My hangover was one thing, but my mind was weighed down by far heavier things than that. I had to go and see Emma today. I had to speak to my father this evening, when he returned from his ‘fishing trip’. And I had to look my mother in the eye and pretend everything was fine. Emma had invited me round just after lunch and I’d gone to her house with a heavy heart. I already knew what was going to happen before she’d curled into my side in heaves of sobs. She regretted it, of course, and told me how much she hated herself for having done that. There wasn’t one mention of how I’d let her do it, but I was sure she must have thought it. I’d left her there and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her it was because I’d wanted to sleep with my teacher again. “Don’t get me wrong, it was good, I think? He was really nice this morning, but I think he knew I was pretty distraught. Poor guy.” “Poor guy? He took you home after feeding you drugs. I’m not feeling much sympathy for him.”
