Sick and tired

By Xandra the Blue

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Stomach muscles clenched as she knelt over the toilet bowl and a second gush of rainbow coloured sick hit the bowl. She let out a soft moan before she gagged for a third time consecutively and closing her puffy eyes she vomited again. Once the vile tasting liquid had been evacuated from her body she closed her eyes and fell backwards on the cold tile floor. She wiped her mouth on a shaking sleeve before she gasped for breath and whimpered pathetically. God, she felt ill. No, she felt as if she were dying. Her head felt as if her brain had suddenly decided to retain water and was trying to expand its way out of her skull, her whole body quivered with weakness, sweat dripping down her tired face as if she had a fever, legs unable to support her under her own power and her stomach, her stomach trying to get rid of the alcohol as fast as possible.

As she lay on the floor, her stomach contracting as it worked up the energy for another tsunami of nausea, she pondered how she had been reduced to this state. Yes, she'd certainly had a good night. Definitely. She had a few foreign phone numbers in her purse and a condom she didn't recognise from the night before.

She pushed herself backwards, like a frog doing backstroke, to the wall, and lying her aching head against the cold ceramics let out an angry groan. She wished she felt better, after he night out. She remembered a party, yes, she remembered a party with plenty of booze, plenty of people. She remembered several cocktails with names that she couldn't pronounce after consuming a few of them, she remembered dancing with some guy and remembered that they went off to a back alley somewhere afterwards where they didn't get very far, to their mutual disappointment. The whole night seemed like a black hole, where she had emerged home alone, and missing sixty quid. She didn't even remember why she went out - maybe it was just to get out of the flat. No one else would have been in last night, except her next-door neighbour. As her head throbbed her mind, previously swimming, held onto the thought of him as if it were a life ring.

He wasn't the kind who went out to parties. He was only a year younger, but he stayed at home of a night, curled up with a good book and a mug of horlicks. There would be no way you'd see him sicking up in a gutter at two a.m or having a one-night stand. No, the nearest you'd see him get to that is striking up a conversation with a stranger at the dry cleaners. When she'd moved in here, just a few months ago, she'd come to see if he could help her set up, or with the moving. She'd refused, of course, but he'd always been a good neighbour, talking to her when he could. She worked in advertising, he , he worked, certainly, in some boring office job she'd forgotten the name of, but she knew what he really wanted to do. She heard it through the walls. The music he wrote, piano notes sliding through the walls like ghosts on a rare evening she was at home. Sometimes she listened to them, enjoying the delicate nature of them, but other nights she knocked on the wall and asked him to stop his noise - she didn't like the piano. There was something somewhat archaic about the piano, about the very sound of the keys - she didn't like anything without a good baseline, or wasn't written for a chart topper. There was a reason, she thought, there was something called 'popular music' - it meant it was popular, and therefore superior to all other types of music.

Of course, she never told him this, and he continued to play. But this morning was surprisingly quiet. Again, she was glad of this, she didn't think her head could take the sound of music at this time of morning. Her mind returned to her neighbour. How on earth did he expect to make it in music? He was ugly! There was no other word for him, ugly! He was chubby in a childish way with a boyish face, certainly no brooding charm or masculine handsomeness. His face was androgynous - it was definitely male, yet had a sort of delicateness that cannot be expressed through words. He lacked any sort of grace - he moved like a he were drunk most of the time, his head down, starting at the ground, overgrown messy brown hair covering his face, but even as she lie here, she knew that this wasn't true. If you watched him on his piano, or writing something down on a notepad, something that he did often, the swift, dancing movements were entrancing. It were as if his hands turned into doves, floating along the world, diving gracefully and then flying upwards again, maybe twirling before their five wings stretched out again.

As she thought about him, she felt her head fall down onto her chest and curling her legs into her stomach and throwing her arms around them she sat, thinking about him. Was it true, she wondered, was it true what she said about him? She said he was ugly, and it was certainly true, no way of denying it, his teeth were crooked and his bug eyes would give anyone the creeps, but was it true that she thought she'd never like anyone like him.

Sudden realisation hit her like a rock in the stomach. Had she, had , she must be rational, it would never work! She couldn't have fallen in love with the man next door! He was a weirdo! Apart from his music, no other sounds ever came from his flat, no TV, no nothing. He was certainly very nice, but aren't you always meant to look out for the nice ones? Don't they all turn out to be serial killers? Was that why she never heard anything, because he was planning to kill her and do something gruesome to her body? It certainly made sense! He'd started to talk to her more in the last few days, ask questions, questions she didn't like. He asked her how she was, and where she was going, and if she regularly went out. She only mentioned the fact that she had a hangover when he asked her if she wanted some coffee! In his flat, in his flat! She panicked. Wasn't it obvious from the start! She scolded herself; no, the answer was that he was in love with her. He just wanted her. He wanted her to love to him!

