My eyes blear open and sickness is the first thing I am aware of. Lots of sickness and a terrible throbbing headache.

As soon as I am capable of thought, it takes a while for me to get passed how incredibly crap I feel, and my drunken sleep may as well have been a coma, I try to piece together the events of last night, I don't quite trust my memory, there are gaps, and my hangover is slowing me down.

I recognise the headboard-less bed I'm in as Damon's, and as I feel him stir behind me I realise he's still here, tucked up with me under his Chelsea football team quilt.
Well duh, where else would he be? It's his frickin' room. But I've no idea what time it is and...

Oh shit, yes. Now everything starts filtering back.

Some people had left. Dave, and Mat I think..and then we'd come up to bed.
I remember the drunken fumbling - oh God - I wish I didn't, but definitely no sex happened. I remember now. And to be fair neither of us were in any fit state to get it on, Damon could barely climb the stairs and now a hazy memory of it taking him at least five minutes just to get undressed comes whooshing back.

There was though as I said, some drunken fumbling. A bit of groping around in the dark and lots of kissing but thankfully nothing more.
When and if the time comes that Damon and I do sleep together, i at least want to be coherent and able to remember it.
I'm rather gutted that I can't recall exactly what I felt, during what we did get up to.
My head was swirling, and I remember giggling a lot but I didn't exactly lose myself in the moment. I wasn't what you'd call overcome with desire. If anything I was too distracted by lots of other, unwanted thoughts.

One of them, and a rather monumental one, was that I couldn't quite shake the realisation that it was the first time I was intimate with another man that wasn't Mark. The first man since Mark.
This hit me harder than I would've expected, not from any startling contrast between him and Damon (physically, they both share a similar stature and build) but in a nostalgic, sad sort of way.
It's like a major deal isn't it? Cementing the end of an era.

The ex who I was once so close to, will never touch me again and now I'm moving on to bigger - no pun intended - and better things. A new life and a new man. A man who I will soon become very intimately acquainted with (fingers crossed) as our relationship develops.

Needless to say, I found all this a bit much to deal with in my drunken state, and that was most definitely a contributing factor to my not wanting to rush into having sex with Damon.
Call me mad - and many women would - but I need to feel ready before I take a step like that, and I was both relieved and grateful for Damon's patience and understanding.
Yes he seemed keen to take things further as we fooled around, but he didn't try and push me into anything I didn't want to do.

I'm not a complete prude when it comes to sex, though I have only ever slept with two boys. One was Nick, my ex ex, and it only happened one disastrous time. He was my first, and I was his, and it was all very embarrassing. We'd both just turned seventeen, so I'll be honest....I wasn't expecting much.

It seems to me sex is overrated. On the TV and in the movies it looks like some huge mind-blowing event, when in reality, I've yet to discover what all the fuss is about.
When I started dating Mark a few months after Nick and I decided it wasn't working out, I was confident that sex would be different with him.

He was nineteen at the time, and turned twenty during the course of our 12 month on/off relationship, so I wrongly presumed he'd be skilled in the bedroom department (incidentally, I've always found the term 'bedroom department' amusing. It sounds like an outlet in a furniture store, and is so typically English it hurts.)

Anyway, whatever I was expecting, the earth never moved for me when we made love - ugh, that sounds just as cheesy as well - but I have started to wonder if it's all just a bit of a myth.
A lot of my friends have since confessed that after having rushed into losing their virginity at the legal age of 16 (some before) they were left feeling deflated and conned. As if the movies and magazines are selling us a lie.

Still, if anyone can prove me wrong, then it has to be Damon.
He's a man. He's 23, so tha means he must be experienced. And he's sexy and gorgeous and....well, his chest is just a little bit on the hairy side for my liking, but now I sound really petty. I mean, I'm sure he'd prefer it if I were a size 10/12 and not a 12/14 but it hasn't put him off. So I really shouldn't be so picky.

I inwardly scold myself for my nit-picking, and breath deeply to quell the churning in my stomach.

So what if the sight of him as he stripped down to his cute, baggy boxers didn't make me feel faint? That just isn't real life.
He's still very attractive all the same. Athletic, brawny, and very nicely tapered at the waist.

I sit up slowly in the bed, and absentmindedly notice I'm wearing a UEFA Euro '88 T.shirt. Damon gave it to me last night, but I couldn't see what it was at the time.
It was the first one he laid his hands on, just something for me to wear in bed - well actually more to save my modesty when I nipped across the landing to use the bathroom.
That's one of the drawbacks to sharing a house with other people. Especially men. Just because Damon might want to get me naked doesn't mean they want to see it.

Oh God.
I forgot about that.
For a few glorious minutes whilst dazed and confused, I'd forgotten all about that. About the other men in the house.
Well, one man in particular.

I heave my shaky legs out the bed and sit feeling queasy as the terrible memory of the noises comes crashing back now in a moment of unforgivingly harsh crystal clarity.

