"Maybe I got this all wrong, and I'd feel differently if I felt there was a community for me out there somewhere," I continued. "We live in a very sexualised world these days. There is sex everywhere, on TV, on the internet, in all the magazines, literally everywhere. Basically, it suggests that sex is what we think about all day, that it's the ultimate goal, our purpose in life. I know that because it stares me in the face every day." I took a deep breath. "The thing with me is, you see, that... that I don't think about 'it' all day, that it's not my ultimate goal. The sad fact is that I don't even see the attraction."

I felt my face redden but ploughed on regardless. In for a penny, you know. "Just thinking about it makes me feel queasy. I don't even like physical contact much. Yes, I know it's mainly because of my body issues, and I find it embarrassing when others feel my excess weight. I like holding hands with you and even cuddling with you, but anything else... it makes me shudder." I honestly couldn't believe I was sharing the one thing that I never ever wanted anyone to know. I never even put it into words in my head when I was talking to myself. Total denial up till now. I kept my eyes firmly directed at Henry's carpet and desperately fought the flight instinct which had kicked in about five minutes earlier. And by flight I meant flight, taking a plane somewhere at least 1000 miles away.

"Have you ever...?" I had never seen Henry at a loss for words before.

"Ah well, I had one encounter with the world of sexcapades."

Henry's eyes widened.

I laughed. "Only joking. I had one encounter with a boy once, but that never progressed past first base."

"And you didn't like any of it?"

"Well, I liked the idea at first. My mum had forced me to take classical dance lessons. What a nightmare that was. Put the fat girl in some fancy dress and off she goes. I must have been fourteen at the time. Mother thought it would be a triple strike. I'd shed the weight from all the exercise, from the whole 60 minutes once a week. I'd become Mrs Personality of the Year at some stage during the 10 weeks this course would last. Finally, I'd find a boyfriend she could brag about to her Botox friends. She must have been under the impression, somehow, that classical dance is for rich white kids only."

Just thinking about my mother's bigotry made me angry again, but now was not the time to let it interfere.

I sighed. "Unfortunately, none of that happened. There were more girls than boys in the class, so I always ended up being partnered with one of the other 'leftovers'. It goes without saying that being publicly humiliated once a week didn't turn me into Mrs Congeniality, either. But towards the end of the ten weeks, a miracle occurred. This one guy approached me and asked me to dance. He wasn't even ugly or anything. Looking back on it now, I'd say the poor boy lost a bet or something, but I was too naïve and perhaps too excited to have been noticed to get that. Anyway, his name was Tom. He held me really close. I felt a little uncomfortable, but truthfully, it was nice. All of a sudden, he bent down towards my face and kissed me."

"And?" Henry prompted when I paused.

"And it was fantastic. I felt positively euphoric. My first kiss. But then I felt this slimy thing on my lips. It was his freaking tongue. He pushed my lips open with it and then stuck the entire thing in my mouth. Then he kind of wiggled it, like a fucking wet flag or something. I think that was the biggest shock of my life. What was he doing? I had never heard of such a thing."

My bafflement and my outrage must have still been detectable in my voice because Henry chuckled, then immediately apologised. I dared a look. And was instantly reminded of that film Life of Brian again, that scene where the guards are desperately trying to keep a straight face as Pilate repeatedly tells them about his good friend 'Biggus Dickus'. Henry had sucked his lips in and seemed not to be breathing. When I met his eyes, he couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping.

"What did you do?" he managed to force out without cracking up.

"I was in the middle of a freaking dance floor, sunshine, and you know that I don't like scenes. So, I took it like a woman, and I am proud to report that I even managed to suppress the gag reflex that was threatening to hurl the lunch I had eaten straight into Tommy-Boy's face, until he had finally finished wiping my mouth with his wet cloth of a tongue. Well, that was my first and last venture into Romeo and Juliet territory, I can tell you."

Henry had started laughing now, great, big bellows of laughter filling his room.

"I'm sorry," he hiccupped in between. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise. I'm just picturing the scene, and it's the funniest scene I can possibly freaking imagine. Someone should turn this into a film."