She pulled her legs in tighter and gasped in fear. She was fully convinced that the man next door wanted her and would go after her under any circumstance! But maybe, maybe she could get around this. Maybe she could date him, just for a short while. Just a fortnight or so, maybe just put up with him for that long, put up with his freakish bug eyes and his music, and let him get it out of his system. Just use him, and then he'd move on. Yes, she liked the idea of that. She liked the idea of using him and then moving on - that way they'd both benefit. She removed all thoughts from her mind that this had anything to do with any sort of attraction. He was the wrong type, and he'd be the one gaining from the relationship. No one else would ever do this for him - she doubted if he had ever done it before. She couldn't think of anyone who'd sleep with him voluntarily. With a horrible sneer she added in her mind, he'd probably like a well-tuned piano over a well-tuned girl any day.

The doorbell rung. She sat up this was unexpected, she thought, assuming the meek ring to be his own. So soon? She wouldn't 've suspected that he'd be here so quickly. So, pushing her peroxide blonde hair out of her face she crawled to the front door on all fours, hoping not to feel queasy again, and upon reaching the door. Pulled herself up on the door handle before opening it.

"Morning my Kouro-.. " Said a girl standing before her at the door, before realising that she was obviously not her next-door neighbour. She examined the stranger. The girl was a year, maybe two years younger than her. Wavy mahogany red hair fell down her shoulders like ivy vines from a hanging basket. Her face, enviably beautiful and fresh, was a shade of milky white, while her chapped lips were a light blood red. The strangers' eyes sparkled a gentle hazel while she wore nothing but a benign smile on her face, the apples of her cheeks a healthy red.

"I'm sorry, " she muttered, "Chester's next door. I'm Ruby, his next door neighbour." Ruby pushed her hair out of her face, feeling comparatively ugly, yesterday's make up smeared across her face like an angry slap, her tiredness creeping into her own contact blue eyes. The stranger smiled delicately at her, and mumbled an apology, saying something about her poor handwriting. "Look, its okay, "Ruby said, to stem the flow of requests for forgiveness, "You his sister?"

"No, " replied the stranger quietly, "I'm his girlfriend."

Ruby's jaw dropped. This wasn't right. How could this woman go out with something like Mr Next door! This woman should have been trying to sell fake tan to the rest of us, not asking for, for, ! Ruby felt betrayed. How dare this woman take Chester away from her! She hadn't even got him yet! She'd thought of it first! She had to ask, "Oh. How do you."?

"We met at the Laundrette one day." Sally answered, a little more curtly than necessary, "We both work in music."

Ruby, mind screaming at the outrage, leaning on the door, seemed to merely watch as Chester emerged from his room, not even bothering to look at her. "Hey, rag doll, I'm in the one next door." he joked tenderly.

"My Kouros!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, "Good morning!"

Chester put his plump arms around her and whispered, "Got lost Sally?" She looked into his face, eyes transfixed on him as he kissed her on the forehead.

"I was looking for you, " Sally said, scolding him teasingly, "You told me the wrong number!"

"I don't think so, " he replied, looking at the piece of paper she held in her hands "But you're here now, that's all that matters." He kissed her again, and as if he'd only just noticed her he turned to Ruby and said, " Morning Ruby, good night out?"

Ruby mumbled in the affirmative, pushed her hair out of her face.

"Well Sally, this is Ruby, she lives next door, " he introduced, "Ruby, this is Sally."

"Pleasure's all mine." Ruby grumbled.

Chester looked at his watched before he said, "Look, we've gotta go. We're going to talk to a man about a piano piece or two."

"Chester's going to write some scores for an animation." Added Sally helpfully.

"If I'm lucky." He said, as he slipped his delicate writing hand into hers.

"Gook luck, " Ruby said through gritted teeth.

"I hope you see you later, "said Sally, with real sincerity, " I've heard so much about you." Sally squeezed Chester's hand. Ruby couldn't take it any more and gagged. She slammed the door on the couple, still standing outside together and ran to the bathroom.

Ignoring the sound of the happy couple she hurled up into her sink. Love made her feel sick.