With each jolt of the taxi going over a speed bump, my stomach churns in protest, getting progressively louder. I hope to God I don't vomit all over the back of the driver's seat. Rubbing the podge that hangs over my leggings does little to ease the discomfort.

"You alrigh' back there, love?" The taxi driver's eyes in the mirror catch my own.

My mouth quirks upwards, a small smile but all I can muster up. I hate small talk. Hate feeling nauseated. I nod once, adjusting my sunglasses further up the bridge of my nose. Urgh, why's the sun got to be so damn bright today? It burns my already sensitive eyes, tears falling as I blink over and over. Normally, I adore the sunshine, had been overly excited when Sarah announced her wedding would be in Spain. In this moment however, I resent her entirely for that decision. 

The driver fixes his gaze back on the road, lips pulled in a tight line, making them appear even thinner than they already were. I focus my attention on the circle of thinning hair at his crown, fighting every urge in my body to expel whatever stomach contents may be left. Not much further now. Sarah's house quickly rolls into view, the lawn perfectly manicured, fake flowers hanging on either side of her door. Like me, Sarah is awful at keeping plants alive. She, however, loves the vibrant colours and variations on offer, and so they practically cover the house she shares with Daryl.

The back passenger door barely opens before Sarah bounds through her front door, a towel precariously wrapped around her. My mouth dries as she rushes towards me, water droplets falling from her hair. I know what's beneath the towel, know how it tastes and feels. With each step she takes, I stand gormless and unmoving, feeling like the seventeen-year-old college student laying in Sarah's bed. I can almost feel the softness of her flesh beneath my fingers, a memory savoured for over a decade yet as fresh as the day we made it.

Sarah hugs me briefly before leaning into the driver's window, a ten-pound note in her fist. "Took you long enough, Em! Thank you mate, keep the change."

The driver mutters his thanks, rolls his window up and looks at me for a little too long in his window before driving off. Men. Sarah's arm links around mine, dampness bringing goosebumps to my flesh. In her usual take charge manner, she ushers me into her house and all but throws me onto the sofa. 

"Stay there. I just need to get dressed. Give me two seconds."

Two seconds? Pfft, yeah right. Sarah wouldn't know how to get herself ready quickly if her life depended on it. She never has. Not that I mind, I enjoy watching her get ready, watching the care she takes in her appearance. Chalk and cheese. That's what we are. 

I lean back into the grey fabric sofa, letting the softness swallow me. The stillness of the ground has eased the turmoil in my stomach, but I'm still a far way off from being myself again. Keeping my head still against the back of the sofa, I allow my gaze to float about the room. It's changed so much since Daryl moved in. The photos of me and Sarah that had once been spread out along her mantlepiece are now replaced by endless photos of the soon to be happily married couple. Urgh, even thinking the words leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I'd much rather vomit again than have to utter or think such things. 

She deserves so much more than he can offer. I mean, heck, what does he have that I don't? I mean, besides a well paid job and a car, obviously. But those things aren't essential to have a happy relationship. I can give her trust, affection, my time. I can give her every part of me she wants and more. That is what makes a relationship last. I just wish she could see what's in front of her. 

On unstable legs, I make my ways to the fireplace and turn a framed photo of them both, Daryl kissing a beaming Sarah's cheek. Nodding once, pleased with myself, I reach my hand out to turn yet another.

"What are you doing?"

The frame slips from my grasp, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. I drop to my knees, heat rising in my cheeks. Thank god it's not smashed.

"I, I was, er. I was just going to see how long it would take you to notice."

Taking the frame from my hands, Sarah places it back on the tiny rectangle of dust free surface.

"You should dust that," I grin, nudging her.

"I've got an idea, how about I make myself a cuppa and you do it for me. Since it's the eve of my wedding and all," She winks before grabbing her handbag and suitcases from next to the table. "Come on, we've got a plane to catch."

I wait until her back is turned before rolling my eyes. Leaving her to check all the lights are off and lock up, I make my way to her car. Crouching down, I peer behind the door handle, inspecting for any eight legged stowaways. Satisfied that there is neither hide nor hair of the creepy things, I pull on the handle. 

Nothing happens. I try again, and again, and again. Each attempt bringing more frustration to the surface until I'm pulling with one foot rested against the door. Fuck! I can't deal with this on top of a pounding headache and the wedding from Hell creeping up on me. I need a drink.

I give the door one last tug, somehow only now setting off the car alarm. The rhythmic screeching rips through my chest. Ah fuck. Just what I needed.

"Sarah! Come shut this fucking thing up!" My hands cover my ears, trying to muffle the sound that seems to be increasing in decibels. 

 The headlights blink, followed by beautiful, beautiful silence. With a small shrug and smile, I turn to Sarah. The scowl on her face tells me all I need to. She is pissed. We're in for a long, and quiet drive if I can't fix this! No road trip with Sarah is complete without or awful rendition of The Spice Girls at full volume.

"Ooops. I thought you'd unlocked it."

Sarah's eyes close as she takes in a deep breath and exhales, arms raised, palms out at her side. "Just get in. Bloody idiot."

Yep. She loves me.