I don't speak with Wren for the entire week. Both he and Constance left for the weekend. I wish I was relieved at that, but loneliness is threatening to eat me alive. I've dried up my liquor options. Not having that crutch to fall on has me feeling extremely anxious.

Munching on a bar of chocolate I scored from the vending machine, I stare up at the ceiling and begin counting the lines across it. I would kill for a T.V. in here.

A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. I'm dressed in a faded, tie-dyed shirt and ripped jeans, having rolled one leg higher than my ankle, having been too lazy to roll the other one. I showered and dressed all before eleven a.m. today. Progress.

Cora stands outside my door. She has dark eyeliner around her eyes with dramatic wings. Her pretty blonde hair falls in waves down her shoulders. She's dressed in similar ripped denim–shorts, not jeans—and a jumper at least four sizes too large for her body. It sags across her shoulders.

Cora is the kind of pretty that if you pass her down the street or in a supermarket, you do a double-take, to confirm the person you just passed really is that attractive. I hate how it makes me feel completely the opposite.

"Hey," she says, and I realise I have stood there silently for a few moments.

"Hey."

More silence.

"I, um, knocked on a few doors trying to find you. Not many people are here," she explains, twisting her fingers together.

"A lot go back home for the weekend," I tell her.

"Not you?"

"Not me." I'd love to be with the Jenning's this weekend, but they didn't offer, and I don't want to overstay my welcome. I was kicked out, after all.

She steps closer to me and I back up, a little too quickly, and she side-eyes me for a moment. She roams around the room.

"Your room is very... er... bare," says Cora, looking at my noticeably plain side compared to the vibrant colours of Constance's.

I don't know what to say to that. It is.

She wanders to Constance's side and picks one of the candles up and waves it under her nose. She looks satisfied with the scent and places it back down where she found it.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt rudely.

She doesn't seem to mind my bluntness. She sits on the edge of Constance's bed and flings her legs forward, crossing her ankles. She has sparkly pink paint splattered across her toenails.

"I thought we could hang out."

The fact that someone has gone out of their way to find me to hang out seems a little absurd. I don't really have any friends. I feel my cheeks grow warm as she stares openly at me, a slow smile stretching across her lips.

"Okay," I eventually say. "What would you like to do?"

"Let's get a coffee. You can show me around campus," she suggests, springing to her feet with an energy I wish I felt. I don't bother to change my outfit. I slide my feet into sandals and shove my room key into my back pocket.

She orders a Chai Latte and I order a Mocha, to satisfy my chocolate craving. The cup warms my palm. The security is significantly more relaxed of a weekend, I've noticed because the school has emptied so much. We don't see any guards when we leave the cafeteria and push out the side doors. The warm air spills over my face and I tilt my head back, embracing the warmth. Cora's sparkly eye makeup shimmers in the light.

"You should teach me how to do that," I point to her eyes.

"Sure," she smiles. "I love doing other people's makeup. I'd really like to do it professionally."

"Yeah?"

She nods, adjusting her jumper. "I try new styles all the time. I have an Instagram page; you should check it out."

I realise then that I didn't bring my phone. I hardly use it, considering we don't have access to the Wi-Fi. I have no friends to text, anyway. They're strict on students using phones during school hours, so I've gotten used to leaving it on my bedside table.

"How long have you been doing it?"

"Hmm," she thinks for a moment and brushes her hair from her eyes. "About two years. I've always done my makeup like this since I was thirteen. But other people's and these new looks, about two years."

When she takes a drink, I count seven rings across her fingers. All silver, all with black gemstones. She has bangles that clang every time she moves her wrists. I look at my hands. Plain. Boring. Nothing.

"What do you like to do?" she asks.

I feel a shot of nervousness spike through me at admitting how extremely unexciting I am as a person. How little I do. How much of a nobody I am.

"Um," I say, just to fill the silence. "I don't know."

"Do you read? Write? Sing? Draw?"

"I don't do anything."

I live in a vicious cycle of being overwhelmed by anxiety, drowning out this anxiety with drugs, partying and alcohol, only for it to repeat over and over again.

She purses his lips in disbelief. "What do you like? What do you do for fun?"

"I drink."

She snorts. "You're funny."

"Actually," I say, after a moment. "I like to swim."

"Swim?"

I nod. "I used to do swim club as a kid, and I used to do laps in the pool a lot. I was really good at it."

"Cool. I haven't ever been that great at swimming. Do you swim anymore?"

My eyes flick to my covered chest involuntarily. "No, not really."

We find a bench to sit on. This is the nicest part of campus. The sun warms my back. I never would have thought the school would be this deserted. I love how quiet it is.

"What's the deal with you and that guy?" Cora asks. She holds eye contact to the point it's uncomfortable. I look back ahead of me, feeling her eyes on the side of my face.

"Wren? Nothing."

"Looks a little more than nothing."

"A little more than nothing, but not quite something?"

I'm not quite sure how to formulate our situation into words. Nothing really has happened, but it isn't really just nothing.

"Oh okay. Cool." The way she says that makes me feel like she doesn't really think it's cool.

She talks a lot. I sip away at my drink, even though it's still too hot.

Cora talks about a makeup look she would love to try on me, as we walk back inside, going into detail about the colours and a new colour scheme 'cut the crease' she would like to try. I nod along, a little excited at the thought of someone spicing up my appearance. I feel it's very much needed.

We end up spending the afternoon in Cora's room. The girl she shares a room with apparently is never around. We're sitting on the floor, with a floor-length mirror she must have brought with her beside me. She's curled my hair in beach waves and is now on to the makeup part.

"Damn, I'm good," she grins, leaning back, admiring her work.