Inexplicably, his laughter didn't make me feel angry or more ashamed. It was infectious, and, frankly, he was right. It was really funny.

"You can laugh," I said in mock exasperation. "I fled the crime scene as fast I could, and I'm using the words 'crime scene' absolutely literally here, and then I used up about five tubes of toothpaste at home to try and erase any traces of Mr Slimeball. My gums were freaking bleeding, and I thought my jaws would lock."

I had started to laugh, too, now. "Then, I sat down at my computer and researched this whole thing. I mean, I thought that the guy was a pervert and that he had done something totally illegal to me. I was flipping ready to sue, Henry my friend, when the net told me that people not only do this shit on a regular basis. They apparently like it! I just couldn't wrap my head around this. Well, to cut this embarrassing story short, I decided then and there that that was all the bodily fluids exchange I would ever take part in and that henceforth I'd stick to my lonely existence like a bloodworm to a swimmer's leg." I pulled a face. "That was probably the most inappropriate simile ever used."

Henry had stopped laughing and said gently, "Maybe it was just the wrong guy. Maybe you were just a little too young. Maybe therapy could help."

"Are you doing therapy for being gay?"

"Of course not, Cat. Being gay is not a mental illness." Henry was indignant.

"But electively not being sexually active is? So, I am what? Sexually challenged? Or I have intercourse difficulties? Sexophobia?" I asked gently.

Henry's eyes widened. "I didn't mean to imply that your... your sexual... I just meant that... that maybe... because of your body issues... the way you see yourself... that... well, that..."

I had never seen Henry at a loss for words before.

"Relax, Henry. It's okay. And who knows? Maybe you are right. Maybe there is something wrong with me in that department, too. Wouldn't surprise me." I gave a self-deprecating laugh. "But I am not going to any libido enhancement lessons – ever! And I'd like to declare this subject closed now, and I will finish with a very serious threat. If you ever, and I mean ever, tell anyone, and I mean anyone at all, about what I have just told you, I will kill you. I will murder you horrifically in a dark and dirty alleyway. This is no idle threat, either. This conversation has never taken place. Do you understand?"

"I would never betray your trust, Cat. You already know that. But this conversation has taken place, and I want you to know that you can always talk to me about anything that is on your mind. And don't lie to me. This is on your mind. So, it needs to be addressed. Until you have found a way of dealing with it that makes you comfortable and content with yourself. Until then, I am here, and we will walk this path together. Okay?"

"Thanks, Henry. But this goes both ways. What about you? Does your mother know?"

Henry shook his head. "I think she suspects it, but we have never talked about it."

"Are you scared?"

"I don't want to disappoint her."

"You won't. Your mum is an open-minded, modern person with a big heart, and she loves you."

"It's a really difficult conversation, though. I wouldn't even know how to approach it."

* * * * *

Henry and I talked half the night. Every so often, I received a frantic text message from my mother demanding to know where I was. When my father texted 'Are you okay, honey?', I texted back that I was at Henry's and that I would be home shortly and that, no, I didn't need him to pick me up. It was just a short walk, and I needed to clear my head.

Henry's revelation had taken a great weight off my shoulders. For some – to this day – inexplicable reason, I was okay with Henry finding a boyfriend as opposed to a girlfriend. I guess it has something to do with competition. A potential girlfriend would probably not have liked me very much. A boyfriend would most likely have nothing against our friendship because I would simply never be a threat to his relationship with Henry. In my mind, I pictured a really nice guy who did not only love and cherish Henry but who would also embrace me. I painted various scenarios in my head, while I desperately fought any thought about what I had revealed to Henry from popping up in my head.

What the hell had I been thinking? Well, quite obviously I hadn't been thinking a whole lot. Instead, I let the alcohol loosen my tongue, and now I had to deal with the fallout. How was I going to look into Henry's eyes ever again? I was 17 years old, for God's sake. You didn't go around telling people – not even one person – that you didn't want to have sex, even if it was true. You went and told people that you fancied the hell out of every good-looking boy you laid your eyes on, even if it wasn't true.

