Fever

First place  – Untitled Short Story Competition 2020

Published in Untitled – Issue Nine 

Yoga isn’t just stretching. The magic happens when you still your mind long enough to actually feel the pain that courses through you like stormwater, then breathe through it anyway.

From the start, when Bliss would say things like that, Ashley would roll her eyes and harpoon her elbow into my ribs. And at first I’d smirk and I’d listen to her sarcastic whispers. It was always me and Ashley then; me playing the role of sidekick, her slightly dishevelled understudy.

But quietly, I was captivated by Bliss. Maybe it was her fame or her sweetly overcrowded smile, or the way she’d say ‘You’re the best’ when I brought her a matcha latte. Already, she was under my skin, flowering in my bloodstream. And I would do anything she said.

 

 

Before Bliss, it was a long, cobwebbed winter. Something inside me was unspooling. The days were funereal, all wet streets strewn with leaves, cold hair whipping around faces. There were spores of loneliness in the air around me.

Still, I faked it. Look at me, rubbing rosehip oil into thirsty skin, into the crinkling ends of my hair. I brightened myself with shimmery bronzer and peach lipgloss. I made sunny Instagram posts – a green smoothie bowl from a Sunday months ago, pomegranate seeds shining like jewels. (‘Post-workout breakfast! So invigorated after an early morning run on the beach.’) I sat cross-legged on the floor for my morning meditation and tried my best to hush the wild, thrashing hurricane in my head.

You need a really strong affirmation for that, though.

At the studio, I’d teach my yoga classes. Girls wrapped in different coloured workout tights flowed through vinyasas; a rippling stream of black and neon and ocelot print. There were breaks in the kitchen with Ashley and the others, sipping peppermint tea and crunching on goji nut bars. The girls had all quit caffeine so I pretended I had too, jolting myself alive with double espressos in secret afterwards. Ashley would talk about her intermittent fasting diet and the new booty blast program she was creating and what some other influencer had posted on Instagram. I’d study my chipped manicure, longing for something. For time to pass, for anything. 

The days were anonymous, soaked with something like despair. Until Bliss swept in, a burst of mermaid hair and coconut-scented skin, and it was like a window opening, letting in cold, bright daylight.

 

 

She was a bit of a celebrity in our world. Bliss Crowhurst, swiftly becoming the wellness goddess du jour, complete with a brand-new bestselling cookbook and a dizzying YouTube following. She had freckles across her nose and marketing in her bloodstream, and she had the star power to take the studio to the next level.   

We all knew her story; the series of disasters she’d overcome. First, a mysterious, chronic fatigue-type illness, which she healed with nutrition and mindful fitness. Then her best friend died in a surfing accident (or a suicide – that was unclear; Bliss was now a passionate advocate for both beach safety and mental health, and also, vaguely, friendship.) In her grief, she escaped to a yoga retreat in the Sri Lankan beach town of Mirissa. She spent salt-spritzed weeks meditating, perfecting her dragonfly pose and vlogging her personal healing journey against the hush of the Indian Ocean. One day, she decided to take the train up to Colombo for an overnight trip. The next morning she got up early to stroll the colourful streets and the seafront promenade. That was Easter Sunday – the day six bombs blasted through churches and luxury hotels across the city.

It was the best thing that could have happened for her personal brand.

In the days and weeks after Colombo, her videos went viral – tears down her cheeks, her voice gorgeously husky as she described the horror she’d witnessed. She launched an online fundraiser for the bombing victims, promising 50% of the profits from her six-week mind-body transformation guide. Blog articles, podcast interviews and a book deal quickly followed. And just like that, we all knew the name Bliss Crowhurst.

Now the studio blossomed with peach-coloured lilies. Her suggestions became gospel; the space was brushed with her feather-light touches. We got expensive new yoga mats and a coral feature wall. Essential oil diffusers beamed out an island scent of sweet vanilla and caramel. The front desk was stacked with copies of her book – a collection of colourful salads and raw treats, adorned with her musings on resilience – and jars of the organic granola blend she’d collaborated with a local brand to put her name on.  

