It's daylight and my sheets are damp.

I've vomited. It's on my clothes, in my hair, and smeared across my sheets.

My stomach churns painfully, and I hug myself, hoping the pain will leave my body. The bottle of bourbon lays, now empty, on the ground with the plastic cup toppled over beside it.

Forcing myself to stand, I remove the sheets from my bed and walk them to the laundry. Thankfully, it's as quiet as it was yesterday and I don't pass anyone on my way. When I get back to the room, I recoil at the stench.

I open our small window but it is barred, barely allowing any fresh air inside. I prop my door open and light one of Constance's candles, hoping it will mask some of the odour.

My stomach screams at me and I dress—slowly, my head pounding—before going to the cafeteria. I order a sandwich and force myself to eat it, taking tiny bites and slowly munching on it to the point the bread is soggy in my mouth.

The place is busy again by Sunday afternoon, and I shut myself in my room. The smell has subsided, but I leave the candle on, not wanting to chance it. I've taken twice the amount of Valium I'm meant to when Constance bangs the door open obnoxiously.

"Hey!" she greets me and looks at her candle. "You lit one of my candles. Didn't give you permission to do that, but okay."

"I should have asked."

"I'm teasing," she says as she hauls her bag onto her bed. "How was your weekend?"

Insufferable. Lonely. Painful.

"Fine. How was yours?"

She bursts into a story about her cousins getting into a fight at the family BBQ and one of them falling into the pool. She laughs hard, letting out deep whistles, and exhales through her nose. She shows her father's reaction and a small smile fights its way to my face.

"Sounds like you have a big family."

"I have seven sisters and a brother! Don't even get me started on my cousins," she shakes her head.

I want to ask more, excited that this is the first time I seem to care about someone else's life, but my eyes are heavy.

"Talk more tomorrow?" I ask her.

"You tired?"

"Exhausted."

"Okay."

She is still rummaging around with her things when I drift off to sleep and thankfully, no nightmares visit me tonight.

***

My back hurts from the bed. There is no hot water left when I shower, and the girl in line before me got the last donut.

I slump in my chair when I get to class, and the only thing keeping my head up is my hand. I watch a strand a hair over my face blow back and forth from my face, peeling away from my nose and falling back again.

"This is my table."

I roll my eyes to the side, and Wren is peering down his nose at me.

"Our table, now."

"Since when?"

"Since I started?"

He grumbles but takes a seat. I can't keep up with this guy.

"Why are you grumpy today?" I ask.

"All the donuts were gone."

I nod. "I feel your pain."

Wren reaches for my coffee and takes a sip. I was told a few times not to bring it in class, but Mr Garret has said nothing about it.

"You can get your own coffee," I tell him.

"Yours tastes better."

He drags his pencil across the paper and begins drawing. I watch the bones in his hand move. His tattoos slither over his wrist, across the top of his hand, to his fingers. It only takes a few moments to realise he is drawing me.

Oval face, long hair, almond-shaped eyes. He lightly dusts freckles under my eyes, a sharp jawline, and black studded earrings. My finger lightly traces the earring, my thumb touching the rough texture.

He colours in a dark turtle-neck top and I smile. If he had drawn me without, the picture wouldn't be accurate.

"You are very talented." It's true. It's incredible how he caught the beauty in someone so broken.

He blows a breath onto the page and the pencil shavings fly off the edges. He gives it a slight shake.

The New Girl, he scrawls on the top right page.

The bell rings as he slides it across the desk.

"As thanks," he states, nodding at the cup my hand is circled around. "For the coffee."

***

Later that evening, a loud knock on the door startles me.

Constance is lying on her back, feet pressed against the wall, headphones jammed in her ear as she reads. She hasn't heard anything. I wave to get her attention and point at the door. She yanks an earbud out as the door knocks again.

"I'm not answering it," says Constance.

"Addison Cooper?"

Damn.

I push to my feet. A tall guard is there, hands behind his back.

"You have a visitor."

"A visitor?" I question.

"Come with me."

I wish I had time to check my appearance. I trail after the man, struggling to keep up with his strides. He leads me to a large room near the office. There are tables and seats spread out across the room, looking similar to the cafeteria, but nicer. There is artwork on the wall, two vending machines, and three vast windows with sunlight spilling in, filling the room with light. I wish the cafeteria was as well-groomed as this one. It might make everything feel a little less depressing.