Danielle had slept here.
With Brett.
In bed.
It wasn't just a hideous nightmare.
No no no. I don't want it. I don't want it to be real and I don't want to remember.
What makes matters worse is, I heard it all..

The dodgy and blindingly obvious noises had begun just before Damon drifted off to sleep. We'd been snuggled up together comfortably content, when the suspicious, distinctly male grunting and groaning sounds reached my ears.
At first I felt slightly embarrassed and awkward about it, as I realised what it was I was actually hearing.
And then Damon passed a flippant remark which made me feel like my chest had been trampled on.

"Seems Brett got lucky then." He sniggered, not noticing the way I immediately tensed at his words.

Oh. Dear. Jesus.

Words can't describe the inexplicable feelings, and the strange cold chill that crept over me, making me feel sick to my stomach.

Not long after a female voice - Danielle's of course - had joined in, much louder and with a great deal more enthusiasm.
My God, that woman is vocal. And she was seriously loud, because I wasn't intentionally listening!
So I had to lie there, with Damon softly snoring beside me, accidentally overhearing Brett having sex.

Their noises were bad enough, but then the obligatory banging of the headboard against the wall - unfortunately it would appear Brett's bed does have one, unlike Damon's - and the squeaking of the bed springs followed, just to add insult to injury.

On and bloody on it went, making me want to tear my ears off and stamp on them in disgust. I remember wishing I was earless, and I could use my hair to cover it up or invest in some elegant headscarves.

Why are the walls so damn thin? This is a big, chunky Victorian house, the walls should be as thick as tree trunks. I shouldn't have heard that, it shouldn't be possible, and...oh God. I think I'm going to be sick.

I manage to stand upright without heaving and move unsteadily towards the door. Walking slowly to the bathroom, not wanting to make any sudden movements.

Annoyingly once I arrive there, the feeling seems to pass so I put the lid own on the toilet seat and sit shakily.
Conveniently the wash basin is positioned directly next to the toilet, so this enables me to sit for a while with the tap running, my head poised over the sink, and I use my hand to splash my face with cold water.

I'm being ridiculous. I tell myself sternly.
All those messed up thoughts and feelings last night, it was nothing more than just the booze confusing me.
I'm not attracted to Brett, i just like him as a friend that's all, but I don't fancy him. No. Not in the slightest.
He's been kind to me, and I was probably just mistaking my fondness of him for something else.
And this jealousy thing with Danielle, it's silly.
She's exceptionally pretty, so it must have been some form of drunken envy. I wish I were as pretty as her, that's all.

Feeling slightly better at having convinced myself, I take a few deep breaths, turn the tap off and open the door.
I'm still not fully awake, in spite of the icy water I've just doused myself with, so it comes as a complete shock to the system as I suddenly collide with another body as I'm leaving the room.

I let out a startled shriek, and feel two large hands grasp my shoulders firmly.

"Fuck! Sorry Sammy, are you alright? I didn't expect anyone to be up yet."

There's a slight delay as my brain struggles to register the sight of an equally stunned (and alarmingly underdressed) looking Brett.

God no. Why him? Why now?
I'm only wearing a tatty T.shirt and knickers, my hair is a tangled mess, resembling a birds nest or haystack, and no doubt my makeup is a smudged wreck. I must be a real genuine child-frightening sight to behold.

"I'm fine. Sorry I... I didn't see you, I wasn't looking where I was going and I'm still half asleep." I babble.
He's still holding onto me, as if making sure I'm not a figment of his imagination.

My own hands instinctively flew to his waist as we bumped into each other, and now I'm going to die from embarrassment.
He's only wearing black, snug-fitting shorts, which are curiously tight around the crotch area I notice, glancing down.
I'm touching his bare body. I can feel the curve of his hip bones where they jut out, pressing against my palms and for a heart-stopping moment I think I'm actually going to swoon.

Hastily my hands drop to my sides as if his flesh is on fire and I've just been scolded. Carefully he releases me too, but neither of us move and we're standing awfully close.

My face burns hot as I look away, but not before noticing what an extremely fine body he has. Far from being overly muscular, but toned, and with reasonably sized bulges in all the places they should be.

I'm struggling to look at him but I daren't lower my gaze from his face. No, not a good idea. I don't want him to think I'm ogling him, though heaven help me it's tempting to take another look.

"Did you manage to sleep alright?" He asks suddenly, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.

Ah. Perhaps he's feeling ashamed of his brazen, noisy, bed-rattling antics last night. And so he ought to be.
My stomach lurches violently again at the very thought of it.
I'm surprised all the other men in the house haven't congregated outside his bedroom door, ready to give him a round of applause for that impressive performance.

And knowing that Danielle got naked with him, and wriggled around...against that body....ugh.
My guts churn and I suddenly feel the need to projectile vomit like the girl in The Exorcist movie.
Instead, I manage to muster the gaul to look him in the eye, and regard him with what I hope he perceives as utter contempt.
"No actually. I had a bit of trouble getting off."