She was ridiculous, obviously. And yet. She was so vigorously alive, pulsing with an energy I wanted to feel. From that first day, I was drinking up her movements. I found myself moving as if she was watching; sauntering like her, head tall and arms loose. Trying to soak up some of her liquid grace.

 

 

Only Ashley refused to be bewitched by her. ‘I found out her real name,’ she told me one afternoon. ‘It’s Genevieve.’

We were alone in the sun-drenched upstairs studio space. Ashley had one leg stretched high up the wall. She was used to being the star around here – the iridescent Ashley Zhang, with her strong legs and impish smile and genius for designing yoga-HIIT fusion workouts. She was the name that lured in adoring flocks of girls, made them all too happy to hand over their membership fees. She was the one whose abs were #goals.

I bent over in ragdoll pose, my plait reaching towards the floor in a long, wheat-coloured rope.

‘I just don’t think she’s genuine,’ Ashley said.

I didn’t say anything. We kept stretching. 

 

 

There we were, all the lead studio girls. Me and Ashley, and Priyanka and Tiff and Katja and Beth and Mei. All of us svelte and straight-backed, variations on a theme. We sat in a softly breathing crescent, Bliss in front of us on the studio stage. She smiled, coral lipgloss bright.

‘You’re all in a unique and powerful position here,’ she said, looking at each of us slowly. ‘You received a calling to guide people on their wellness journey. But to transform lives, you need to make sure you’re showing up as fully and authentically as you can. You need to step into your power.’

I swear, that’s how she talked. Like it was an Instagram caption, like she was born in test-tube labelled ‘manifestation goddess’. And yet, I couldn’t take my eyes off her – her long collarbone, the dip in her throat, where a tiny silver star pendant was nestled. Somehow, I could feel the brittle edges of myself dissolving.

‘You all know my story,’ she said. ‘Everything I’ve been through. And the truth is, in my darkest times, I let myself become a victim. That was the worst thing that happened to me – not all the trauma I experienced. As soon as I stepped out of that, I found so much alignment and I discovered my real inner strength.

‘But I see some of you still hiding in that victim mentality. You’re too scared to let your light shine. You’re too scared to do the work, and do what it takes to get what you want.’

And she looked directly at me. Her eyes were the slippery grey of dolphin skin.

‘So,’ she said. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

 

 

Falling in love is a fever. Summer was coming, the days swelling up. I wanted to be around Bliss, to understand her shifts in mood; how she’d go from quiet and steely to surging with rosy-cheeked warmth. I wanted to earn that dazzling smile, to catch a glimpse of that one slightly-crooked eye-tooth, like a little fang saying hello.

            Her big idea for the studio was to launch a retreat offering – luxury escapes down the coast, with a revitalising schedule of yoga, mindfulness and fitness. So I offered to help her, and it became the focus of my weeks. ‘Oh my god, you’re the best,’ she’d say, when I showed her a sample menu or a cool hike I’d found. ‘Damn, we make a good team.’ And just like that – suddenly, miraculously – I felt chosen.

At lunchtimes with the sun blazing we’d buy pressed juices and power walk around the park, and she’d get me talking about things usually left in dark boxes in my mind. The ex-boyfriend who loved Fleetwood Mac, which meant only Lucy the bartender, who also loved Fleetwood Mac, could really understand him. The ambitions I’d once had to write, until I realised I had nothing to say. The way Ashley would sometimes forget to invite me places.

‘Ashley doesn’t want you to reach your potential,’ Bliss said. ‘She wants you to stay small and be her follower. That’s the role you play for her.’

Those afternoons now are a kaleidoscope in my mind. Our bright white Nikes, the leafy sky. Bliss biting into a wet green apple, the crunch of her teeth sinking in. I watched her chew and I could almost taste the tangy juice. That burst of flavour, painfully sweet.

 

 

Ashley was always smouldering, dark eyes narrowed. ‘Did you hear the way she was talking, as if she owns the place?’ she hissed, grabbing my arm after a staff meeting.

She kept finding threads to tug at. ‘That story she told about her childhood dog dying? I listened to this podcast interview she did for Mamamia where she said she’s never had a pet.’ She’d find slivers of insults in Bliss’s words and fume over them for weeks. ‘She told me my sweet potato salad looked carb-y.’ ‘She said I was brave to wear white leggings.’

