Sick

After staying up all night doing PVP with Kevin, Jez wasn't likely to wake up in the forseeable future.

In the end, my persistent whinging and guilt-tripping dragged the boy out of bed.

Jez's dad came home from work while I was in the bathroom. The door was open as I was only applying make-up, but I wasn't seen from the outside.

The two of them were talking. I eavesdropped unintentionally and heard from Jez's dad an angry list of irresponsible things I've done during recent weeks. I really can't explain the shock. There wasn't much for me to do apart from remain standing rooted to the spot, scared of what he was going to say next, ashamed of my stupidity and anxious about what would happen when papa Cheng walks into the bathroom to take a shower like he always did after work, to find me standing there soaking up every single word.

Inevitably that happened. Awkward pause. I grabbed my ghd and unplugged it like my life depended on it and said "sorryI'mdoneyoucantakeyourshower". He was quicker with "noit'sokaytakeyourtime" and left.

After a minute I came out to find him in the kitchen. We discussed the problems briefly and I went into Jez's room feeling terrible. Jez was sitting at the computer and stood up quickly as I entered. Awkward pause. I grabbed the ghd again and plugged it into the socket like my life depended on it and in my haste painfully burnt my thumb on its 220°C slab of ceramic.

We sat on the bed. Jez put his arm around me and asked if I was okay. I hate it when people do that. If you're with some poor person on the verge of tears the seemingly-appropriate but absolute-worst thing you could do is showing that you care. Assuming that they want to avoid sobbing hysterically, which was the sensible thing to do if you're wearing freshly-applied mascara.

I held my thumb in my right hand and burst into tears, insisting stubbornly that I was crying about the burn. Considering I scraped off half the skin on my knee just last week and got up without a wince I guess that lie wasn't going to be bought.

Never in a million years did I think I shared Jez's habit of closing up like a vault when upset. But I do. And while Jez now understands how frustrating it is to be the other person, I understand how difficult it could be to tell the truth when overwhelmed with embarrassment and shame.

After much dwindling and re-application of make-up we left for North Sydney. Plan A was to lunch at Ryo's, watch Definitely, Maybe and finish in time for dinner with Marcus and Hugo, Jez's work buddies. Plan B involved walking for 20 minutes to Falcon St to find the restaurant closed, running for an approaching bus in the completely wrong direction, having no time for any movie that runs for longer than 30 minutes, and eating rather revolting chili fettucine at a cafe we swore we'd never again visit.

I would have said the day was absolutely disastrous, but dinner was delicious. I would have said that the day took an upturn at this point, but unfortunately just about every morsel of the delicious dinner found its way back out of our mouths.

We woke up in the morning laughing about it until our stomachs hurt, but at the time there was absolutely nothing funny about what I'm about to recount next.

I forget how many hurricanes we had at dinner, but it was enough for me to drop Hugo's iPhone, blurt out that my ex and I lasted 3.5 years by accident, and stumble down the stairs leading to the toilets feeling like I was flying.

We should have said no to K, but by that time we were too out of it to refuse and obediently handed over $100 to Hugo. $50 each? What the hell for?

My memory of K was blurry, but it did involve me belting out Jay Chou, Jez and I singing Slide to each other - it might have been cute if VB wasn't threatening to cross our blood-brain barrier, and something quite embarrassing on Jez's behalf that I won't mention. Although what I did already mention are probably embarrassing enough, anyway.

Neither of us remembered how we walked out of K, because the next thing we knew we were on George St and I pointed out that our bus was conveniently waiting for me. How I managed to recognise the route number or in fact distinguish between a bus and monkey riding a unicycle I'll never know.

On the bus, Jez tilted his head back and slept while I sobbed uncontrollably into his lap, crying about my grandmother and murmering "come back" between my sniffles. A couple of lunatics.

I didn't sleep at all. Every twenty minutes or so my stomach would give the familiar grumble and I was forced to sprint to the toilet and vomit out what was after awhile absolutely nothing at all. I drank water in desperation for substance to replace empty retching, and remember saying more than just a few times "I really just want to die".

Jez, however, didn't think before puking. As a result I threw away my pair of Scooter flats in the morning while he rinsed orange gunk from his mobile and DS chargers.

I knew I should have listened to that little curry voice inside my head.

"I don't think you should do it."