Unlike you! I want to add, though in a very different sense of the word.
Bleurgh.

He clenches his teeth and looks quite pained. "Yeah unfortunately Alex and Jem aren't very considerate when it comes to..." He clears his throat. "....well, they don't care if they disturb anyone."

"Alex and Jem?" I repeat dumbly. "So....that was them? Last night?"

Brett scrunches his face now, and looks somewhat bewildered. "Well yeah. Who else would it be?"

"I thought...Well I thought that maybe...."

"You thought what Sammy?" He's staring at me hard, his head cocked to one side.
I hope he might join the dots and catch the gist of what I'm saying but he's not going to make it that easy for me.

"I thought, well even Damon seemed to think it might've been you and Danielle." I gabble hurriedly, my face turning scarlet now.

"Danielle?" He looks unashamedly stumped, as if he hasn't got the vaguest idea of what or who I'm talking about.

Wow. I mean, how rude? Was sex with that woman so insignificant he can't even recall her name? And even if they didn't sleep together they definitely must have something going on now, judging by how cosy they got last night.

As the penny finally drops he laughs softly, a sound which is like music to my ears. "Oh, Danielle? What me and her? Um, no."

"Oh....right. Sorry. It's just that, well it looked as if you were enjoying each other's company."

"Not really, I was just putting up with her for something to do. She was completely off her face and starting to get on my nerves to be honest. Wouldn't stop talking at me."
He raises his eyebrows. "So no, she definitely didn't stay. I ended up calling her a cab."

I laugh myself now, feeling almost hysterical with relief.
Oh Brett, you lovely lovely man, I think, smiling goofily at him.
I could kiss you.
Oh dear, I suddenly realise that I would actually quite like to kiss him.
Especially after that accidental kiss last night in the pub, that kiss that had turned my insides to jelly. What was that all about? I need to find out. But I can't. And I shouldn't want to. It's wrong of me to want to. I have a boyfriend.

"I don't understand why Damon would think it was me and her making all that racket. He knows my room is across the landing here." Brett indicates to the room next to the bathroom. "And Alex and Jem are quite notorious for their noise. Which is one of the reasons I swapped rooms when Damon moved out."

"Ah, you pinched his room? Good call." I giggle, suddenly more conscious of my dishevelled appearance now. And I can't be certain but I think he is eyeing my T.shirt with curiosity.
"Well the noise certainly didn't keep Damon awake. He went out like a light almost as soon as his head touched the pillow." I add pointedly, which is a slight exaggeration but for some reason I feel the need to let Brett know that i didn't sleep with Damon.

"Oh, right."

Boom! Message received and understood. He has duly noted what I am subtly trying to say.

He blinks slowly and his eyes hold mine, and there's a strange sort of loaded silence. He still hasn't moved, and I don't want him to. I feel my blood chugging through my veins, making my heart thud in my mouth, distracting me from my monstrous headache.

"Well, I suppose I'd better have my shower." He says at long last, shattering the heavily charged atmosphere.

"Oh, yes. Sorry." I stand aside allowing him to pass, and tug awkwardly at the T.shirt as I walk away. Making sure my knickers aren't on display.

"Oh, by the way Sammy."

"Yes?" I whirl around to look at him again a little too eagerly.

"I didn't get chance to tell you last night, but you looked....great." He smiles his lopsided smile.

"Oh. Thanks wolfie, you didn't look too bad yourself."

Crap did I really just say that? I'm flirting again and I don't mean to.
Oh dear. I really need to stop making a habit of this.

**********************

After tip-toeing back to Damon's room and agonising over whether I should get back into bed or get dressed, I decide on the latter.
As much as I like the idea of cuddling up to Damon and going back to sleep, I can't shake how undeniably rough I feel, and more importantly I need my insulin shot. Which I don't have with me, and my blood sugar will be high and that will add to how rubbish I feel.

My clothes look decidedly rumpled, my eyes are hazy and my lipstick's long gone.
I step back out onto the landing, gently closing the door behind me so as not to wake Damon. At first I feel bad at the prospect of leaving without saying goodbye but having since discovered, courtesy of his digital alarm clock, that it isn't yet 7:00am, I hardly think it'd be fair waking him up. Especially considering it was gone 4:00am when he went to sleep.

I creep along to the top of the stairs and hear the shower turn off. Followed by the sound of Brett singing in the bathroom.
His voice is a low hum, and then animatedly high-pitched and operatic.
So much for me trying to be quiet. I grin to myself, and try to work out what it is he's singing, but I can only catch sporadic bits....

"...I'm gonna make you notice....
...I'm winking at you....."

How appropriate, I think.

"....I'm gonna make you see, there's nobody else here.
No one like me...I'm special, so special..."

Spookily accurate. Can't argue with that either.

"....I've got to have some of your attention.
....Give it to me...."

You got it. It'd be rude not to.