And I let her talk. But the more I surrendered to the magnet pull of Bliss, the more Ashley’s voice became a seashell sound. 

 

 

The temperature kept rising, the hot breath of summer on our necks. In between teaching classes and planning Bliss’s retreats and actually creating social media content again, my days were a whirl of adrenaline and sweaty skin. Sometimes I’d notice a quiet fury brewing between Ashley and Bliss – sharp glances, hushed conversations, faces grim – but I didn’t care. I was focused, productive again.  

Yoga was still the one thing that could always soothe me – that moment when you feel the rhythms of your body and breath sync up; the bursting feeling of rising up from a sun salutation. I liked to flow through simple sequences and teach a beginner-friendly class, but Bliss said I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough. I needed to master the more advanced poses, she said. And so she helped me, guiding me through my scorpion-leg handstand. ‘It’s all in your mindset,’ she kept saying, her hands adjusting my form, her minty breath close. ‘Focus on your core. Don’t overthink it.’

So I practiced and practiced. And eventually, I got it. I held the pose, my back curved, my legs strong in the air. And for a second, I felt really alive. I was vigorous and bright, just like Bliss.   

 

 

I was filling up my glass drink bottle at the water fountain, Ashley slinking around me like a cat. Her inky black ponytail poured down her back.

‘So, I was asking Bliss about her fundraiser for Sri Lanka,’ she said. ‘Like, how she organised it, who she actually gave the money to. ‘Cause I couldn’t remember what specific charity it was for.’

‘I think it was for the Red Cross,’ I said. I added a drop of peppermint oil to my water, took a sip. I felt cool and open in my chest. ‘Or maybe like a local relief charity there.’

‘But I don’t know,’ Ashley said, twisting the end of her hair in her fingers. ‘She was so weird about it. Like she just got angry and wouldn’t answer any of my questions.’

 ‘Maybe because it seemed like you were accusing her of something.’

            ‘Well,’ she said archly.

Suddenly I felt overheated. The room seemed to tilt a little; my blood sugar low after my workout. I rolled my eyes. Ashley and her constant drama. The girl just could not handle being second best.

‘Anyway, it’s not just that,’ Ashley said. ‘I’ve been talking to some people on Instagram. Looking through her old posts and stuff. There’s all kinds of things that don’t add up.’ 

‘Ash,’ I said. ‘Just stop.’

 

 

I spent Christmas back home in Perth with my family, waiting for a text from Bliss. The heat was simmering; the days stretched out endlessly. I went running on the beach with my brother. I read the first ten pages of Daring Greatly. I deleted Instagram from my phone, and reinstalled it a day later.

I waited to hear from her, and I never did.

 

 

After New Year’s, the studio stayed closed for another week. It was the perfect chance for us to try out the retreat concept Bliss and I had been planning; double it as a team planning retreat for the year ahead. So we packed our resistance bands and essential oils and neon bikinis and we all went down to the coast together, me and Bliss and all the girls. Even Ashley, because we all knew the studio was nothing without Ashley Zhang.

The coastline curved like a wineglass; turquoise water blinked in the sun. This trip was a chance to revitalise, Bliss said, but we were also there to challenge ourselves and work hard. Each morning we’d wake early for sunrise yoga and guided meditation by the pool, before a nourishing breakfast of organic granola and coconut yoghurt and summer fruit. The rest of the day would be filled with mindset and resilience workshops, team goal setting sessions, active excursions, and more yoga and fitness challenges.

It quickly became clear Bliss would be running the show. My role in putting this all together, all the hours and sweat and spreadsheets, faded into the background, and Bliss took her natural place at the front of the pack. It was fine, I told myself. I didn’t mind. But I couldn’t explain that quiet ache, a dull stone pitted deep below my ribcage.

At night, I fell asleep early in a twin bed next to Ashley’s, all my muscle fibres throbbing. Above me, a familiar fog of loneliness was hovering, darkly.

 

 

A morning swim, the water deliciously cool. I was alone; the others had all gone on a walk into town. In the quiet, the pool water was rippling and blue. Then Ashley burst from the house, calling my name.

