When the alarm blares in my ear the next morning, I jolt awake and hurry to turn it off.

My head is screaming. I place a hand to my mouth. Slowly, I peel back the blankets. Constance is staring at me. Her arms are folded across her chest as she stares at the empty bottle lying on the floor.

Staggering to my feet, I push past her and down the hallway. The room is spinning. I grip the walls. I'm still partly drunk. I trip over my own feet and my knee hits the tiles painfully. I empty my stomach into the toilet bowl. A burning sensation rips through my throat. I hear the disgusted sounds and mutters from other girls who are coming in and out of the bathroom. I sit back on my calves and wipe my mouth, shaking.

When I'm back in the room, I throw a hoodie over my head—one I stole from a guy whose name I don't recall—and stare at myself. Dark eyes. Pale skin. Flat hair.

Constance's hand flings across the doorway when I try to leave.

"Don't you ever go through my things again," she says through gritted teeth. Her eyes narrow as she leans in. Her unruly hair is tamed back into a high bun, making her face look a lot harsher than usual. "Got it?"

My stomach falls. I can't meet her eyes. Instead, I stare at the ground.

"Got it."

Her dark eyes give me a once over and her lip curls. "You look like shit."

"I know."

Constance removes her arm. I don't look up as I pass her, dragging my feet.

I feel better when the hot coffee hits my tongue. I lap it up, hoping it will cure me of this dreadful hangover. The monstrous pounding in my head makes me want to close my eyes and never open them again.

Wren doesn't turn up for any of our classes, and I'm relieved he doesn't have to see me like this. I keep my hood up the entire day, sinking low into my seat. A few times I fall asleep and wake when I'm almost out of my chair.

When classes finish, I go straight to my room. Constance doesn't come back, and I wonder if she is avoiding me. I swallow down a Valium and close my eyes, hoping tomorrow will be a better day.

***

I'm not sleeping well. I've spent all the cash Harold gave me, Harlow trading the notes for alcohol every night. I know Constance smells it on my breath when I pass her. She isn't speaking to me.

Wren has been gone all week, and I hate that I notice his absence like a slap in the face each morning.

When Sunday rolls around, I realise I haven't left my bed for over twenty-four hours. Not to get water, not to go to the toilet, nothing. I took almost an hour to convince myself to shower.

I shuffle down the hall after bathing and force myself to get some food. I don't feel hungry or thirsty, but I would have to be. I've had this happen a few times now, where numbness eats away at me until there is nothing left.

His fingers are rough as they brush my hair back from my face.

I open my eyes. I close them again.

His hand is moving up my leg.

The door of my room opens and Constance strides in, hauling her bag behind her.

"Please tell me you've left this room this weekend."

"I have," I say.

She sends me a disbelieving look.

"I'm sorry. About taking your drink. I've left you money on your pillow."

"I would have given you the bottle, Addy. It's the invasion of privacy," she frowns. "What's going on with you?"

"I don't know. This just happens sometimes."

"Why?"

I shrug. My back hurts from the mattress and my legs feel stiff from lack of movement. "The riot triggered it."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, sitting and running a hand through her wild hair.

"No."

She pinches her lips together.

"Tell me about your weekend?" I ask, hoping to lighten the mood.

This brings a smile back to her face. She launches into a story and I pull the blankets until they're sitting just under my nose, swallowing me almost entirely.

Constance has a soothing voice as if she is used to telling stories. Her skin has a slight glow to it, and I wish my skin was as smooth and unblemished as hers.

She is still talking when I drift to sleep.

***

I tilt my head back and watch the puff of smoke rise to the sky. It's a deep pink today, with wisps of striking orange.

"I hate to be that person," a voice says. "But can I have a cigarette?"

I swivel my eyes to my left. A tall girl with pretty green eyes and even prettier hair stands near me. Her lips are painted a dark red as they curve into a half-smirk, half-smile. Considering this was me not very long ago, I dig into the pocket of my hoodie for my packet.

"Thanks. I'm the new girl."

I curve an eyebrow. "You are? Wonder what that makes me."