The door suddenly opens and he instantly quiets, as if only just remembering that there are other people not far away, trying to sleep.
It takes a few seconds for the mist to disperse, and he appears in a shroud of steam like some sort of glistening angel.
He's only wearing a white towel now, and his damp skin glistens with tiny droplets of water.
I swallow hard.

"Oh." He says looking genuinely surprised to see me again. "Are you off now?"

I nod. "Yeah. I know it's still early but I don't feel too good. I'm due my insulin, so I'd probably better get going."

He walks towards me, his face filled with concern. "Are you alright? Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, thank you. I'll be fine really. Just overdid it a bit last night I think."

"Well I didn't like to say anything, but I had noticed you knocking 'em back. The doctor told you to look after yourself, remember?"

He both looks and sounds uncharacteristically stern, and I instinctively react by hanging my head like a child that's been caught doing something they're not supposed to.
"Yes I know, thanks for the reminder. But I've already told you, you don't have to worry about me."

"Well someone has to." He says, and his serious pout gradually melts into a smile. "Listen, if you can face it I'll sort you out some breakfast before you head off."

"No it's fine. You really don't need to go to any trouble.

"It's no trouble, Sammy." He insists. "How about, you go down and stick the kettle on while I get dressed, and I'll make the toast....deal?"

Resisting the urge to tell him he really needn't bother putting any clothes on for my benefit, I agree to the deal.
As he wafts by into his room I inhale his clean, fresh scent. Yes I smell the soap, but he also smells like something more intrinsic, like dew.
Like he actually bathes in the morning dew.

A short while later and I find myself sitting at the solid square, pine table in the kitchen nursing a half drunk cup of coffee that's now only lukewarm.
I watch Brett as he rifles through various cupboards and drawers in the sideboard, looking for some paracetamol for what he's calling his 'bastard of a headache.'

The shampooed sheen of his just blow-dried hair is still visible in the gloomily dim light from the long sash window.
Outside it's raining, the drizzle moistening the bricks and concrete of West London. The combination of bad weather and bad hangover make the likelihood of me journeying home anytime soon seem unlikely.

Across from me, Jarvis - who was already up, dressed and ready to face the day when I arrived downstairs - sits sipping his tea and thumbing through a copy of the Daily Mail.
Clearly the noise from last night's revelling didn't affect him, as he looks bright eyed and fresh as a daisy.
I on the other hand, feel and look like the gnarled old oak up on Hampstead Heath.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat Sammy?" Brett asks me again, his voice muffled from inside a cupboard. "You might feel better if you try and eat something."

"Thanks but I don't think eating would be a good idea." I make a gigantic effort to take another sip of my coffee without heaving. "I'll feel better once I've had my insulin. As soon as I can face it I'll get going."

"Well don't even think about taking the tube when you're not feeling well. I'll order you a taxi. And don't worry about the fare, this is on me."
I'm about to say something in protest but he anticipates my response and holds a finger up to shush me.
"It isn't open to debate, so don't bloody argue."

I force an over-exasperated sigh, but can't help smiling at him. "Thank you. You're too sweet."

"I know. Just don't tell anyone."

It's only then we become aware of a presence lingering in the doorway, and both look up to see Damon.
Clad in a navy dressing gown that's only been half-heartedly tied at the belt, so it hangs open loosely, he looks dishevelled, tired and perceptibly irritated.

"Sweet is he?" He looks at me questioningly.

Jarvis glances up from his paper, only just realising that Damon has put in an appearance. "D'you want a brew Damon?"

"And just how is he so sweet exactly?" Damon is demanding, not bothering to respond to Jarvis' offer.

In true Jarvis' style, he pours him a cup of tea anyway.

I match Damon's glare with a defiant look of my own. "Brett's kindly offered to ring a taxi for me. That's all."

"He doesn't need to, I can do that."

Brett huffs and rolls his eyes. "Does it matter really? The most important thing is that Sammy gets home for her insulin."
He stalks off into the hall, and a few moments later we hear him speaking on the telephone. Presumably ordering me a cab.

"And since when have you been 'Sammy'?" Damon's frown forges into a deep scowl. Making his handsome face look hard and cold.

"Oh, that. It's just a sort of nickname really." I say hurriedly, trying to sound convincing. Then I swiftly try to change the subject. I don't have the energy to deal with any drama right now.
"I wasn't being rude by getting up early by the way, I just didn't want to wake you."

He pulls out a chair and the legs screech noisily across the floor, the grating sound is right up there with nails on a chalkboard when it comes to sounds which make my hair stand on end, and I have to try hard not to flinch.

"He woke me up with his poxy hairdryer." Damon throws a hand gesture in the general direction of the hallway, just as Brett returns.

Jarvis chuckles, which seems to make Damon even more miffed. "You might well laugh Jarv. I'll tell you the real joke shall I? A bloke using a fuckin' hairdryer, now that's funny."

"It's quicker to use a hairdryer." Brett explains. "My hairs' thick, it takes ages to dry and I'm not going out with wet hair."