I look to the mirror. My face is contoured, my skin is bright, and my eyeshadow is a deep burgundy. My fingers lightly touch my face.

"Wow," I say. "That looks amazing. I wish we had something to go to."

"Now that I know this is your look, I'll do it even quicker next time, whenever something is on."

I lounge on the floor and watch her do her own makeup, making her eyes a pretty pink, the same colour tones as her nails. She adds a glittery highlighter on her cheeks bone and I envy the way her skin is flawless.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, once she has finished. She looks in the mirror and does a few different poses.

"I could eat." I try to remember the last time I ate and draw a blank.

There're a few people milling about the cafeteria when we get there. When we sit, after ordering, I pick at my salad sandwich, telling myself to eat it. I noticed this morning how much weight I've lost since I've been here. It's going to cause attention soon.

"What's your favourite food?" Cora asks, before taking a ginormous mouthful, bits of lettuce and carrot falling onto her plate.

"Pizza, probably. Or tacos."

"Yum."

"You?"

"Lasagne, or spaghetti, maybe."

"I haven't wanted a cigarette today," I announce, a little stunned. "I'm usually craving one by now."

"I'm a good distraction," she winks. "But, same, now that you mention it."

I smile at her for the first time. I haven't had any episodes or bad thoughts. This is a Good Day.

When we've finished eating, we move on to the rec room. I spot Harlow, sandy hair guy, and a few of their other friends taking up the lounge, a boxing match blaring from the T.V as they shout at it. Harlow's eyes find us when we enter. I don't appreciate how their eyes dip over us hungrily. He leaps to his feet and a soft groan leaves me.

"Hey ladies," Harlow grins in greeting. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Cora replies. "We're looking for something to do."

"I can help with that," he grins, rubbing his hands together. I fold my arms across my chest. "I'm having a shindig in my room later. Well, now, really. You want to come?"

"Sure," Cora grins, before I can decline, looking at me with a smirk. "Sounds fun."

"Hey, Addison," sandy hair smiles and I force myself to be polite by asking him how he is. He goes on and on about school and his family, and eventually, I run thin, leaving him speaking mid-sentence.

We enter the room and it reeks of weed. I follow Cora over to Wren's bed and we sit. I feel uncomfortable being here when he's not. Cora buys a bottle from Harlow.

"I can't," I shake my head. "I've run out of money."

"She's sharing with me," Cora says.

"It's fine."

I hate owing anyone anything. I refuse to be like my mother.

"Please," she insists waving the bottle at me. "Drink."

"I'll pay you back as soon as I have cash."

It's bitter and it burns and it's one of my favourite feelings. I down long, deep swallows and Harlow cheers. Harlow tosses a deck of cards onto the floor and we gravitate around it in a circle. Cora shuffles them, her hands moving quickly and expertly, the cards gliding over her fingers, hardly touching them.

"You should work at a Casino," one of the guys' comments, and I see I'm not the only one extremely impressed with her card skills.

"I've played a lot of cards in my time," she replies, speaking as if she is much older than she is. Harlow's eyes haven't left her for about a minute now, and it's really starting to annoy me.

She spreads the cards into a circle on the ground, with an empty plastic cup in the centre. Each card has a different rule.

The game begins. I'm sipping constantly, one of the rules being I have to drink every time Cora does.

"Jack," says Cora, waving the card that's pinched between two fingers in the air. "Make a rule."

"What's your rule?" Harlow asks her. His hair is too long, and he sweeps it back irritably every few seconds. My eyes lower to his neck tattoo, taking in the detail of it.

"Every time you have to drink, you must remove an item of clothing."

There are whoops of excitement, and Cora is grinning from ear to ear at the attention. I feel myself shrinking. I reach for my cup and finish the rest of it. As the sip wasn't because of the game, I thankfully am not expected to remove anything yet.

My mind starts scrambling, searching for excuses to leave.

Cora takes a sip and pulls her shirt over her head. Harlow whistles and sandy hair claps unnecessarily.

"Come on, babe. You drink when I drink, remember?" Cora says to me and I sort of feel like punching her.

I look to my bare feet and sigh. I wish it was cold enough to be sock-wearing weather. I reach for my bra clasp and unhook it.

The music creeps up in volume and I down my drink, again. Cora is probably regretting sharing her bottle with me, considering how fast I'm going through it.

"Shot break?" Sandy hair asks with a quirked eyebrow.

Everyone eagerly gets to their feet as he passes out miniature plastic cups. My head is feeling fuzzy and my body light. I do three more shots than anyone else, hoping it'll squash down my anxiety.

Cora pulls at my hands. She painted my nails black earlier today. I like the look of them. It makes me look a little less plain. She dances around me, laughing, moving to the beat and surprisingly, I feel myself loosen up. It's most certainly the alcohol, but her smile is contagious.

Sandy hair continues to whine about finishing the game, and we plop back to the floor. I survive another two rounds before another piece of clothing has to go. I shimmy out of my pants and leave them in a pile beside me. The air feels cool on my skin. When I sit, Cora's bare leg brushes against mine.

By the time the game ends, everyone has either lost their shirt or their pants. If sandy hair hadn't picked the last King when he did, I'm afraid to think about what I would have had to remove next.

"Tom," he says.

"What?"

"My name is Tom. Not sandy hair," he grins.

Shit. Did I say that out loud?

I look to Cora and give her a 'help' look when Tom shifts closer to me. Cora struts from across the room and straddles my lap, knocking Tom out of the way. Her perfume flushes over me and our bare skin connects. Her blonde hair falls like a silk curtain, framing her face. She leans down and our lips graze against each other. I inhale sharply at the contact when the door of Harlow's room bursts open.

"What the fuck is going on in here?"

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What are your thoughts? :-)