"Old news," she grins, lighting the end. She inhales, then billows it out of her nose. "I'm Cora."

"Addison."

She eyes me for a moment. "We haven't met before, have we?"

"Don't think so."

Her eyes remain on me as she takes another drag. I look back at the dark clouds. It's going to rain at any moment, and I'm half-tempted to stay up here as it does. Harlow's brother is on security for our dorm tonight, I feel like I could stay up here for hours.

When I look back at Cora, she is still watching me. She has impeccable makeup, looking like one of the many Youtubers I used to watch endlessly, trying (and failing) to look like them. She has hot pink eyeliner and glitter swept over her lashes, matching the low-cut pink top she has tucked into her jeans.

"How did you find out about up here?" I ask, realising she is alone.

"I know Jordyn."

"Who?"

"The cool security guard? The one who lets us do whatever? He offered to give me a personal tour."

I wrinkle my nose, feeling my insides shrivel. I wonder how many impressionable girls he has had his way with. Cora's pretty, mean eyes make me second-guess whether she went along with the offer, though. "I'm sure he did."

The cigarette sits between her fingers with a pink lipstick stain on it. She has an effortless coolness about her that makes me think she would have been the head cheerleader of an American movie. She has knee-high black socks on and her skirt has been folded at the waist to make it shorter than it should be. Her long, tanned legs make me feel pale and plain.

The door swings open with a loud creak. A head of dark hair appears and a smile instantly finds its way onto my face.

"Where have you been?" I quickly ask and wish I had more self-control over showing how relieved I am to see him.

Wren opens his mouth to reply when he notices Cora. Instantly, I see him stiffen, the walls going up around him. He stills and Cora meets his gaze.

"Is this your boyfriend?" she asks. I don't like it when her eyes dip over him, appreciatively.

"Where have you been?" I repeat.

Now that there's someone else here, I realise he isn't going to say anything. He pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips. I've forgotten for a moment that we're not alone as I drink in his blizzard eyes, knife-sharp jawline, and beautifully tattooed hands.

"You good?" he snaps at her. Cora has a habit of staring for an uncomfortably long time.

Her face pinches, and she drops her cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with her leather boots.

"Nice to meet you, Addison," she says in a blunt voice, sending a withering stare at Wren before she disappears through the door.

"Who's that?" he asks in distaste.

"New girl."

"She was looking at you weird."

"She was looking at you weirder," I say.

He frowns at the door for a moment, before turning to face me.

"I missed you in class this week," I tell him, wishing that I had a filter. "Not the same drinking my own coffee."

He smiles, looking like a completely different person now that it's just us. He surprises me by reaching for my hand and curling it into his. I watch his thumb rub circles into my skin.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Mum got a new boyfriend." He turns his hand and his knuckles are scabbed. "I don't like him very much."

"That didn't take long," I whisper, lightly touching one of them.

"My life is a series of fucked up events," he smiles wryly.

"So is mine."

I shift so we are closer. I desperately wish he would kiss me. I have never wanted to be kissed so much in my life. He withdraws from me, much to my dismay, and blows out a puff of smoke in the opposite direction of where I am seated.

"Constance told me some things."

I recoil from him, a rush of cold coiling through my veins. I shift under his gaze, feeling small. The good mood that had warmed me upon his arrival, evaporates quickly.

"What did she say?"

"You've been having a hard time," says Wren carefully.

I'm yanking at my sleeve ferociously, impatiently pulling it over my hand. I pull and pull until the fabric stretches and groans. He observes me silently.

"I'm tired," I say, pushing to my feet.

"Madison."

"My name isn't fucking Madison!" I snap, glowering at him, even though I'm not mad at him at all. I'm miserably embarrassed. Constance and her big mouth. Me and my suffering weakness. "And what I've been doing is none of your damn business." I hate the words that tumble from my mouth, but I can't control it. Heat slaps my cheeks and I let out a sharp exhale.

He doesn't look shocked at my outburst, but a little disappointed. I march away from him. My heavy footsteps down the staircase echo around me without a backward glance.

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