"It's fuckin' raining, in case you haven't noticed." Damon points out, sounding increasingly impatient. "It'll only get wet anyway."

"You can catch a nasty head cold from going outside when your hair is still damp." Jarvis offers helpfully, and I notice Brett trying to bite back an amused grin.

"If you're not waking me up with your hairdryer it's your singing in the bleedin' shower." Damon continues, rather putting me in mind of a nagging wife chiding a hen-pecked husband.

At that Jarvis abandons his paper, and turns to face Brett "Oh speaking of singing, have you decided on what you're going to sing tonight?"

"No, not yet." Brett looks deeply troubled now, and bites on his thumb nail "It can't be one of our own songs because it's for some compilation album for radio one, cover versions only."

"Eh that's alright though innit? Your manager got you a good deal there mate. And what's the programme you're goin' on?"

"The Word."

"The word? Wow. Brett that's national TV." I chirp excitedly. Quite forgetting myself, my hangover and Damon too for that matter.

"Don't remind me. I'm nervous enough, and I still need to decide on what to perform-"

Suddenly I'm struck with inspiration - or madness - possibly both and I find myself butting in before he's had chance to finish. "Ooh, what about the song you were singing upstairs?"

"Hmph. Singing? That's not what I would call it." Damon grumbles, his head resting in his hands.

He really isn't his usual jovial self this morning. Obviously late nights and early mornings don't agree with him, and I find myself wondering if he's always this disagreeable after partying or whether it has anything to do with the added pressure of working on a new album.
Not to mention this silly rivalry business.

To his credit, Brett ignores his jibes and is looking at me with curious interest. "Brass in Pocket? By the Pretenders?" He asks as if to clarify.

Ah, so that's what the song was. I should've known that.

"But that's originally sung by a woman." Damon informs Brett needlessly. Then he sniggers into his coffee cup. "Actually say no more. Why would that bother you?"

"But the song is so....befitting, don't you think?"
I'm on a roll now it would seem. Growing increasingly excited as I mull it over in my mind. I'm never usually so outspoken, especially in relation to matters that aren't any of my business, but for some reason I feel quite strongly about this. I genuinely care.
"You want to make an impact on national TV, what better way than to sing a song about demanding attention?"

Jarvis nods in apparent agreement, and I feel a rush of confidence like I've never felt before.
Brett looks thoughtful but unsure. Still, he doesn't immediately dismiss my idea, so I take this as a sign of encouragement.

"Look, your style is so distinctive, your music and the clothes you wear on stage really stand out from the crowd."

He shrugs noncommittally "That's the whole point. I dress quite flamboyantly on stage to make a statement. So we don't look anything like all these grunge bands that are around right now. We're different and I want people to notice that."

"Right, so if you have to sing someone else's song then it has to be one that would really fit in with your image. I think Brass in Pocket would be an awesome choice."

Brett arches an eyebrow at me. "You know, you may just have something there." His mouth curves upwards in a secretive boyish smile. "I was right all along. Brains as well as beauty." He mutters.

This time there's no detectable trace of sarcasm in his voice, it's meant as a compliment and I can practically feel my heart swell at his words.
I smile back shyly, and try to hide my ferocious blushes behind my hair, but then I look across at Damon and see he isn't smiling. On the contrary his face is a mask of outrage.

"Well being as you're suggesting songs for him to sing, why don't you do us all a favour and sort out his wardrobe too. You work in a clothes shop don't you?" He says churlishly.

"A women's clothes shop."

"And?"

Brett tuts exasperatedly and begins fiddling with a juice carton.

I deliberately skirt around Damon's attempt at being facetious by responding with some sarcasm of my own.
"And...Brett's definitely not a woman." I say boldly, as a vision of Brett emerging from the bathroom floats through my mind's eye. "Trust me, I have noticed."
I'm hoping Damon will admire my honesty - slim chance of that though, looking at his thunderous face.

"Well being as you take such an eager interest you must also have noticed that he dresses like a big girls' blouse" He growls. "So maybe you can lend him one of yours to wear."

"Alright, pack it in Damon. Don't be like that."

"Don't be like what, Brett?"
And suddenly he's up on his feet, rounding on Brett who stands leaning back against the sink.

"Don't be such an arse." He responds flatly and folds his arms firmly across his chest, unblinking.

Oh shit.
It really is too early in the morning for this.
I have the horrible feeling they're about to come to blows, and there'll be cereal and several teeth flying and I am somehow to blame.
I'm usually far more reserved, but I got involved when I should've kept my mouth shut and been more sensitive towards Damon's feelings.

"An arse? I'm being an arse am I?"
I can barely watch as Damon takes a step closer and begins poking him in the shoulder in what looks like an extremely irritating manner.

"Don't do that." Brett says, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Or what? C'mon..."
In temper he pushes Brett, his shoulders sway back slightly but he doesn't budge.
"I'll show you what being an arse is, wanker!"

