Page 150 of How We Began

“Well, we have chicken to go on the BBQ, steak, and some sausages.”

It was totally rancid, but I puked in my mouth.

Gross. Thankfully, I was distracted from swallowing my own sick, by Ben walking in.

I don’t know why he has a key when he’s not going to be living there, but he does.

“Lilah, why are you green?” he asked, stepping towards me. One hand swept across my forehead. “You’re all sweaty.”

Oh, I am so sexy.

“I’m fine. I think I'm just hungry.”

The blues searched my face for a moment and then crinkled into a smile.

“I got these for you,” he said, pulling his other hand out from behind his back.

In his grasp he held a bunch of wild cornflowers. The flowers matched his eyes exactly. I wanted to hold them a little closer to marvel at the feat of nature but I didn’t want to be too special.

“Thank you, they are lovely.” My voice choked a little and I coughed it away.

“Come on, let’s get this BBQ on so you can eat. I don’t want you to pass out. The head between the knees look is not one that works for you.”

(8.00 p.m.)

Five jugs of pretend Pimms later. And I was singing. On key, of course.

“Does she only know one Avril Lavigne song?” Ben asked Tristan.

“Apparently so.”

27th May

Holy shit balls. I’m still feeling dodgy as hell, even two days later, but I’m attempting to put a brave face on it. I don’t think I gave myself Pimms poisoning. I think I might be suffering from a serious case of anxiety. Every time I think that in a couple of short weeks Ben will be gone, a wave of nausea smashes over me which includes cold sweats, stomach cramps, and this terrible need to gag that’s becoming hard to hide.

I nearly didn’t go to lectures today until I realised that meant I’d be separated from Ben for two whole hours. How sad is that? Two hours is nothing really, is it? A mere drop in the ocean of non-Ben I have swimming in front of me.

Yesterday after I’d spent the day being violently ill and he was so supportive and caring and generally bloody lovely, I nearly gave in and begged him to stay.

But I didn’t.

He started to play guitar for me, just softly in the background as I lay curled up on the end of the bed, and it sounded so damn beautiful I knew I’d never be able to say anything. Not ever.

It hurts to let him leave, but it would hurt even more to be weak and ask him to stay.

31st May

(7.30 a.m.)

It's our last official day of lectures. Praise the lord that we aren’t being lectured at but instead are going to the National Gallery to look at something very interesting. No idea what it is, but I’m sure it will be interesting.

After lectures yesterday I excused myself from study/football watching/boyfriend ogling/duties and nipped into Putney. I ordered a little something for Ben last week and it was finally ready, so I went to grab it. Tonight is the last Digby shindig but Ben and I are out on our date, so we’ll miss it. I’m trying very hard to ignore all the flyers announcing the ‘Last Events’ of the academic year. Every time I see it written somewhere, I have crazy butterflies in my stomach.

I’m blaming my erratic retching and gagging on the mutant butterflies and the anxiety they bring. It’s embarrassing. Ben offered me toast yesterday morning and I just stood there gagging right in front of him. The same thing happened with dinner once I got home from Putney. Ben keeps banging on about me going to the doctor in case it is a bug or something, but I am sure it is just my nerves causing it. I don’t want to tell him that. If I do, he might decide that we should calm down for the next three weeks until he leaves.

That would be bad.

Very very bad.