Steph and Em are laughing and making faces of disgust.

“El! What the fuck are you doing?” Jason, Brian and the boy Emily has been stuck to all night are standing around, laughing and pointing, posing with their hands on her boob, gyrating obscenely against her and sticking their tongues out as El snaps away like she’s the paparazzi.

“Stop it! All of you!” I screech. I rush over to intervene, maybe cover her up, but Steph grabs me and spins me away. I slip on the wet floor and land painfully on all fours.

“Come on Hels, she deserves it! People like her deserve it,” El says. Her face is contorted into a mask of frenzied depravity.

Then something clicks into place. The little chat on the lounger. The cup she passed to Tracey. The maniacal grin afterwards. I scramble to my feet.

“Wait, Eloise, what have you done? Did you give her something? Earlier when you were talking? What did you give her?” El doesn’t deny it. Just smiles that knowing smile. I want to scratch it from her lips, tear it from her face.

I grab a towel from the side and push past Steph to stand right in front of Eloise, hating her with every fibre of my being. I throw the towel over Tracey. My voice is a low rumble, deep in my throat. “What did you give her?”

“Just some of your mother’s happy pills. I guess they didn’t make her very happy though.”

Eloise steps back and cackles like a witch. Jason is now on the outskirts of the group, looking unsure. He is still smiling, but hesitantly, his eyes flicking from me to Eloise and back to me. Brian is laughing riotously as he looks through the photos El has handed him.

“Oh my god, these ones on the lounger are hilarious. She looks like she’s dead!” he says. “I can actually see everything in this one!” He grabs all of the photos and rushes out, Eloise at his heels, saying loudly as a group forms around him, “Come and see these! Oh my god, the fucking state of her!”

I glare at Jason, who has said nothing to his friends while they openly assaulted an unconscious girl. I can’t believe I let him touch me. I feel sick to my stomach, dirty. I want to plunge into a bath of bleach and scrub every part of me, rinse the scent of him from my nostrils and the taste of him from my tongue.

Instead, I turn my attention back to Tracey. I’m still holding the cup of water. Tracey’s eyes are flickering behind her eyelids. I splash the cold water on her face and she gurgles in response, then leans over and throws up onto the floor. The smell is acrid and bitter in the air.

Jason dry heaves and leaves in disgust.

He is pathetic.

I am relieved.