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| Alex (revised) | |
| By Rose | ||||||||||||||
| 25 March 2007 | ||||||||||||||
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Ok, I have taken all your comments on board and have written more yay! I'm very very open to all opinions, be honest but not cruel! Hope you guys like it. xxx I can picture her now, looking into the mirror. Just from the way she’s sitting I can tell she’s not happy with how she looks. Her head tilts one way, then the next, analysing every freckle, every mole, and every blemish. Her shoulders slump in resignation, but, as she turns she can see me in the doorway. I feel almost guilty for having stared at her for so long, but the smile on her face breaks any anxieties I had been previously feeling. That smile. “Rosie! My sunshine how have you been? You look terrible!” At this point she comes towards me, but falters in her stride when she realises I want to hug her. She steps back and I remember her intense phobia of physical contact. I always find this difficult to comprehend. If I told you she was sweet this would never convey the capacity for love in this girl, but still, she cannot hug me. I flop on her bed, exhausted. The night before had been one of my usuals, incredibly drunk, being horrid to all my friends, then crying hysterically, waking the neighbours. Last night was no exception, in fact it was made infinitely worse by my smashing a plate on the floor. Alex recalled the events to me with a smile on her face, a smile which meant it had made her love me even more. “Rosie you were awful last night. Do you remember smashing the plate?” My hungover brain takes a few seconds to register her words, but screams of alcohol fuelled madness flooded my mind as I became aware that I had indeed smashed a plate. “The worst thing about it is, Rosie, it was our “bless this house” plate. I die inside, she has taken it so well. She’s not angry, or sulking. She’s worried about me, even after I broke her plate. The one bought when we moved in together. “Alex I’m so sorry” “Hmmm, you were in such a bad way, it was funny to watch! But don’t worry we still have our “mother knows best” mug, I’ll hide it next time!” I laugh, thinking about how many times I’ve found Jammie Dodgems or equivalents hidden behind the sofa, or olive oil under the sink, with Alex claiming she had hidden it the night before as I had returned home drunk. “Olive Oil? What would I have done with that?” I had asked, and she replied simply, “You would have found something.” Back in her room I recall the events that had led to my inevitable collapse, sprawled, naked and crying in our bathroom. It’s my 20th birthday and I’m Debbie Harry. Over bleached hair and high heels complete my look, as do an entourage of 80’s icons including Iggy Pop, Michael Jackson and Prince. Alex is wearing pink leg warmers and a side ponytail. She looks stunning. One friend comes as Donnie Darko, a skeleton painted on his T-shirt. I count each of his bright white ribs and they add up to twenty. I stagger to the bar, colleagues are disappearing, but my hardcore friends remain to sing me Happy Birthday. Feeling nauseous I’m sick in the club toilet and I suddenly feel overwhelmingly depressed. Is there anything worse than throwing up when you know you look like shit, everyone knows you’re being sick, and it’s your birthday? I don’t know but I felt like I had to leave. One thing you should know about me is that I like to run away. From everywhere, dinner parties, my house, my own birthday party. So that’s exactly what I did. I ran to the beach. Looking at the stars, I knew this was the night I was going to die, until two passers-by put me in a cab home. Alex had been calling me but my phone was gone, lost, and I didn’t care. I didn’t want to see anyone. At home, the horrors of the night were padded and pillowed by 20 tuaca shots and some vodka, I didn’t have to think, I knew it was bad. I had passed out naked on the bathroom floor and this is where she had found me. Shame doesn’t begin to describe how I feel looking at her all clean and bright. No make up, hair like sparkling champagne. She glistens and I throw up. I wonder if this is how it will always be.
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