‘I need to talk to you,’ she said, breathlessly. Her eyes were dark and wide, like a nocturnal animal, glinting strangely. And so I pulled myself up to the edge of the pool. Ashley sat down next to me, slipping her tanned feet into the water. Our toenails were painted the same shade of coral. 

 ‘So,’ she said. ‘I’ve been investigating some more, about Bliss. No – just listen for a sec.’

She grabbed my arm with her small, cool hand, held onto it loosely below the elbow.

‘I found this guy Josh, who was at that retreat in Sri Lanka with her. Like, a typical meditation bro. And we were chatting about everything, and all the weird things about Bliss. And he said on the day of the bombings he saw her at a bar in Mirissa. Like, nowhere near Colombo.’

I felt a pulse inside me.

‘She wasn’t there when it happened,’ she said.

‘Maybe he just saw someone who looked like her,’ I said. ‘Or he’s thinking of a different day.’

‘No, he’s positive. He was like obsessed with her. He said she went to Colombo a couple of weeks before that, but she was definitely back in Mirissa at Easter. When he saw her posting about it he thought it was weird, but he wasn’t going to get involved and say anything.’

She let go of my arm and pulled out her phone. I blinked at the screen as she scrolled. The bubbles of their conversation shimmied in front of me. It was so hot; the sun was already burning viciously.

‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ I said.

‘Are you serious? It means she lied about witnessing a terrorist attack just to get attention. And then she had that fundraiser that I don’t think was even real. This is insane.’

‘You don’t know that,’ I said. I wiped at my forehead. The heat was making me dizzy. ‘You don’t know anything about her.’

Ashley just looked at me, a hard, black gleam in her eyes.

‘Neither do you,’ she said.

 

 

That night, Ashley didn’t come to dinner. She was sick, Mei told us, all feverish and vomiting. Typical Ashley melodrama. We switched up our sleeping arrangements so she’d have a room to herself. She stayed in there the whole next day too, and the next.

 

 

Now it was four days into the trip, and I’d still barely had a second to talk to Bliss. She was busy playing camp leader, always surrounded. I’d put Ashley’s theories away in the attic of my mind. They were just rumours; I didn’t care. I wanted to be chosen by Bliss again.

That afternoon, we hiked along a rocky coastal trail. In towns not too far from here, furious bushfires were swallowing homes and land and wildlife, and a sooty scent lingered in the air, making sure we didn’t forget. I thought maybe I could talk to Bliss then, but Priyanka and Katja had her ensnared in a deep conversation about intermittent fasting a few paces ahead of me. I kept my eyes focused on my hiking boots, the rhythmic crunch of each step, steady as a heartbeat. I wondered if they’d see it, if they looked back at me; the neediness seeping from my pores.

At a shimmering cove, we slithered out of our shorts and tank tops, let our ponytails and fishtail braids loose. For a moment, I closed my eyes behind my Ray-Bans. I stood still and listened to the silver hush of waves, the hiss of kombucha bottles being opened, peals of girl laughter – the effervescent sounds of summer. When I opened my eyes, Bliss and Priyanka were down by the water, posing for photos Tiff was taking on her phone. Their bodies were curved in dancer pose – one arm reaching out in front, one leg extended out behind, foot nestled in hand. They were beautiful.

I lay back on my elbows in the hot sand. A darkness was opening up inside me, wistfulness coursing through my body. Wistfulness, or quietly growing despair.

 

 

Back at the villa, I took a long, cool shower. I tried to practise mindfulness, force my attention on the pelting water rhythm instead of the dull panic rising from my belly. This is water, I said to myself. This is water, this is water, this is water. I dried off and threw on a white cotton dress. Now, I thought. Now I’ll find Bliss and we can really talk, and this shuddering in my chest will stop.

She was out by the front gate with Priyanka. Priyanka, with her big dark eyes like a lemur and her impossible flexibility, leaning against the bluestone wall. Her neon yellow bikini was blinding.

‘Oh hey, babe,’ Bliss said. ‘Pri and I are just heading into town for a sec.’

And I waited for them to invite me along. I waited and they didn’t say anything.

‘Oh, okay,’ I said. ‘Have fun.’

‘We’ll catch up later, okay?’ Bliss said, touching my wrist lightly. And the look of pity in her eyes – well. It hit me right in the ribcage, hard.  