At least, I had vomited out my innermost self to Henry and nobody else. Jesus, that was a frightening thought. I could have come out with it all over the place on one of my famous binges. Right, that was it, the deciding factor, the pivotal switch in my behaviour pattern. No more alcohol or anything else that would loosen my tongue ever again. I would definitely not ever put myself in such a vulnerable position again.

* * * * *

Before I finally fell into a fitful sleep that night, I received a text message from Henry.

Thnx for everything Cat. Don't thnk u actually know what an amazing thing u did for me today! Love u!

* * * * *

The next morning saw my mother at peak performance. She had come up with a unique mixture of guilt-tripping and annihilating me. I hadn't even descended the stairs properly before she started laying into me.

"Three hours, Katherine, three hours! I must have sent about 200 text messages. Do you know how much time that cost me? Do you know how worried I was? One text from your father and you reply? What sort of daughter does that?"

"The sort of daughter that was asked nicely by the one parent but was being accused and put down by the other parent," I answered dryly. My mother didn't take kindly to this answer. I think she had meant her question to be a rhetorical one. You know, the kind that does not require an answer because the answer is already implied. In this case, I believe 'a shit one' - daughter, not answer - was the implication.

"Well, anyway, you are grounded. You come straight home from school, and then you will stay home. For the next two weeks. I've had enough of your insolence. Things will change around here, little Miss, I can tell you!"

I couldn't help it. I laughed. I laughed so hard my belly started aching. After all this time, she still didn't realise that I didn't care about her punishments anymore, that I would do the exact opposite of what she demanded – even if it killed me. I would not come home after school, definitely not, even if I really wanted to. Contrary-Jane had turned out to be my middle name.

"I will have your phone, too, young lady. Right now! I will teach you to laugh in my face! Why can't you be at least a little bit like Emma?"

I laughed even harder as I handed over my phone. None of these punishments made any sense to me. All they did, was reveal to me my mother's helplessness and her inadequacies as a mother.

Then I sobered.

"Just once, mother, just one time, I wish you would ask the right question."

I grabbed my school bag and turned towards the door.

"Make sure you are home straight after school! I'll leave work early to check that you are where you are supposed to be – here!"

I couldn't remember the last time my mother hadn't spoken in exclamation marks.

Silently, I walked through the door.

"What question are you talking about?" she shouted after me as an afterthought before I had disappeared from view.

'How can I support you?' 'How can I be there for you?' 'How can I make it better?' My brain practically screamed variations of the same question back at her, but my mouth remained shut.

* * * * *

School was different that day. I hadn't been drinking much the night before so that I was stone cold sober, an occurrence that hadn't happened in quite a while. I had forgotten how much fun lessons could be when your senses weren't dulled by drugs. I kept telling myself how enjoyable life without alcohol was.

Mrs Keating beamed at me after her lesson.

"You did really well again today, Katherine. I'm glad to see that you have no trouble catching up. Still, I hope you know that I am here whenever you need to talk."

Her genuine concern and compassion warmed my heart. I felt on top of the world. Who cared that I couldn't go home after school? I had friends. I'd hang out with them. I would just not drink anything. Well, one or two drinks wouldn't hurt. Nor would another two after the first two and so on. I'm sure you know the situation. Some of you have probably been there. Fortunately or unfortunately, Henry had gone home straight after school. He'd been quiet today but not in an unhappy way. Instead he seemed to be in a more contemplative mood. 

* * * * *

Well, suffice it to say that I wasn't "where I was supposed to be" when my mother returned home from work especially for me. Add in the fact that I was wobbly on my legs and slurring my words when I finally put in an appearance, and you can probably imagine the scene that ensued as soon as my key hit the front door lock – and most likely missed.

I'm a little hazy on the details, but I do remember my mother screaming at me, "And I didn't even know where you were."

To which I replied, "You could have phoned me. Oops. No phone. Sorry, Mum, somebody took it off me."

I grinned. Even my mother's hand colliding full force with my left cheek couldn't wipe the grin off my face. Thanks to Mr Tequila I didn't feel a thing anyway.

* * * * *

I fell onto my bed fully clothed, feeling like I owned the world. I woke up, still fully clothed, feeling ashamed and like a fucking idiot. I no longer knew whether my stomach cramps had anything to do with the health problem I had been struggling with for a fair few months now or whether they were simply caused by these pesky friends, Mr Tequila and Mrs Vodka, that I couldn't seem to shake – or 'unfriend' as you would probably say if you were born around or after the change of the millennium.

