how soon is now? || w. a rose [i/v]

ANDY XIV

I think winning the Brit was where everything kind of changed. Yes we had the No 1 and the album was popular, and all the shows were sold out. But this was, you can actually hold in your hand the marker of your success.

People have actually decided that 'Yes, you have made it and we take you seriously'. I know it isn't all about the awards and sometimes we frown and argue about their legitimacy but it feels really good to actually be recognised for your success.

Yeah we did great, we'll see you next time with Album of the Year, we won't just be newbies next time.

It was the first acknowledgement of our achievements in the public eye that had nothing to do with controversy or G N' R or just chart movement.

I was in my relationship with Duff at the time, a couple of months in, and the night was great even if he was back to back flying to London. He was such a joy to have around and so supportive at the time, he was cheering right alongside us. It felt good.

// England's finest: The autobiography of Mind the Gap, the band that saw the British invasion through brit-pop and redefined the meaning of English music, 2013. CH MIYOKO 13

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w. brief reference to past racism, discussions of HIV/AIDS, chronic illness + relationship with body image, death, very poor state of mental health.

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Andy pressed down hard on her forearm with the cotton ball. The bright white of the material was stark against her olive skin, even if it seemed ten sickly shades lighter under the moonlight shining through the open curtains.

Who was she kidding?

She always looked sick. Always having a mix of yellow and green underneath of her skin, clashing horribly with most colours she wore and never looking right with paler lipsticks. She was thin, her ribs jutting out at awkward angles while her broad shoulders just revealed too much of her internal framework. Her face was full of shadows under her hollowed cheekbones and temples, always never having such a thing as a healthy plump around her eyes.

Her and health didn't belong together in the same sentence. Health spat at her and heaved at her, screamed and hit her leaving her bloody. Health had abandoned her when she had been pleading for help, laughing with a sickeningly sweet demeanour as it watched her be swallowed by the dark waves. Health and her didn't belong in the same universe, separated by stars, blackholes and supernovas.

And yet here she was watching the thick dark liquid being pulled from her vein once again. It felt different this time though. It wasn't under the artificial stale lights and pale walls of a consulting room, on an uncomfortable blue chair with a pillow shoved unceremoniously under her elbow.

The nurses with their white hats and pale pink uniforms, wide smiles and happy eyes. Always with the whitest of teeth as they chatted aimlessly, locking between "Sharp scratch!"

The tight yellow band pushed against her upper arm, squeezing the muscle tightly and forcing the blood down. They always seemed to manage to miss though, puncturing up to three times around the vein, leaving large green and blue bruises mottling up across the skin. It was always the same vein, feeling about around the inside of her right elbow.

She never looked away even when they told her to, watching the dark liquid be dragged up into the tube before it was thrown into a plastic dish.

No, it felt different from the soft hotel duvet collapsed underneath her rather than the hard plastic. It was comfortable, a heavy weight for the winter weather and a deep red colour rather than the regular white. The walls were a pale grey colour, instead of being so sterile. Rather than being covered in Could be pregnant?, Warning signs of Meningitis and Dangers of smoking posters, bright colours and large text were replaced by some bespoke art piece, a depressing painting of a lone tree.