There is a man in the middle of the room and my stomach sinks. When he turns, I breathe in relief.

"Hi, pumpkin," Harold greets me, his greying moustache spreading thinly as he smiles.

I hate how excited I am to see him. I'm not meant to get attached. Especially since he kicked me out.

He spreads his arms out. I don't hug. Ever. But this time, I bury my face into his chest, inhaling his scent. He smells like the house I want to be in. The house I took for granted.

He strokes the back of my head, and my eyes burn. I squeeze them shut, trying to force the tears away. We step back and I slide into the seat, looking down, hoping he can't see how emotional I am.

"Are you okay?"

I nod, still not looking at his eyes.

"They treating you okay here?"

"Yes."

"How are your classes?" he asks, clasping his hands together. I look at his gold wedding ring that is too tight for his finger.

"Boring."

"Why boring?"

"They're slow. Not quite Fernleigh Grove standard." I lean back into my chair and fold my leg over the other.

"You're too clever for them," he smiles. "Always have been."

My insides feel squirmy, like always, when someone compliments me.

Harold opens his mouth and closes it again several times. I know what he wants to say, but it's too late for apologies.

"Do you have everything you need? Money, clothes, girl... things?"

My cheeks flush.

He looks as red as me at this point. "Eileen wanted me to ask."

"I'm managing."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I pick at my nails. He leans in again and clears his throat. "Addison?"

"Can I stay some weekends?" I barely breathe when I ask, too afraid of the disappointing answer.

A grin breaks onto his face. "Of course, pumpkin. I would love that."

"What about Eileen?"

"She would be happy to have you!"

I relax, and a small smile springs onto my face. "Could I stay this weekend?"

"Sure. What would you like to do?"

"Anything."

"Would you be coming on Friday night?" he questions.

I nod. "Please."

"I'll speak with your principal; I believe I have to fill out an application. Let's try to organise for this weekend."

"Thank you," I whisper.

He stays for another half an hour. Harold is good at talking a lot about nothing at all. He fills me in about the latest work scandal—he is convinced his boss is having an affair with the receptionist—and that Eileen is trying to convince him to get a cat. I wonder if that's because I'm no longer there. Eileen and Harold had a daughter. She was fifteen years old when she died in a car and truck collision on the highway. I think Eileen would be a lot different if that hadn't happened.

When he leaves, he hugs me again. I feel lighter when I leave the room, I'm happier than I care to admit that I am allowed to visit. I can't wait to lie in my bed and have one of Eileen's home-cooked meals. My mouth waters at the thought of it. I will be on my best behaviour. I won't be taking it for granted again.

I can hear voices when I near my door. I stand still and lean my ear close.

"We will meet at the quarry at about 3 p.m.?" Constance asks.

"Yep," Harlow answers. "Let me know if you want to invite anyone else who isn't on the list."

"Okay."

"Is Addison coming?" It's Wren speaking this time, and I am thrilled he asked about me.

He does know my name.

"Yes, I'll ask her. Don't know if she can leave for weekends."

"No parents?" asks Harlow.

"I have no idea."

"Get her to come," Wren says. "Figure something out."

I try not to smile. Constance teases him. I quickly retreat down the hall and disappear around the corner. I count to fifteen before walking again. When I'm back in the hall, the door opens and Harlow and Wren emerge.

"Madison," Wren says with a nod.

"Ran," I nod back.

"How's your day been?" Constance asks when I flop onto the bed.

"Good. I had a visitor."

"Who was it?"

"My foster father," I reply. "I'm going to stay with them for the weekend. Can't wait to have a night away from this," I gesture to the uncomfortable bed I'm on.

"Tell me about it," she agrees with a groan. "Hey, speaking of the weekend. A few of us are going to the quarry in Bexhill. I was worried you couldn't come, but if you're out for the weekend, you should! It'll be fun."

"What's the plan?"

"Swim, have a few drinks. Hang outside of these walls."

"That sounds fun."

"So, you'll come?" she grins, clapping her hands together.

"Sure."

She gushes about what to wear, and I feel a pang of sadness. I have missed out on this—fussing over what bikini to wear, talking about boys with friends.

"Hey, what are you doing the morning of?" I ask. "I need to buy some swimmers."

Constance squeals, grinning. "Girl's shopping trip!"

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Thoughts so far? :)