"Actually this is a convincing enough example, you sad fucker!"
He swipes Damon's hand away and pushes him back. He wobbles slightly and they glare back at each other. Teeth bared, lips curled like snarling dogs.

At that Jarvis stands and purposefully positions himself between the fractious pair.
"Alright that's enough you two." He places a firm hand on Damon's shoulder and steers him back towards the table. "Christ, did you get out of the wrong side of bed today or what?"

Damon resumes his seat, but isn't able to resist one last scathing remark. "Nowt wrong with me, mate. Brett's just pissed off that he has to borrow clothes off his sister these days."

Closing the fridge door unnecessarily hard, Brett calmly takes a sip of juice, before delivering the mother of all come-backs.
"Yeah, well at least her taste in clothing is far classier than anything Justine might have to offer."

He didn't?
Oh my God he did.
Brett just brought their ex into this row. If this was the Jerry Springer show someone would surely be offering Damon some ice now for that burn.

The blood pressure collectedly rises in the room, and I half expect some tumbleweed to roll by like in a comedy sketch.

My eyes slide to look at my somewhat winded looking boyfriend, who has turned a startling shade of puce.

"And what would you know about class?" He manages to retort after a lengthy pause.

Now, at the risk of sounding like I've become the founding member of the Brett fan club (I make a quick mental note to find out if there is one) Brett is incidentally looking über cool today in a black suit jacket/white t.shirt combo.
Compared to Damon's uniform of baggy denims and sports brand t.shirts, out of the two I'm inclined to rule in favour of Brett if I had to pick the snazziest dresser.

But as if realising that he can't exactly pour scorn on Brett's regular day-to-day dress sense, he makes what I presume to be a weak attempt at mocking his jewellery, of all things.

"You and your nancy-boy earrings and cheap, shitty necklaces. Especially that one you've got on now. Cheap and tacky, and it suits you." He throws Brett a pitying look, and to my confusion and surprise Brett suddenly slams his glass down on the counter, spilling Orange everywhere, and storms out.

I have absolutely no idea what is happening. I wouldn't have thought for one moment that Damon's immature taunts would have such an impact. This is nothing short of playground bullying, they're worse than a couple of disagreeable kids.
I look towards the open door, torn between my desire to follow Brett and my loyalty to Damon.

As it so happens, what Damon says next makes the decision so much easier for me.

"Aren't you gonna go after him, seeing as you care so much?"

"Scuse me?"

Damon is facing me, sucking in his cheeks and looking angrier than ever.
"I'm just making an observation, as Brett would say." He spits.

"Sorry Damon, but I think you're overreacting a bit." I reply politely, though I don't think much of his tone.

"Am I? Well I'm sorry, I just don't like my girlfriend fawning all over my housemate."

I am inches away from losing my temper. Admittedly I never expected him to accuse me of simpering at Brett, but what makes it so much worse is knowing the circumstances surrounding Brett's ex girlfriend.
The one Damon stole.
He is an enormous hypocrite.

"What?" My hands involuntarily go to my hair and I tug on it in frustration. "What is your problem?"

He leans back in his seat, and there's a visible cruelness in the lines around his mouth, the tightness of his jaw and the narrowing of those big baby-blue eyes.
"He is. He's the fuckin' problem. He obviously fancies you and you're blatantly flirting with him right in front of me."
He says this slightly too ferociously, eliciting a 'steady on' from Jarvis.

"You mean like you did with Justine?" I grind the words out, and shoot him a look that could strip paint. "The difference is I'm not like her, I don't cheat. Yes I like Brett and I like his music, what would you rather me do? Hate him just because you're in a different band? Do you want me to cull him because you slept with his girlfriend and now he's being nice to me?"

Damon stares at me askance, looking suitably horrified. He looks as if I've just slapped him in the face.

"For God's sake just grow up!" I yell like a maniac. And I run from the room.

Well, that was magnificently handled wasn't it?
Well done Sam. Bravo. Now what?
Oh hell, how embarrassing.
I accuse Damon of overreacting and then flip out like a schizo.

The front door is open and I find Brett sitting outside on one of the steps, smoking a cigarette. Seemingly indifferent to the drizzling rain that's going to leave a wet patch on his bum, he appears to be lost in his thoughts. His slim fingers absentmindedly twirling the long, thin gold chain that hangs loosely around his neck.

I suck in a huge breath to calm myself. "You okay?" I ask cautiously.

He shifts awkwardly as if he's only just noticed I'm there, but doesn't say anything.

"You shouldn't let him wind you up so much." I tell him, even though this makes me an enormous hypocrite too.

He looks up at me, I meet his eyes for a second and then have to look away because - without meaning to sound glib - the look in them causes a deep ache within the cavity of my chest.
They're so mournful and tinged with uninhibited sorrow.

"This was my mum's.." He says quietly, continuing to fiddle with the necklace. "..I wear it to feel close to her. It's like my lucky charm. D'ya think that's daft?"

