if only for a couple of weeks, while I am stuck as the best friend? Although today I look like Quasi Modo's uglier and less hygienic sister, I'm usually quite an attractive girl. Blonde hair, cheeky blue eyes, small pert breasts and sensual hips'�brains, sense of humour. I'd have to be a seven out of ten at least'�My friend studying psychology reckons that nearly everyone secretly thinks that they are at least a seven out of ten ' no matter how ugly or lacking in personality they may be. It's called the 'Above Average' factor. Perhaps I suffer this affliction and expecting Nick to love me is a delusion of grandeur. Despite our endless discussions on music, politics, reality television and life, there has been no sweet romance. I spend hours playing Playstation with him, grunting with finger exertion and letting him whoop jubilantly at my spectacular losses, but still no hint of love. Why? Because I have made the eternal mistake. I became the Asexual Girl, stuck in Friend Land forever'�

Until. Last. Night.

I am an anti-drinking advertisement. I am one of those binge drinker girls in those crap ads where the heading comes up ' 'How will you feel tomorrow?'� The answer is obvious. Terrible.

My friends keep instructing me to tell him. They are convinced that he is enraptured with me and is too scared to tell me. They say there is an obvious spark and we are denying ourselves the bliss of being in love.
'You're scared to ruin the friendship. But it's worth the risk!'�
'Get him drunk in a taxi and jump him. It's the only way.'�
'You need to get out of the evil Friend Zone. Get out or perish!'�
Well I guess I'm out now. Well and truly. Friendship ruined. Potential relationship ruined. Perhaps this food poisoning will continue forever and I will never have to leave the house again. Nina could tell him I checked myself into AA and will not be back for a very long time. Perhaps I could tell him it was a joke or an experiment... or in my drunken haze I thought he was someone else'�Nope. There is no getting out of this. As soon as I get over this prolonged, tempestuous day I am going to have to see him and have 'A Chat'. The self-pity is overwhelming.

I somehow manage to get queasily through the day. No call from poor Nick, who is no doubt at home freaking out, trying to work out how he will tell me that he only dates girls who are at least a 7 out of 10. That he just isn't that into me. That although I am great to talk to about music and books, I am completely asexual. Like a little sister or a goofy cousin. What a hideous conversation we have ahead of us.

My phone beeps. A text.

He's not even going to say it in person. The moment of truth has arrived and I will finally find out why the love of my life thinks I'm a dud.

Keepbreathingkeepbreathingkeepbreathingkeepbreathing.

With shaking hands I let the nugget of insight flash up on the glowing LED screen.



Sorry I left the party last night. Nina said she'd get you home. Needed to eat. Bought a dodgy kebab and have been in hell all day. Can't even mention how gross it has been. Will call you once I'm better.
Nick
P.S. I love you too ☺


G.Hamer (c) 2006

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