When I finally entered the kitchen, I was shocked to find my father and Emma waiting for me. I must have looked like a cornered animal because my father said, "It's okay, Katherine, Mum has already left. Emma and I are not here to lecture you. We'd like to talk to you, though."

"I am already late for school." I really didn't fancy a chat on a churning stomach and a raging headache.

"Don't worry. I've already phoned in to say you've got a migraine and will be late." Dad paused. "We really need to talk."

I sank onto a kitchen chair. "So, talk!" I felt just a little belligerent.

"Dad is worried about you, Katherine. He phoned me late last night, and I got in the car and came straight here. We're both pulling a sicky today, I guess." She grinned.

There was an uncomfortable pause. 'You want me to be grateful now, or what?' was on the tip of my tongue, but I squeezed my mouth shut as hard as I could. I would not give the inquisition the satisfaction of being the first to cave.

"Bet you're hungry." Emma put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. My stomach rebelled. I smiled weakly.

"Well, I know I haven't been the world's best father, Katherine, and I am sorry that I let you down more often than not, but I hope that you know at least one thing – that I love you. You and Emma are my number ones, without a shadow of a doubt. I know that Emma knows that, but I am not so sure about you." My father's voice trembled a little. "I handed over the reins of bringing you and Emma up to your mother, and because it seemed to work so well with Emma, I didn't realise as early as I should have that things weren't going so well with you. And when I finally noticed, I am ashamed to say, I still didn't do anything because I didn't know how. This is why I phoned Emma. And this is also why your mother knows nothing about this conversation we are having."

Dad took a deep breath and looked at Emma, who nodded encouragingly. "I am really worried about you, Katherine. All this drinking till late, going to school still half drunk." Another deep breath. "The woods." He sighed. "What can we do to support you?"

I sucked in a breath. Was there a god after all? Had he heard me earlier when my own mother hadn't?

"You can call me Cat," I said.

Dad and Emma looked at each other, clearly at a loss.

Despite my increasing stomach cramps, I smiled. "I hate being called Katherine. I am not that girl, at least not anymore. Other than that, you asking is already helping. Honestly. All I really want is for you to love me."

"We do, Kather... Cat," my father protested.

"Maybe you do, but I am not Emma, the perfect daughter. I'm not Mrs Bubbly and Beautiful, the daughter that everyone loves, the daughter that you can brag about wherever you go. I tried to be like Emma, Dad, for such a long time. I tried real hard, but I'm just not like her, no matter how hard I try. I got so tired of trying. All I ever wanted was for you to love me like you love Emma and for you to be as proud of me as you are of Emma." I was sobbing now, clutching my aching stomach.

Emma put her arm around me. Dad took my hand.

"I am as proud of you, and I love you as much. If you ever doubted that, I am so sorry, Kath... Cat. You are an intelligent, extremely talented, strong, empathic and beautiful human being. I wouldn't change you for the world. And I am not just saying that. I mean it. I talk about you in work all the time." He looked at Emma. "I talk about you, too, Emma, but since you don't live here anymore, well, ..."

"That's okay, Dad. This is about Cat now, not about me."

Dad looked at me again. "I know that this... this thing between you and your mum is, by and large, not your fault. Mum loves you, Cat. I know that for a fact, but I also know that she has a funny way of showing it. I've tried to talk to her. I've tried to make her see that what she is doing is counter-productive. I've tried to make her understand that her worldview is much too narrow, that her way is not the only way. I've tried to make her grasp that you don't accomplish anything good by constantly comparing your children. To no avail, despite my best efforts."

"I just wanted Mum to love me. And the most pathetic thing is that I still crave her love, after all the things she's done to me." My sobbing became slightly hysterical, but there was nothing I could have done about it. I had lost control.

"Mum does love you, Cat," Dad said softly.

I doubled over, pressing my fist into my belly.

Dad and Emma both jumped up.

"What's the matter?"

"Are you okay?"

"Emma, get the car. We are taking Katherine to the hospital."