Not knowing what else to do, I sit down beside him to admire the chain, which I notice on closer inspection is set sparsely with a few tiny green and blue stones.

"It's beautiful, and no I don't think it's daft. It's lovely."

He smiles gently and then produces a crumpled packet of Benson and Hedges cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
I take one gratefully and allow him to light it for me, all the while having to resist the urge to just hug him.

We sit companionably and I listen as he talks about his mother.
He tells me how she encouraged him to be creative, and taught him about art and history and music. He tells me how she became seriously ill and passed away a few years ago, and how his sister, seeing him so deeply affected by the tragedy, has attempted to compensate for the loss by fussing over him like a surrogate mother-figure.

By the time he's finished there are tears in my eyes, a lump has formed in my throat and I practically have to sit on my hands to keep myself from hugging him. Wanting desperately to hold him and somehow make everything alright.
But I can't. I know I'm incapable of making everything right again, all I can do is sit blinking away tears as he sniffs loudly and hastily wipes his face on the back of his sleeve.

I feel privileged that he's chosen to open up to me like this, but I'm even more angry at Damon now for having hit such a raw nerve. Inadvertently yes, but him and his big mouth and insensitive remarks is what led to all this unnecessary grief in the first place.

"I'm really sorry about Damon." I say weakly, flicking my cigarette butt into the gutter where it rolls along and joins Brett's.

Brett sighs and runs his hands through his hair.
"Don't be. Why should you apologise for something that isn't your fault?"
He has really beautiful eyes and he's looking at me all softly and sadly.

"Well if it wasn't for me then he wouldn't have started on you this morning." I protest.

"Nah. He doesn't need a reason to give me shit, believe me. We're always at each other's throats. And I give as good as I get."

"Yes but he seems to think we were flirting." I say, and try and give a casual laugh. "And that we, you know? That we...fancy each other or something."
My voice fades away as his eyes meld with mine.

"Oh. Does he? Well I thought he might get a bit suspicious about us spending time together, that's why I never mentioned it to anyone."
He sounds much more Southern than he did a few minutes ago, as if it's not just the air around us that's thickened, it's his voice too.
And how the heck can the air feel so heavy out here? We're not even inside, but that strange tension is back with a vengeance.

"He needs to understand that we're just friends, nothing more." I lie grossly. "It's as simple as that."

"I wouldn't wanna get in the way and cause any aggro between the two of you though."

"You're not getting in the way."
Time seems to be of the essence, but my chronic hangover means I can't think of a delicate way of phrasing what I need to say.
"I like you. I mean, I like spending time with you. So I won't let Damon spoil it. I forget about everything, and have the best time with you. You make me laugh and....I really like you, you know, as a friend."

'I want you. I want you. Not just as a friend. I want more. Much more.'
Is what I want to say, but I don't. For obvious reasons. I think I've gone mad. I can't want him.
And I wish he wouldn't give me those looks - they make me die.

He fires a dazzling smile straight into my eyes, and it does strange things to my stomach.
"And I really, really like you as well."

I gulp, blinking through the dazzle.
I notice that at some point my taxi has turned up. Brett is like bloody Doctor Who, when I'm with him and it's just the two of us it's like time no longer matters and everyone else ceases to exist.

He opens the rear door of the black cab for me and I climb aboard as elegantly as I possibly can. Still feeling the need to show him some form of affection, I pat him awkwardly on the arm as if he's a distant relative I'm meeting for the first time.

"So if you're still up for goin' Highgate some time, I can give you a call as soon as I get a day off?" He asks through the open window.

I beam at him. "Sounds good. I'm looking forward to that...oh, and good luck for tonight. Whatever you decide to sing. I'm sure it'll be great."

"Thanks Sammy. Will you, er.....will you be watching?"

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." I have to shout now in order to be heard over the loudness of the diesel engine rumbling to life. "Make sure you wear something outrageous, and your mum's necklace. Don't take it off. Not that you'll need the luck, but...she'll be right there then, with you."

This elicits a wan smile from Brett as the taxi pulls away from the kerb, and I sit watching him as he watches the cab, until he's no longer in view.

**********************

When I get in I take my insulin, have a bath and then crawl into my bed.
My head is pounding, as though a giant fist has got hold of my head and is squeezing. I'm still feeling all churned up inside, and this just adds to the nausea.

I sleep for the rest of the day and it's late evening by the time I emerge from my pit. Thankfully feeling much better.

"Where's dad?" I ask Jane when I see her.

She's been out shopping up West with a friend to 'cheer herself up' and distract her from the woes of my dad's business going down the pan.
I didn't realise things had gotten so bad, but it seems that his reluctance to sell anything other than 1950's - 1970's Rock music in any other format than vinyl is really taking its toll on the shops profits.

