I should’ve known it was too good to be true – meeting her like that, having her bring me along on this trip. Who does that? Impulsive people? I’d always thought I was impulsive – ready for anything, excited by new experiences – but Carrie is something else. She’s used me up and spat me out.

I wander the streets for a long time, trying to calm down. I lose all track of time, as things rattle around in my head. Taunting me. I lose my bearings, ending up in several unfamiliar streets, but I keep going and somehow I find myself back at the hotel. I glance down the alley, and I pause for a moment, thinking that someone is down there. A noise. Did someone cry out? I take a step closer, but it’s too dark. There are no lights from the balconies. I shake my head. A fox, maybe. Or a wild dog. It’s late, the sky already changing hue as the sun starts its ascent. I need to get inside. I need to sleep.

The receptionist doesn’t lift her head as I walk past. She has headphones in, and I can see the flickering light of a TV show reflecting back from her computer. I take the stairs instead of the lift, trying to prolong the journey. I don’t expect Carrie to be in there. I don’t care if she is or she isn’t. First thing tomorrow, I’m out of here.

I hear the voices before I get to the door. Muffled grunts, the thump, thump of the bed post against the thin partition wall. I can’t tell yet if it is coming from our room or not. I pause outside the door for a moment, dredging my keys from the bottom of my bag. I am completely sober now. Any happy buzz I’d felt from the drinks I’d had early on at the party are long gone, and now all I want to do is curl up in bed and go to sleep. If that noise is coming from the room next to us, hopefully I can block it out with a pillow over my head.

The scream comes as I turn the key in the lock. I freeze. What do I do now? If someone is being hurt, then I should help them. But what if I’m wrong. Was it a scream or was it a cry of pleasure? And which room is it coming from? I push open the door, and then I realise.

It’s coming from our room.

Carrie is lying face down on the bed, her face towards me. The man is on top of her, unbuckling his jeans. Pressing down on her. She cries out again, and I know for sure it’s a scream, not a cry of pleasure. Her eyes find me there and widen as big as saucers.

‘Violet…’ she whispers.