NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

28: the dog and his labyrinth

            'It's not RuPaul's H&M Lingerie Race,' Allan insists with uncharacteristic fervour, a McDonald's chip flattened between his fingers. 'Sex Siren's just a bunch of people in their underwear—and I'm all for walking around in your underwear, but you can't compare someone wearing a foot's worth of fabric to an outfit that took weeks, if not months, to make. You should know that: you sew all your outfits.'

Rishi is entirely unimpressed by this argument. 'Go on Project Runway then. This is a ball, mate. We have to see body so we can appreciate the vogue. Sex Siren always delivers. You've got no leg to stand on.'

'Oi!' Caleb interjects from the head of the table where he sits in his wheelchair.

Even Rishi's perpetual boredom cracks into a smile and Allan takes the opportunity to wedge in his closing line: 'If you don't like it, there's a ferry in the morning, love.'

The high from the House of Suarez ball survived the train ride from Liverpool and we still have the energy to gush over our favourite performances. A new House debuted: the Unlimited House of Krip, with all Deaf and hard-of-hearing members. They incorporated BSL into their voguing, summat that none of us have ever seen before.

Though our train got back at three am, we decided to grab summat to eat at the McDonalds on St Anne's Square along with, it turns out, every other person in Manchester. On the doorstep of November, it's too cold for people to happily eat outside. Meaning we're all squashed into a booth. Dunno about Joe opposite me but I'm near-painfully jammed into the window. Eilidh's shoulders need a whole bench to themselves.

Joe picks at her chips with a laugh forgotten on her face and summat swimming in her eyes. I nudge her foot. Though the McDonald's is so full I highly doubt it's within safety regulations, we enter our own world when she looks at me.

'You alright?' I mumble, so quiet I'm sure she has to read my lips.

Joe nods. 'It's just nice to have friends again... Do you want my chips?'

I understand not to push. Instead, I smile. 'I thought you were so hungry you could "eat three Christmas dinners".'

'Now I'm so full that I'll never eat again.' She slides the tray over my empty one and I start nibbling on her cold chips doused in seven sachets of black pepper. 'Um, actually, Nikki, I wanted to talk to you. I know that I've been so occupied with the whole sex thing but–'

My phone rings and, like Pavlov's dog, I sweat. The cacophony of McDonald's at three am drowns under the tone. Eilidh has already stood up by the time I've managed to wrestle my phone out of my pocket.

I glance at Joe. 'I'm sorry, I've gotta take this.'

'Oh, okay–'

'Hiya.'

I smile my gratitude to Eilidh and Rishi before beelining to the door. But even once the night winds its ivy around my ankles, I can't hear owt more than Cece's shivering breaths.

'You alright?'

I've left my coat inside. I wrap my free arm around myself in a meagre search for warmth as I pace the street. Every second Cece don't respond sprouts a new vine of dread in my spine.

Their confession is forced out through a throat that might be as tight as mine, suffocating on itself. 'I can't stop seeing myself dead. I tried drawing it but it won't go away.'

The vines cut off my airflow, spores itching at the back of my throat.

Do: Offer support. Do: Encourage them to seek help. Do: Tell them it gets better, but Don't: Invalidate. Don't: Act shocked, but Do: Express disagreement. Do: Allow them to express their feelings and thoughts openly. Do: Discuss suicide without judgment. Don't: Take it personally. Don't: Make it about you. Don't: Make it about you. Don't: Make it about you.