Dating Disasters of Emma Nash Read online

  There’s an empty bottle of gin in my hand. Did I drink that? Was that me? I thought I was drinking vodka...

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:35 A.M.

  Tried to find the bathroom but it seemed so, so far away. I’ve done really well, though, to make it to this doorway. I’ve sat down as a reward.

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  People should put their heads in between their own knees it’s lovely and cool and dark

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  Tea floor is a really nice and peaceful place very good for thinking

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  Thoughts

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 2:02 A.M.

  I don’t feel like crying anymore, in this safe little spot. None can touch me here.

  Minus then rude people who keep stepping over. Mee and kicking me.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:28 A.M.

  How did I get on the bathroom floor? Someone’s been sick jan here, it smells terrible.

  Crying so much I am choking. Potentially choking on vomit. Don’t ha be any tears left, I’m so dehydrated. I’m caught in a river of tears, like Alice. Except that the tears are the water at thebe bottom of Gracie’s parents’ toilet.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 4:44 A.M.

  Staring into a bucket of sick. Is that mine? Surely that can’t all be mine?

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:39 A.M.

  Sobbing into a pillow. Feeling so disgusting and alone. I want Leon so much. He’s the only one who can stop me feeling this way, feeling so horribly, horribly lonely. Why doesn’t he want me?

  I feel as if a huge, gaping hole has opened up inside me that will never ever be filled. Except by Leon, and Leon wanting me. It’s like if he doesn’t see me, there’s nothing to see. I can’t ever imagine this ending. I can’t ever imagine feeling differently. I am a void which I have no idea how to fill.

  SUNDAY, 14 SEPTEMBER

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:53 P.M.

  Oh God. I’m at home now and just...oh God.

  This Morning

  I woke up and my first thought was: Where am I? There were sounds of people laughing and a TV was on somewhere. Everything seemed too loud. I tried moving but quickly found this was not a good idea. My head was in AGONY. I wanted to ring Steph but I couldn’t find my phone.

  Then she popped her head round the door with a cup of tea. I was so happy to see her I wanted to start crying again.

  “OH,” she said.

  “What?” I croaked.

  “Have you looked in a mirror?”

  “No...”

  “Don’t.”

  She began cleansing me with a face wipe. The pillow was covered in black eye makeup.

  “We’ll just turn that over,” Steph said.

  “What HAPPENED?” I asked.

  “You got completely wasted.”

  “Yes, I’ve guessed that much. Where were you?”

  “Err... Well, I didn’t realize you’d got so bad until...”

  “Until?”

  “Until you stumbled into the room, threatening to throw away your Chewit wrapper collection—which, by the way, I don’t think would be such a bad idea—then fell over into some girl’s lap.”

  “Oh. Did she laugh?”

  “No. She wasn’t very amused.”

  “Oh.”

  “Especially when you tried to stand up, then it happened again.”

  “Oh...”

  “And then your top came down.”

  Silence.

  “At least I was wearing a nice bra.”

  “It really is a very nice bra.” Steph nodded.

  “What happened after that?”

  “Well, you declared that you’d ‘made enough trouble’ and that you were going to ‘sit quietly.’ Then you sat in the doorway, obstructing everyone’s path to the kitchen and the toilet.”

  “Why didn’t you MOVE me???”

  “Various attempts were made. Greg actually got you to stand up but then you looked at him, quite intently, and said, ‘You’re not Leon’ and sat back down.”

  “Oh my God...”

  “One good thing came out of it, though. Apparently Meathead Babs came in here with a girl to have sex, and after she saw you sobbing next to a bucket of sick it really put her off.”

  “I suppose that’s something. I can’t find my phone.”

  “Oh, yeah, about that... I have it. It sort of, er...”

  “What?”

  “You sort of dropped it in the bucket of sick.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” She nodded sympathetically.

  “Did you...did you fish it out for me?”

  She just laughed. “No. Greg did.”

  “I’m sorry but, who is Greg?”

  “Er, the boy you got with.”

  “I...what?!”

  Ah yes. The boy with beer down his shirt. It all came flooding back then.

  Fragmented Memories of the Night Before

  1) Kissing the Lanky, Beer-Stained Boy.

  Who I’m guessing is “Greg.” I really, really had to pee, but Greg was lurking outside the bathroom. I waited for a bit, pretending I was really interested in the coats on the banister. Then I realized it probably looked like I was trying to steal something. So I carried on to the bathroom...

  I smiled politely and slid past him to get to the toilet door...when he stopped me.

  “How old are you again?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Then he leaned in to kiss me so clumsily that my head got bashed against the wall. I don’t think he noticed. I was too drunk and slow to stop it. I think the inner monologue was something like this:

  Why didn’t I say something??? It just seemed too rude... Why am I so bloody polite?? If I don’t WANT to kiss someone, I don’t HAVE to kiss someone. I’d probably apologize to a murderer if their knife got stuck in me.