"He's still at the shop. He's opening late in the hopes of attracting more customers. Late night shoppers he says."
She sighs and smooths down her chestnut curls which have collapsed as a result of the unrelenting rainfall outside.
"I don't know what we're going to do. I really don't. He's so stubborn. He needs to get with the times. That's his problem, he's stuck in the past."

She's made dinner, and informs me that it's in the microwave waiting to be reheated.
A few minutes later I sit down to a rather dried-up and unappetising looking bowl of pasta bake, but I'm so hungry and my blood sugar is now borderline low, so I'd happily eat the tablecloth if it contained carbs.

As I sit chewing my way through the rubbery pasta shells, I mull over everything in my mind.
Perhaps I'll visit dad's shop, check it out for myself and try and talk him around. Maybe with a bit of persuasion he'd be open to stocking something other than vinyl, and even different genres of music.
Still, I won't hold my breath, but if I don't try then I'll never know.

After Brett's heartfelt words of wisdom this morning, about never taking family for granted, I suddenly feel obliged to do something to help my father's failing business. And who knows, maybe I could ask Brett for some advice. He works in the music industry, he might be able to come up with a few helpful suggestions.

It is then that I remember Brett's TV appearance, and abandon my half-eaten meal in order to search for a video so I can record the show. Well, probably not all of the show, but Suede's performance at least.

I fiddle with the VCR, for several minutes, growing increasingly frustrated when it won't do what I need it to, until at last we reach a compromise. The compromise being, it will record the right channel when I hit the record button, and then I won't have to resort to digging out its innards with a screwdriver.
I think we understand each other.

At 9:00pm I switch on the TV and turn to channel 4, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the set - I don't trust the remote to work on the VCR, and if I sit on the sofa I might not make it in time to press record.
I explain this to Jane, who listens patiently and doesn't question my reasoning for once, which makes a nice change.
I do however notice her dubious look, which I choose to ignore.

And then, approximately fifteen minutes into the programme, just as I'm losing all will to live, suddenly the band is announced as a 'world exclusive' no less.
Oh dear. Damon won't like that at all. Not one bit.
I hit record giddily, barely able to contain my excitement.
The camera pans across to where the band are set up, and the soft strumming of a guitar, the opening chords of 'Brass in Pocket' emanates from the crappy old television speakers.

I clasp a slightly trembling hand to my mouth. Fleetingly wondering if I'm still asleep and dreaming.
Brett looks eye-catchingly spectacular in a white, skinny top which is most definitely not his. It doesn't fit properly, it rides up his toned belly, and the sleeves look like three-quarter length on his long arms.
How perfectly attention-grabbing and outrageous.
I also notice with a measured amount of satisfaction, that he's still wearing the chain proudly around his neck for all to see, and I'm not quite prepared for the unexpected rush of emotion I feel.

The entire performance is like a roller coaster for me.
Having seen him perform live, I can tell that he's extremely nervous, and it shows. His voice isn't as strong, tuneful or confident as I know it can be, I hear it break once or twice as he hits the unfamiliar notes, and I feel incredibly nervous for him. Even my mouth has gone dry, so God knows what his must feel like.
His body language is awkward, his stage presence less commanding and he even tugs self consciously at his top a couple of times, like he's now regretting his choice of clothing.

But none of that matters, the audience seem to be enjoying it, and as he grows steadily more self-assured his vocals become louder and he looks directly into the camera instead of avoiding the lens.
For a bizarre moment I actually feel as if he's looking straight at me, holding my gaze as he begs for attention, promising to make me see there's nobody else here, no one like.....him.

I can't believe he's actually singing this, singing the song that I suggested. And now I feel my heart practically bursting with pride, as if I've somehow played a small part in making television history, but it's more than that.
It's the fact that he's listened to me, and taken my suggestion on board and actually gone ahead and done it.

Admittedly the band don't sound completely at ease playing it, hardly surprising considering they've had little time to practice and familiarise themselves with the chords et cetera, let alone perfect it. And yet it is still blindingly good, and as they finish, they receive an enthusiastic round of applause.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

"So...."
I hear Jane's voice in the background, and notice that I've been sat spellbound throughout the entire song. Hand still over my mouth as if suppressing a squeal.
"....is there anything you might want to talk about?" She asks.

"Like what?" I croak.

She shoots me a knowing look. "Like how you feel about him......really."

I swallow.
Have I become completely transparent? She shouldn't be able to read me like a book, I mean for heavens' sake she even seemed to know how I felt about Brett before I did.

What is happening to me? Why do I feel this way about Brett?
I should've been happy with Damon, I should've been content, but no.
Now I've blown my chances with him because of some silly flirtation with Brett.
Brett who initially annoyed me, Brett who irritated me and who made me feel.....just how did he make me feel?

It should've been a difficult question to answer but it isn't.
He makes me feel alive. And carefree. He makes me feel flirtatious and more confident. He makes my mundane life somehow more exciting and........happy.
But most of all he makes me feel wanted.
Cared about.
As if my opinions matter.
As if I matter.

As if I'm not just a girl.....