The next morning, I wake up. That sort of takes me by surprise.

I wasn't expecting to be dead or anything, but it feels as though things should have changed somehow; like the world should have stopped  - something. But everything's exactly the same.

I let out a groan as I reluctantly pull the covers from over my head. When the daylight hits me, the migraine does too. That I expected.

As much as I want to believe that it's nothing more than a hangover headache after a night of harmless fun and drunken karaoke, the eyeliner stains on my pillow remind me that it's more likely from crying myself to sleep.

In an instant and all too quickly, the memories start to trickle in, hastily skipping through the good bits, the beer pong and the dancing, and lingering on the rain and tears and silence through the little red door.

I sit up slowly, clutching my sheets to my chest and trying to convince myself to get up for a glass of water, but the moment I try to, my phone starts buzzing, bashing about on my bedside table as the marimba ringtone rings. I watch it silently, waiting for it to stop before I flop back under my covers.

I don't even want to think about who that could be. I don't want to think at all.

When I do, I'll have to think about what comes next – who I'll turn to now that I can't call up my girls, what I'm supposed to do now that the person on my mind from the first thing in the morning wants nothing to do with me; who I am now.

My wall clock ticks loudly, like it's under the covers with me, and all I can think is: would I be better off rewinding time? Hell, even to just a night ago. Before Babe told me how she felt. Before I went charging up that hill in the rain like an idiot. I can't help but wonder which I prefer: the ache of knowing nothing, or the numbness of knowing everything.

At least when he ignored my calls, I could hold out hope that he'd dropped his phone in the bath or caught the flu or something else stupid enough to fool a girl desperately in love. But now I've heard the truth plain and clear, and it won't stop ringing, no matter how deeply I bury myself in my bed.

'Don't call, Evie. Go home.'

'Don't call, Evie. Go home.'

'Don't call Ev-'

"Ange?"

It's August. I didn't hear her come in, but I can her the worry in her voice. I can see it in her eyes too when she lifts the covers from over my head.  Great, I must still look like death.

"Angie? Wh- Angie, what's wrong?" My too-pure-for-this-world little sister stretches her arms around my cotton cocoon for a bear hug, and I wish it solved everything. "Why are you crying?"

"Hey Augs, I-" My voice wobbles as soon as I try to get the words out. I can't lie to her – not now.

But I can't face the truth, either.

"Aug, can we talk a little later? I just... really wanna sleep for a bit."

August sits up, scanning my face with sombre hesitation. I know my little sister. I know that if she didn't think it was serious, she'd want every detail, and she'd want it now; but, after a moment, she nods, gives me another hug and stands to leave.

"I love you, Angie."

"Love you too, Aug."

I don't know if I actually want to go to sleep – I'm half afraid of what I'll see – but sleep swallows me up anyway, and I sure as hell don't stop it.

☁

When I slept, I dreamt, and my weary mind saw replayed the exact moment I wanted to forget whilst I was awake. But I suppose that's what happens to the things you ignore in the light – they seep into the dark.

The sequence played itself a few times over, from dancing in the living room to sobbing on the doormat, like my unconscious mind was too bogged down to come up with anything else; except, the final time I dreamt it, right before I woke up, I saw something I'd forgotten – someone. Scott.

I almost thought it was some sort of hallucinated coda to the repetitive nightmare, but when I sat up, rubbed my eyes and saw his shiny leather jacket slung over my desk chair, I remembered it all.

And now I'm sat with my phone in hand, wondering what exactly you're supposed to text the person who saw you through your first night of break-up breakdown.

Evangeline: morning :)

I glance at the top of the screen briefly, and grimace before sending my correction.

Evangeline: *afternoon – I most definitely did not just wake up :')

Tucking the phone back under my pillow, I drum my fingers against my palm. There. That's friendly enough, right?

Before I know it, I've fished the phone back out again to add:

Evangeline: Also, thank you again for everything (especially the jacket! custom Supreme – very fancy 😌 )

I'm proud of my addendum until I place the phone back down again and instantly slap my palm against my forehead.

