“No!” Well, maybe. Which was normal, after having it for so long. “It’s just, more complicated than that. I don’t need complicated.”

There was a look on Lisa’s face Cora couldn’t place. A question maybe, or some kind of knowledge; it was as if she had a secret and was waiting for Cora to realise she knew it too.

“I have to pee,” Cora announced and pushed past Lisa to the toilet.

She didn’t, really. But she also didn’t want to be confronted by that look anymore. There was no way she wanted to delve into what Lisa was thinking.

Cora pushed the door open and stopped, eyes wide.

Frazer’s eyes were blinking at her, and it took Cora a moment to realise they were reflected in the mirror. Frazer was looking at Cora over someone’s shoulder, mouth open in shock. Because Frazer was pushed against someone—against Lauren, the social worker secretary—who was blinking at her over non-reflection Frazer’s shoulder.

Frazer’s hands were clearly up Lauren’s shirt. No, one was. The other was half in her pants.

Everyone just stared at each other for a moment.

Cheeks blazing, Cora turned on her heel and stalked out.

Frazer didn’t follow.

* * *

Groaning for a third time, Frazer buried her face in her pillow.

In a bathroom? What was she, eighteen?

In a bathroom!

She groaned again, the sensation pulling at her throat, and kicked the blanket off her legs. The sheet was tangled around them and she wound up more wrapped up than she’d started.

Like, really, what had she been thinking?

Waking up in the morning was supposed to feel fresh. A new start. Welcoming a chance to do things anew. Frazer woke up with the slightly sour taste of alcohol and the memory that she made really bad decisions, all the time.

Literally all the time.

Ten minutes later, she pulled herself from her bed of self-pity and stepped into the overly hot spray of the shower. Cool water was normally her favourite way to shower, summer or winter. The feeling of overly heated skin always made her feel uncomfortable; it prickled for an hour after.

Today though, she wanted to burn the pathos off her skin.

Instead, she stepped out of the shower, feeling overheated and gross. Her hair clung to the back of her neck, frizzing in the steam. It still felt uncomfortable when she pulled it up and off her face into a ponytail. Her jeans felt too tight when she pulled them on, clean and sucking the life out of her. If she had junk, she’d be worried about blood flow.

She wasn’t even hung-over.