I watched them walk away, their brown backs and salt-scrunched hair. Then Bliss stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

‘Oh yeah,’ she said, giving me her brilliant, crooked-toothed smile. ‘Can you check on the caterers for tonight for me?’

I stood still as they continued down the path. The sound of their laughing voices swam through the thick air. I heard Bliss say, ‘You’re the best, Pri.’

 

 

That night there was a party out by the pool. I lay upstairs on my bed, my temples throbbing. Out the window, I could see constellations of fairy lights strung up around the yard, the pool water alien blue in the dark. Indie pop music simpered through the air, trembling through the walls to my bones. I felt an overwhelming sense of nothingness. I didn’t want to be here.

I looked over at my suitcase, a jungle of colourful activewear spilling out of it. And for a second I thought – I could leave. I imagined getting on a bus, watching the beach roll away in the inky darkness, my own face ghostly in the window. I knew I’d never do it, but for a few minutes I indulged the fantasy, played at packing up my things. I gathered my sports bras, my running shorts, and pressed them into my bulging bag. To be the one walking away from Bliss, from Ashley, from the juice cleanses, from all of it – the idea was surreally glorious. 

My hand caught something tucked into the inside pocket of my suitcase. I pulled it out. Two small plastic bottles, travel containers for beauty products. But they weren’t mine. I held them up to the light. They were both empty except for a few drops of liquid. Strange. I closed the suitcase and lay back on the bed.   

My mind went to Ashley. She’d be in her room now too, still sick or faking it. I thought of all those nights last summer in her backyard – a Christmas tree scent, my ribs aching with laughter. Then two days ago, Ashley telling me those crazy things about Bliss, her eyes sizzling. The strange nausea inside me swelled. The girl was jealous and overdramatic, but she was shrewd. And I had to admit, I’d seen her detective skills before.

I sat up, knotted my hair on top of my head, slipped into my Birkenstocks. I didn’t belong to Bliss. I didn’t belong to Ashley either. But I had to at least hear what else she thought she knew.

 

 

My breath caught in Ashley’s doorway.

Ashley was crumpled up in bed, sweaty and pale. Bliss was sitting in a floral chair next to her, holding out a glass of green juice. Ashley was drinking slowly through a pink straw, her hands quivering. She barely looked conscious.

A sound came from my throat and Bliss looked up at me. A tiny flash of something – panic, fury – startled her features. Then she dissolved into a smile.

‘Just checking on the patient,’ she said softly. ‘Make sure she gets her antioxidants.’

She reached out to smooth Ashley’s hair.

‘Olive leaf extract,’ she said. ‘Tastes like shit, but it heals everything.’

She turned back to me, smiling, but her eyes were still.

‘What are you doing? Go join the party,’ she said.

Ashley pushed the glass away and slumped back, curled onto her side. I’d never seen her so wilted and small. 

‘Ash?’ I said. Her face was the colour of cement, covered in a wet slick. She moaned a little, mumbled something. I touched her forehead. It was burning. A rush of pins and needles went through me.

‘Bliss, I really don’t think she’s okay,’ I said.

‘She’s fine,’ Bliss soothed. ‘Go on, you should go outside.’

And then Ashley started convulsing.

‘Ash,’ I yelled. I tried to hold her by the shoulders, to still her violent shaking. Her body was rigid. Her breath came out in hoarse, desperate gasps. I looked around frantically; I didn’t have my phone.

‘Bliss. Call someone. Fuck, what do we do?’

But Bliss didn’t move. I scrambled at the bedside table. Ashley’s phone must be there; the girl always had her phone. The lamp and the green smoothie glass fell in an angry crash. A dizzying blackness was swimming around the corners of my vision.

‘Calm down,’ Bliss said quietly.

And I looked at her, her serene face and long, crossed legs. I looked at the broken glass winking from the floor, the dregs of green smoothie in a sludgy pool. A flash in my mind – the unfamiliar travel bottles in my suitcase. And suddenly I knew.

‘Bliss,’ I said. ‘Seriously, we have to get help. Now.’

And she smiled, her grey eyes smoky and cool. 

‘Do we?’ she said.