Oh God, was that too much? What if I misread the whole situation, and when he said 'text me', it was just a figure of speech or something? What if after last night he thinks I'm some clingy lame, and just rolls his eyes and leaves me on read when he sees this? Wait... why do I even care?

"Ange?" I hear Mum knock. "Are you up? Can I come in?"

I shuffle about and run a hand through my hair, although I doubt it makes much difference.

"Yeah, Mum, you can come in!"

"Are you alright, poppet? Aug's worried – says you weren't feeling very well."

August shuffles in the corridor, popping just her head in to mouth, 'sorry'.  My heart swells and I shake my head, miming back 'it's fine'.

"What can we get you, hm?" Mum smiles as she takes a seat on my bed, rubbing my knee. "Some chicken soup, some Bridget Jones...?"

"Um, Mum?"

"Mhm?"

"Could I just have a hug?"

Mum obliges me and leans in to give me a cuddle, and something about the smell of her cardigan makes a tear fall. Just one, steady and straight, like it was left over from last night or this morning.

"Ange? Love, what's the matter?" She wipes it away with a swipe of her thumb. "... Is this anything to do with the reason you didn't spend the night at Babe's?"

"I'm fine, Mum. Um, sort of. We had a bit of a fight."

"No! Aw, I'm sorry, darling," Mum coos. "What was it about?"

When I don't answer her, she hears everything she needs to, and her shoulders fall with the realization. "Oh."

"She was only worried about you, love. She wanted me to know where you were, in case anything happened or if she didn't hear fr-"

Mum stops when I shake my head, and I'm glad. I don't want to hear about Babe, or think about her, or about why she thought she was doing the right thing by telling Mum about Eric. She was hurting me, and she knew it, and as bratty as it sounds, I want to be upset at her for just a little while longer.

"I know, Mum, I know," I say, although I don't really know, and I don't want to.

"I'll talk to her when I'm ready, but for now...." I shake my head again, biting at my pinkie nail uneasily. As ever, Mum pulls my finger from my mouth.

"You'll ruin your nails," she tuts. "Oh, Ange. You'll be alright. These things happen; signals get crossed and people get hurt, but I know the two of you. You'll work it out, and you'll be back to twisting my arm into letting you sleep over on school nights in no time."

I smile because her smile's contagious, but I don't agree out loud. I just hope she's right.

"Thanks, Mummy."

I close my eyes at the warm feeling that runs through me when she presses a kiss to my head. "Any time, sweetie."

"Ange?"

"Yeah, Mum?"

"Is that... all that's bothering you?"

Is this about him is what she's really asking. What good would it do to tell her about last night now? About how I disobeyed her and went to see him, and got my heart broken at 1 in the morning? It's done, and that's all that matters.

"Yeah, Mum," I nod, avoiding her eyes. "That's it."

"Alright," she sighs in relief, pressing another kiss to the top of my head as she stands. "Well I'm making pancakes for brunch if you're in the mood?"

The corner of my mouth is stiff, but I stretch it into a half-hearted smile because I just appreciate her so goddamn much. It's not her fault that the idea of ingesting anything makes my stomach turn.

"Thanks, Mummy," I say, "I'll come down."

"Good. Love you, poppet."

"Love you too, Mumma."

The sound of door shutting coincides with the buzz of my pillow – my phone, rather – and I can't help the shot of delight that runs through me.

Scott: morning evangeline 😂 - glad you texted :) are u mocking my jacket?

Evangeline: a little bit, but only bc i'm jealous. it's very warm and *very* cool.

Evangeline: i can get my mum to drop it off or something today?

Scott: you can keep it if u want tbh? i've got another similar one

Evangeline: omg i could never. it'd stick out in my h&m wardrobe like a sore thumb

Scott: 💀 i'm serious, it's urs if u want it

Evangeline: *i'm* serious: you're lovely but i can't 😅 I'd feel too guilty

Scott: fine fine – you can give it to me on monday then :)

Evangeline: monday :) thanks again Scott x

Scott: don't mention it evangeline :) hope ur feeling better

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