  How long do I have to keep this going for? It’s got to have been about forty seconds. If a knife DID get stuck in me...where would I want it to be stuck? My arse? Fifty seconds. Why would someone stab you in the bum, though? Do murderers take requests for stabbing preferences? They might think I was a bit odd if I asked for my arse. Over a minute now...definitely... How can I stop this?

  My eyes were fully open. I could see people looking at us over Greg’s shoulder. Eventually, I took a stand and pulled away.

  “I’m hungry,” I announced and walked off forcefully.

  And I didn’t even get to use the bathroom. My bladder felt like it was going to explode.

  2) Avoiding Lanky Greg.

  He came lolloping over to where I was standing in a group (in, on the edge of, whatever), crashing into one girl as he headed over, holding on to another for support.

  “You! Did I kiss you?”

  The group looked at me.

  “Er, no. No...that was, her.”

  And I pointed at Gracie. Thankfully he believed me and went beetling after her. I smiled and shrugged at the others. They went back to their conversations, and I went back to watching their conversations fondly. I still really needed a wee.

  3) Gracie Ignoring Me.

  Steph was still occupied with Jonno, but I finally found Gracie standing with Andy and a couple of his friends. When I walked over she cast her eyes over me, gave me a cursory smile and then carried on with her conversation.

  4) Crying in Public.

  Greg came back to me. I must have looked a bit sad because he said, “Are you all right?”

  Then suddenly, it was all too much and I burst into tears. I could feel everyone staring at me and, in spite of the silent and uninvited devotion I’d come to feel for them in the past hour, not one of them rushed forward to comfort me.
r />   “What’s the matter?!” Greg exclaimed.

  “No, OK!! I’M NOT!!!” I blubbered incoherently and ran off.

  5) Gracie Speaking to Me Again.

  This may only have been because I was obstructing her way to the toilet. I was on the floor and her familiar voice penetrated my tranquil bubble of queasy solitude.

  “Oh my God, Emma!!”

  “Graaaacieeeee!”

  “Get up!! What are you doing??!”

  She was all the way up by the ceiling.

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “What did I do?”

  “Nothing. Come on.”

  “You’re annoyed at me. You hate me. Just like Leon.”

  “I don’t hate you. Come on, get up.”

  Then we were in the bathroom, and she was telling me everything was going to be OK and gingerly patting my back. She told me that she loved me. She thinks I don’t remember that but I do. Ha.

  Gracie popped her head round the door.

  “Does this belong to you?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  She had my phone, or what was left of it, in a tissue. There were little pieces of stuff I didn’t wish to acknowledge...all over it. I imagine that’s how parents feel about a newborn baby, full of love and affection but not really wanting to look at it until it’s been washed.

  “Is it working?” I asked, hopefully.

  “Hmm, to know that I’d have to have touched it.”

  I pressed the “on” button and it made a terrifying sound, like a mouse being caught in a trap, and then it flashed green and blue.

  “Maybe if I put it in a bowl of rice?”

  “Well, I’ve never tried it with acidic bodily fluids, but it works a treat with water,” Steph interjected.

  “Did you kiss Greg?” Gracie demanded.

  “I didn’t want to!”

  She looked at me sarcastically.

  “He cornered me!”

  “So why did you go over to him?”

  “I really needed to pee!”

  “You didn’t use the bathroom.” She laughed, and left the room.

  “Urgh... I really want to PELT her with something.”

  “Grapes?” Steph helpfully suggested.

  “Yes! Giant grapes! Giant grapes that will engulf and suffocate her.”

  Eventually I went downstairs to get some breakfast. I crept past the living room door, where Andy’s friends had slept... You could hear calls of “Wake him up!! Wake him up!!” and “Stuff a jelly worm up his nose!” When I crept back, the door opened and Greg stepped out, looking flustered. He seemed different in the sober light of day, more boyish and innocent... His hair was ruffled and swept across his face, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I was definitely the last person he wanted to see. He said “Hi” and started hurriedly putting his shoes on and then he was out the door.

  Gracie looked really relieved when I left her house. (I can’t say I blame her, actually. Apparently I also threw up in the pile of coats on her parents’ bed.) Then I walked home clutching my bowl of vomit-stained rice. All in all, pretty low.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:24 P.M.

  For some suspicious reason, I am still thinking about Lanky Greg. I mean, Greg. Did he really fish my phone out of a bucket of communal vomit? Regardless, I must stop thinking about this. I already shouted, “You’re not Leon,” in his face and ran away crying. I think I’ve pretty much burned my bridges there.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 4:09 P.M.

  Faith called. Thank God, someone who wasn’t at the party last night.

  “I heard about the party last night,” she said.

  “Oh, goodie. Please please please can we not talk about it?”

  “Only if you agree the next time I say that to you.”

  “Done! How was your family thing?”

  She took a deep breath. “Hope’s getting married.”

  “Oh my God! To Simon?”

  “Yes, to Simon.”

  “Sorry. Stupid question.”

  There was silence.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Of course. I’m happy for her.”

