Page 10 of Sex Ed

‘Do you want some water?’ I hear her voice whisper through the door.

‘I think I may need a drip. Do you have anything intravenous in the house?’

‘Unfortunately, no. Do I need to get an exorcist? I’ve not heard sounds like that before.’

I crawl across the bathroom tiles to the door and reach up to undo the latch, falling to the floor dramatically once it’s done. I turn over and see Mia’s face looking down at me, chomping on a toasted bagel. She holds it over me.

‘It’s peanut butter? You want?’ she asks me, licking her lips, crumbs falling onto my face. ‘It’s smooth, I know you don’t do crunchy.’

‘Noooooo. I think I’m dying,’ I moan, putting my cold face to the tiles. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘I did nothing,’ she says innocently, eyes wide like a drunk kitten. How is she still standing? She also seems to have changed into what appear to be tiny zebra print boxer shorts and a cropped T-shirt, her belly button and a flash of her knickers on display.

‘You enabled the situation. Harriet from the office won’t be allowed in the pub ever again. They may need to re-decorate.’

‘That’s because Harriet still drinks those alcopop drinks from the nineties. They don’t mix well with anything. They are nasty.’

‘I think I may have thrown up a lung.’

‘As long as it doesn’t block my toilet,’ she murmurs through a mouthful of bagel.

She crouches down beside me, putting her back to the wall of the corridor and pats my head like one would a pet. All I see is animal print and for a small moment I hallucinate that an actual jungle beast is coming to eat me.

‘Did you get a chance to chat to her then? Caitlin?’ she asks me.

At present, Caitlin is the last thing on my mind. I think I may have possibly wet myself.

‘No. I’ve killed that.’ I can’t quite tell if I’m floating or if I’m on the floor. The tile patterns are making me poorly.

‘Not necessarily. Those shots finished Tommy off. When we left, he was asleep on a bench in the pub garden. You at least outdid him in that respect. Lightweight.’

‘Yes, but do you think she saw me throwing up outside the chicken shop opposite though? That’s not a good look…’

‘She was long gone by then.’

I cringe at the memory of thinking fried chicken was a good idea. ‘I may never eat again. Did Caitlin leave with anyone?’ I enquire.

‘Not that I saw. She told me she needed to be up bright and early for a Park Run. She’s a runner like you, see? Something in common. We had a nice chat, seems like a sound girl.’

I can’t feel my face. I think it might actually be stuck to these tiles. There is also a fair bit of hair down here, collected in tumbleweed style balls. I hope it’s hair from a head. The thought that I may be inhaling errant pubes makes my stomach turn again. I want to ask questions. What did you talk about? Did you at least mention my name so I’m in her sphere of consciousness?

‘I’m cold,’ I mutter. Mia reaches up and throws a towelling dressing gown over me. ‘Is this what death feels like?’

‘That is what tequila feels like.’ She finishes her bagel and takes an unusually noisy sip of tea.

‘So loud… How does someone drink tea so loud?’ I moan, her big slurps moving me to tears.

‘I don’t think you’ve ruined your chances there, you know? I think we’ve given her a glimpse into the fact you go down the pub, you’re one of the cool kids.’

‘Except I’m not.’

‘You are. Know your worth, Ed Rogers. You’re cool to me.’ Mia sits there next to me, puts down her mug of tea and begins scrolling through her phone, pausing only to push a pint glass of water in my direction. I raise my head and attempt to take a small sip, through puckered aching lips. My stomach lurches again, feeling raw, like I’ve turned it inside out. I can feel everything and nothing in my body. I want to apologise to it so badly. Please forgive this abuse. ‘I think I’ve found her on social media too.’

She holds a phone to my eyes, and I squint to adjust my vision. CB_Teaches_Maths. Oh, the joy of a teacher username so the kids can never find us. My heart aches to see squares of perfectly curated pictures of her, nothing off-putting like skewed political opinions or an over-reliance on filters and hashtags. She just seems really, really nice. And she runs. And brings her own lunch to school. And likes pesto.

‘It’s OK. It’ll never happen. Just forget it,’ I say, pushing the phone away drunkenly. The room swirls for a moment like we’re at sea. I see glimpses of things in that moment, Mia’s look of pity, a cobweb on the underside of her sink, three empty toilet roll tubes lying sadly on the floor.

‘It might happen,’ Mia says.

---