She was going to have some fun whilst sober. And she was completely sober. Not even a glass of red or a little blunt. The comedown had hit her savagely. Apart from one errand, which was necessary, she’d spent the entire day in bed with a cold flannel on her forehead, waiting for the feeling to pass.

Memories had attacked her, fuelled by the cocaine-induced depression. She saw her father and his hands, his dirty nicotine-stained fingers. She saw teddy bears piled up against the door, and heard them collapse, so much louder in her mind than they’d been in reality.

What’s this you’ve done, princess?

She was nobody’s princess.

Walking into the kitchen, she smiled at him. She’d prepared a bottle of champagne in a shiny silver bucket. The casserole was on the counter, covered by a tea towel, and she’d turned the lighting down low like the rest of the house.

“Why don’t you put on some other music while I dish up?”

“Uh, sure.”

Scott looked around for the Bluetooth speaker. Casey had purposefully placed it in the corner of the room, as far away from the casserole dish as possible, so Scott wouldn’t see what she was doing.

When he walked across the room, she moved to the counter and grabbed his special plate from the microwave, removing the tinfoil. She gave it a sniff. It smelled edible. If there was a stink, she was sure the vanilla candles and the smell of her food would cover it.

Guitar strings plucked in the air. A man’s deep voice joined it a moment later. Casey turned to find Scott staring at her, childish defiance on his face. It took her a second to realise what he was doing.

He was playing their song. Which really wasn’t their song. It was a song Casey had pretended to like, forcing tears as she listened to it, as the singer droned on about soulmates and destiny and a bunch of other made-up rubbish.

“Did it ever mean anything to you?” Scott asked.

Casey carried the plates over, careful not to mix them up. “Of course it did. We fell in love to this song. It makes me want to cry just thinking about it.”

She swayed softly, as the drums beat in the background, the man’s voice rising. He was prattling about how he knew this girl was the one for him, just a look, a glance, and their fate was sealed. The song fitted them perfectly. Scott had known he loved her after a couple of weeks.

As she rocked, she began to weep. Summoning the tears was easy. She did what she always did; she became a little girl again. She remembered what it felt like to be afraid. She had to go back to when she was very young, maybe around eight or nine, before she’d realised how useless tears were.

You cannot tame the savage in me. You cannot tame the lioness waiting to break free. I was born with an edge. I was birthed sharp.