Monday 3nd October 1999

Dear Diary,

What an bizarre weekend I've had. Mycroft decided to visit unexpectedly on Saturday. He said he had business with one of his old professors, but I knew that he had come to check up on me. Though I protested my health, he could tell straight away that I was going downhill. He's seen me like this too many times not to know the difference. He shouted a bit and I closed up and refused to speak. He told me I was being hateful and selfish, and that I needed to grow up and realise that my actions affect other people too. I didn't tell him about the black cats pouncing, or the confusion of thoughts that can only be calmed by this predictability. I didn't tell him about all the food I've managed to eat in spite of what's going on in my mind. I just stared at the wall and thought about lunch.

I'm exhausted by this whole thing to be honest. And thoroughly bored. It's tiresome. I'm tired. It's been five years. Five long, difficult years. Two hospital admissions, six therapists, one IV potassium pump and I've lost count of the number of meal plans I've been on. I finally thought I'd achieved a state of relative health, and look what happens! Perhaps there's no hope for me after all. But doesn't Mycroft see? Can't he tell that I don't want this? I never wanted any of this.

After Mycroft left me alone in my room, Toby the Maths genius knocked on my door. He had heard us arguing, though he hadn't heard what it was about. I didn't explain. Instead, Toby came and sat next to me on the bed where I was still staring blankly at the wall. He put an arm around one shoulder and rested his head on the other, his white blond hair tickling my face a little. I couldn't remember ever being so physically close to someone that I'm not related to.

"It's alright mate, brothers are dick'eads. 'Least mine is"

"Mycroft likes to think he cares. I know differently"

" 'E must care though really. Or 'e wouldn't be shoutin' the place down would 'e? Whassit about anyway?"

I sighed. I couldn't bring myself to explain.

"Just a childish feud."

He pulled away from me to look at my face

"If you say so mate. I'm not gonna press you. Fancy going down the chippie? I'm starving"

I went. Because it was him and he was so friendly and close and lovely, I went.

That night we decided to drown our sorrows at one of the local clubs. I didn't catch the name of it. I was drinking vodka and diet coke mostly, with straight shots in between. I became quite drunk quite quickly, having only eaten the chips all day, and found that I was actually having quite a good time. My past experiences with alcohol have not been so pleasant. On several previous occasions throughout my youth, I've gotten hold of some whiskey in secret and saved it until just before bed. It didn't take much to get me drunk in those days, but even as the room began to spin and I slowly forgot who I was, I didn't stop drinking until I either passed out or threw up. I never liked the taste of it. I didn't particularly like the effects. But I did it anyway, and I never told a soul.

I think I'm right in saying that the night in question was the first time I'd ever enjoyed being drunk. Toby was making me laugh talking about the women he'd slept with back home.

" 'Course, none o' these posh birds 'ave ever met a bloke like me. They won't know what's 'it 'em. Oi oi! Look who it is!"

Among the hundreds of sweaty, writhing young bodies, through the darkness, Toby had spotted Lucy the Squirrel and American Mandy. Lucy looked as though she might explode with excitement when she saw us.

"OH MY GOD! Hi you guys! So glad we bumped into you. I mean that was such a fun night before right?"

She had acquired a nose piercing. It didn't suit her.

"Oh my god, if Tom was here it would be like a little reunion. So cute!"

"Yeah, where is Tom?" asked Mandy, in what I thought was a slightly more Eastern Texas accent than I'd first thought. It was difficult to tell with the loud music and the alcohol pumping through my veins.

"Oh, he had a shit tonne of Ancient Greek to translate before his tutorial. I don't envy him, do you?"

Confirmation. I was right about Silent Tom. As it turned out, I was also right about American Mandy.

She stayed with me for most of the night, following me around, dancing with me and laughing at the things I said, even when they weren't in any way funny. I ended up walking her home. It wasn't particularly far, but she asked me to, and that's the kind of thing that men are supposed to do isn't it? But when I was about to turn and leave, wondering vaguely where Toby had gone, she kissed me on the mouth. A big, wet, intense kiss that just kept going and going. I felt my hands take on a life of their own as they found their way onto her, exploring the curve of her waist.

"Wanna come inside?" she whispered softly, her eyes flicking up cheekily, daring me.

Had I been sober I would have said no. I would have pulled away and left her, retreated into myself and stored away the memory of the experience. I would have examined every moment of the kiss on my walk back to University College, obsessing over the details, remembering the feelings. But I was not sober. So I said yes.

Her room was covered in photographs of people and places. As we lay on the bed in a fit of passion, she rolled over a pile of handwritten letters and as she moved them I could see the return address scrawled across each one. Houston, Texas. I was right.

She was very beautiful. Or was I very drunk? The sight of her flesh turned me into a kind of animal. I found that I had to have more of her – her breasts, her thighs, the beautiful fuzz of hair between her legs. I needed to consume her, to be her, to make her face twist with pleasure.

When it was over, she fell asleep quickly. I lay still for some time, considering the weight that had grown in my stomach. It was a similar weight to the weight that appears after a binge. Not the physical weight of the food, but the guilt and the pressure of indulgence. My normal response would be to throw up – to undo the indulgence and punish myself. But how do you undo sex?

I dressed, crept out of her room and down the hallway, breaking into a run as I left the building. Why I was running I wasn't sure. Was I running from the sex? From the guilt? I'm not sure how long I ran for. It could have been hours. Eventually I found myself outside University College, exhausted, but feeling lighter and freer. It must have been about six O'clock in the morning before I finally slumped into bed and closed my eyes. And bed is more or less where I've stayed until now.

Sherlock Holmes

x