Something happened. Something bad. That’s the first thought that swims vaguely through my mind as I struggle my way into full consciousness. Followed by the realisation that, I don’t know what, but I know it’s not good. My head hurts. I try to open my eyes, the feeble wash of winter sunshine that tries to force its way through the lining of the curtains making me squint in pain. My head hurts and I feel really, really sick. I close my eyes again, willing the thud at my temples to die down and let me go back to sleep, before I crack one eye open again, a vague sense of uneasiness making me reluctant to keep them closed.

Where am I? Peering out from under the duvet cover, the room is unfamiliar to me and I swallow down the nausea that roils in my stomach. In the dim light, I can make out a large chest of drawers pushed against the wall, the top of it free of any clutter, and a mirror hanging above it. A generic picture hangs on the opposite wall, and there is no sign of anything personal – no photos, no make-up, no clutter that tells me that this is someone’s bedroom. A spare room, then, and I seem to be alone, which is good, I think.

The same thought drifts through my mind as when I woke, that something happened last night, something that makes me feel somehow dirty and indecent. Scratching at my arms, I roll on to my back before pushing the duvet away from my clammy face, sweat making my hair stick to my forehead. The touch of fabric against my skin makes me stop for a moment, pausing in my quest to get comfortable, that and the fact that every muscle in my body seems to hurt. Sliding a hand under the covers I feel around – yes, my top is still on. No bottoms though, the fabric against my bare legs is that of the cotton sheets I’m lying on, not my trousers, or pyjama bottoms.

Something bad happened. My heart starts to hammer in my chest as I run my hand over my thighs, wincing at the sharp pain that lances me. Frowning, I push the duvet down, exposing my lower half to the warm air emitted from a large radiator under the window, and struggle my way into a sitting position. Slowly, Rachel, go slowly. As I push up on my elbows to shove my way up the pillows behind me, a surge of saliva spurts into my mouth and I swallow hard, desperate not to be sick. The thumping in my head accelerates and black dots dance at the corners of my eyes.