One curtain is drawn but the sun is shining through the other window, highlighting the end of the bed and drawing a rhombus of light on the wall. God it hurts my eyes. I cough and when I do it hurts as well. Ange left hours ago.
There’s water by the bed, the glass dusty and fingerprinted. I think about it for a long time, then reach and drink. It tastes as I thought it would, hard and metallic. I wish I had orange juice, or apple juice, straight from the fridge. I take another drink and can feel the water run down my throat and in to my stomach.
A few minutes later I feel sick and run to the toilet. Yellow strands of saliva and stomach acid cling to my lips and I spit in to the bowl. Wash my mouth with water. In the mirror over the sink my eyes are bloodshot and teary from retching.
I wake. The light has shifted in the room, the rhombus flatter and the angles sharper on the wall.
The glass is empty. As I fill it a voice says ‘Hi Sam.’
‘Mmm, hey.’ The bathroom is cold, all white tiles and porcelain.
‘See you later Sam.’
‘Cara?’ I say to George, his face is down in the pillows, the duvet crumpled up around him.
‘It’s like three o’clock, what’s she still doing here?’
‘Wouldn’t leave.’ His voice is muffled.