THE SECRETS WE KEEP.

- DRUNK DIANNE (PART 2).

JOES POV:
The once silent entrance was filled with the sobs and drunken mumbles of my dance partner, all luckily into the mid-point of my chest to not wake anybody.  With her head so close, I knew she could probably notice the racing of my heart against her head. It continued to beat a million miles a minute, strengthening the heavy feeling weighted on my chest. This emotional-turned-physical pain rooted from a drunken Dianne crying on my doorstep at around midnight. And I knew it so.

Since the beginning of our friendship, some part of me always felt a connection to Dianne in a way that was different. She wasn't just someone to teach me a performance for a week and it was nothing more. Dianne was different than that; her naturally calm nature gave an invitation to confidence, she was somebody to rely on. But as hard as I tried, nothing could ever measure up. Whether it's a silly issue with a step, or a major confidence issue, she's always been there to give me comfort and a boost. Kind words of reassurance only left her lips, always spoken in a gentle tone. At this moment, Dianne was probably one of the people I care most about and to see her in so much pain, made my heart clench tight in my chest. This misery she was being so brought down by ignited a fire in me; one of anger and hate, one that spread rapidly through my whole body. In this situation, I was rendered useless. I couldn't go out of my way to solve this problem for tomorrow, it's not as simple as an incorrect step. It was more, says my gut. I can only hope that by being this warm shoulder to cry on, was giving her a sense of comfort in a world that possibly did not. All I could do was hold her, remind her she is loved, keep her sustained, for as long as humanly possible.

All my life really, the skill of comforting a person has never come easy to me. If somebody stood in front of me upset, I never knew if it was right to leave them to wallow in that sadness, or if it would be a good moment to crack a joke to lighten the tense mood. Cursed by this, I have always chosen the latter, no matter the amount of failed previous decisions. But situations have occurred in my life where even I'm having to find a way to mature and deal with them - a huge part for me was moving from a very small town to Central London. From nights of absolute silence, to zooming by buses and music playing to the highest volume. Even at that point, the person I was changed. And that once confused feeling of an upset person was slowly melting away to become nothing, but I know I've still for a long way to go.

From living with various roommates, you notice certain things. You notice not only the small things, like their usual work times or sofa position, but bigger things, like mood changes. Somebody can leave in the morning, happy as larry, and return back, that once happiness drained out of them. A realisation has come to light after my living situations - humour isn't always the answer to every problem. If it was, the world would be a much simpler place. But at moments like those, alone time can help to lift your spirits. You have time to cool down or brace yourself for a reaction from your roommate outside; me being usually on the receiving end of the unhappy roommate. For me, humour was something to rely on; it was something I knew would always be there if I messed up or needed something to fall back on. Playing stupid pranks on my friends or showing my family a brand new impression I know have always been my go-to in an awkward silence, mostly resulting in a longer awkward silence. Comforting a person was a sore spot for me - not a lot of people would understand or know I struggle with it. But I do find it hard, despite how strong a friendship I have with this person.

Minute by minute ticked away. Our reflections shone down onto the floorboards just as the darkness sunk in around us. A small sector of London's peoples nights have just finished and for them, the world is packing away for a few hours or more before commencing once again. But for others, the others who believe the night is their time of work, are just starting up a fresh day of work. The palm of my hand held her back, with one arm holding up her legs from collapsing underneath her. On instinct, her head fell limp down onto my shoulder where wet spots began to appear on my shirt. As if she were no more than a doll my feet took small steps up the stairs under the weight of Dianne resting in my arms. Standing, visibly confused and just awoken, was Byron at the top of the landing; where he could only be met my a nod of slightly more confusion. Not a word spoken between us, indistant murmurs came from my shoulder within her sobs and whimpers.