  “What are you not saying?”

  “I’m not not saying anything, Emma. It’s great.”

  “OK...great.”

  There was another pause.

  “After the announcement lots of aunties and uncles kept coming up to me saying, ‘It will be your turn next,’ and asking me whether I’d got a boyfriend yet.”

  “Ugh, Faith, I’m so sorry. But I suppose, they don’t know that you’re not straight.”

  “They shouldn’t assume. Why is straight the default?”

  “They’re old?”

  “There’s only so much you can let people off the hook for, just because of their age.”

  “No, you’re right.”

  “Anyway, there was cake, so it was fine. Cake makes everything better. You can shove it in your mouth when someone asks you an awkward question, and it’s tasty.”

  “Or maybe instead of arming yourself with cake for the rest of your life, you could...tell them?”

  “Emma. Please please please can we not talk about it?”

  “Oh damn you.”

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:15 P.M.

  The Thing That Girls Do When They Pretend Not to Be Mad with Each Other but They’re Really, Really Mad

  Gracie’s passive aggression last night has inspired me to write a post about this. Here’s how I figure it works:

  It has to be noticeable ONLY to the victim. If anyone else notices, you have failed. This is because part of the process is making the victim look as if they’re going mad. If I had said to Steph, “Gracie’s really mad at me,” then Steph would have said, “Why?” and I would have said, “Er...err... Like she smiled at my joke but it didn’t reach her eyes, you know?”

  In fact, it has to be so intangible as to be barely perceptible to the victim. This may involve moments of actual normality, where you think Maybe it was all in my head, and then ten minutes later you think No, maybe it wasn’t.

  It has to make it impossible to resolve the issue. So when I, the victim, say, “I’m sorry for whatever I did,” she can say, with solid evidence to back her up, “We’re fine, Emma.” This is because IT IS A FORM OF PUNISHMENT, NOT A WAY OF FIXING PROBLEMS.

  When you think about it, it’s actually incredibly skillful. I for one lack the required subtlety (I once ended up yelling “BUTT FACE” in the middle of pretending I didn’t notice Steph), but Gracie masters it with expertise.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 6:39 P.M.

  Came downstairs and Mum was eating a bowl of egg fried rice. She offered me some, and I had a horrible, plunging feeling in my stomach.

  “Mum, where did you get that rice? Did you order it? You bought it, right?”

  “No, I made it. Why was your phone in it, by the way?”

  Oh God. She must never know.

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  Surely watching my mother eat vomit rice can’t be the only thing to come of this day

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  Found an old, hair-covered Oreo behind the sofa so there’s always light at the end of the tunnel

  MONDAY, 15 SEPTEMBER

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:30 A.M.

  I think I’m still hungover.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:38 A.M.

  Walked into the kitchen and Olly was in there...casually buttering some toast. He turned around when I came in and smiled. Then proceeded to eat it.

  Well, look at that. A stripper. Just standing. Munching some toast, as you do. Huh.

  I’m skulking in my bedroom until he’s finished. I wasn’t prepared for small talk this early in the morning. Especially not wi
th someone who gets naked for a living... My conversational go-tos such as “So what are you up to today?” or “How’s work?” are somewhat limited.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:43 A.M.

  Still waiting. Come ON. How long does it take to eat a piece of bread!! Also, why is he even up?? What sort of strip clubs open at eight in the morning?

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:50 A.M.

  Finally got into the kitchen, now waiting for the bathroom. This is ridiculous. Mum emerged from her room, all preened and fresh like she “just woke up that way.”

  “Mum, I think we need to reopen the subject of an en suite bathroom.”

  “What’s wrong now?” she grunted.

  She certainly wouldn’t grunt like that if Olly was within earshot.

  “Your boyfriend is making me late for school.”

  Her eyes widen with concern. She grabs me by the shoulders.

  “Did he really say he was my boyfriend??”

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 8:37 A.M.

  In registration. When I panted into the classroom Mr. Morris raised one eyebrow, all his features (including his startlingly white beard) getting sort of dragged up his face with it.

  “The resolution to be on time lasted well, then,” he warbled.

  Did I have a resolution to be on time?

  Actual Resolutions for the Day

  Get back on track with my internet investigations. Surely, one awkward cinema date with Laurence Myer can’t be the culmination of my findings.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:02 A.M.

  In Art Class

  Lovely, soothing art class. I can paint the morning away and forget about how much I hate myself. At least it would be soothing if Steph would shut up about Jonno. They’re messaging about ten times a minute. How on Earth does anyone have that much to say to another person?! What could keep happening every five seconds that is so riveting they have to tell each other about it immediately?! Nothing, I tell you. I know this because I’m sitting with Steph and she is doing absolutely nothing of interest.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:31 A.M.

  NOW she is überexcited about some lottery thing Jonno told her about, where you get twenty-four friends and some sort of statistics system that I can’t even be bothered to listen to her explain and then you have like a 0.00002 percent higher chance of winning or something.