I wake in the early hours of the morning to the feeling that someone has a hold on my throat, slowly tightening their grip, the air wheezing from me in a thin stream that will be cut off at any second. The face looking down at me is that of my father. My heart is racing in panic and I claw at his hands, but there is nothing there.

I lurch upright, gasping, and turn on the lamp next to my bed. The room is empty. I am alone, still wrapped in my towel, lying on top of the bed. My skin is prickled with goosebumps of cold, but I am bathed in sweaty fear. Images of my father leaning over me dance behind my eyes and I can hear his voice telling my mother that she should kill me, get rid of me, that I am not wanted. The voice grows fainter as my heart rate slows and the sweat cools on my skin, but the fear roots itself in my stomach.

I climb under the duvet and turn to face the closed bedroom door. I lie that way, my eyes on the door, knowing it won’t open but still not believing it. I fall asleep again with my eyes trained on the door.

Then it is daylight. My alarm is blaring. 7 a.m. My curtains are open and a weak sun is illuminating the dust dancing in the air. I sit up and feel my brain clash against my skull, leaving behind a dull and persistent throb. My eyes are itchy, my mouth dry, my tongue clinging to my lips. I feel exposed and vulnerable in my nudity under the duvet. I stagger to the bathroom and wrap my mouth around the basin tap, sucking down long gulps of water. I shrug into my thick dressing gown before returning to bed.

I’m hungry, my stomach gurgling now that the water has woken it up. The tray of last night’s dinner is still sitting on my desk. The lasagne is cold, the oil congealed onto the plate, but I grab the tray, prop myself up on my pillows and eat it without tasting it. I finish with the strawberries, ignoring how soft they are, how the juice has bled into the cream.

I push the tray aside and check the time. I need to get ready for school. I think about Tracey, finding her by her locker, telling her everything I found out last night. She’ll hug me, wrap her arms around me as she asks how I’m feeling, her breath in my hair as I cry into her shoulder, oblivious to the people around us.

I’ll hug her back, can already feel her curls tickling my face.

I can already see her pity when she looks at me.