Around noon, I had to guess, with the way the sunlight shone in full and brash, burning my eyelids. Someone had pulled apart the curtains in the bedroom. Was it Ana? I reached for her in the bed but found nothing but tangled sheets. Where was she? Groaning, I threw my hand over my eyes. What the fuck? I hadn’t felt this way in a while. A month, to be exact. I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I’d gone that long without parting to the max. I also couldn’t remember why it was exactly that I used to do this stupid shit to myself all the time. Ugh. I felt like I’d swallowed a mouthful of ashes from the fireplace. Padding to the bathroom, I managed to get myself some water. How had I ended up getting so shitfaced? Bits and pieces from last night flashed dimly through my slow-moving brain. Ana with a large plate of pasta. Some girl’s boobs. Connor swinging off the chandelier. Connor. We’d had a good talk last night, hadn’t we? But something felt off. Something still needed sorting out.
