What The People Don't See

ILYSB

My knuckles were blue.

I only just noticed as I raised my fist to knock on the door. I pulled my hand away to examine it more closely, gazing in curiosity at how my palm was a night-blue sky and my finger tips were northern lights. They were trembling with the cold. I'd fallen asleep on the bus on the way to London, using my arm as a support to prop myself up against the frost bitten window. I felt the inside of my right cheek with my tongue, grimacing at the almost burning pain that met the cold. I should've brought a jacket.

I was caught between knocking on the door and finding some place to get warmed up first when the elevator suddenly jerked into life. I watched as the arrow flicked upwards and listened to the slow chugging from behind the metal doors. I finally raised my hand to knock on the door when a voice started to sing at full volume. I froze, my head whipping around to face the elevator doors which were beginning to open. Josh stepped out, laden down with paper bags and what looked like a gateaux balancing on one hand. His headphones were on, and I could hear every word of the song he was listening to, even through his own singing. Justin Bieber. He was listening to Justin fucking Bieber!

I pushed myself up against the door of the lads' apartment, holding my hands over my mouth to stop myself from screeching with laughter. I peered around the corner to see Josh doing a strange little dance up the corridor, the gateaux shaking precariously in his left hand. My heart hammered nauseously as I tried to figure out what to do. I didn't want to be just standing here like a fool once he finally danced his way over to the door. (Which I was practically barricading with my body. From the outside.)

I'm just about to run in the door myself when Josh suddenly yelps and I'm thinking that his surprise had made me keel over when I realise that it's the door. Someone opened the door. It's too late to catch myself, even Josh must know that, but his hand still rushes out to grab me. I land on the floor of the apartment, my head thumping against someone's socked feet. Someone is yelling. Someone else sounds like they're about to cry. Someone else sounds ecstatic. I sound like a creaky rocking chair; I'm groaning.

"Stella! What the actual fuck?? Are you trying to give us heart attacks?!"

"Stella, oh my God, I didn't know you were coming! This is such a great surprise! You should've called; I'd have spared you some pizza!"

"My gateaux!!! Holy shit, my fucking gateaux!! Ah fuck, and it's all over my new jumper!"

"Oh shut...up!" I'm moaning. "I think I have a concussion."

"Yeah lads, shut the fuck up! She hit her head pretty bad; it might be injured or something!"

"The only thing that's injured around here is my fucking gateaux!"

Someone is easing their arms beneath my armpits and gently lifting me to my feet. The room slows to a halt and the echoing has faded to a dull hum. I shake the person's hands off me and try to appear as if I know exactly what I'm doing. I feel like I'm about to vomit. What am I doing here? This was a terrible idea.

Josh is kneeling on the floor in front of me, his hands desperately scooping up clumps of white cake. Evan is leaning against the wall leading into the TV room, looking as bored as always (and slightly pissed off). I turn around slowly, my head still pounding, to find Ross standing right behind me, his arms outstretched in case I fall again. He's so close to me that our noses almost touch. I back away in discomfort, hoping that nobody can see the heat rushing through my cheeks. Ross hasn't noticed anyway; he's too busy hiding his own embarrassment.