Lola

12

Dani

That's it, I've really gone and done it now.

I press my face down into my pillow, hoping that it might somehow absorb me and end the humiliation. 

I woke up this morning crumpled in a heap in Caitlyn's car, having left a rather large drool stain on her top. The pounding in my head and the writhing in my stomach told me all I needed to know. I barely spoke a word to Caitlyn as we awoke, and now that I'm back in the sanctuary of my own room, I struggle to remember the details of everything that happened.

I remember the shots, and I remember the dancing. Well, I remember taking a couple, but the state of me indicates that I didn't stop there. Oh God. I always told myself I'd never give into the stupidity of getting plastered for the sake of it. I've got brain cells to preserve and a reputation to protect. The void in my memory makes me feel even sicker with worry. What did I do?

I have to think. Think harder. I remember the first couple of hours - letting Caitlyn convince me to down my first shot, and giving into having a few more. I remember dancing and I have a vague recollection of seeing Kel and Zig. I'm not sure if I spoke to them.

My memory fades rapidly from that point onwards. However, I do remember the point when I fully realised what had happened. I remember waking up in the dark with Caitlyn, lying in our own mess on the grass. My hand still reeked until I dragged myself upstairs to the shower. 

I remember us talking, and I remember Caitlyn crying. I remember her finally opening up about missing her, wondering what possibly could have gone through her head, sobbing uncontrollably at the belief that she could have done something to stop her. It was only then that I truly realised how fragile she really was. Caitlyn might walk around in battle armour, but underneath the facade is someone who is lost, terrified and confused. The guilt for seeing her as heartless haunts me, and I feel as though I owe her an apology. 

The sound of a text coming in coaxes me to force my head up from my pillow-y haven. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Kel has sent me a message. I open it and my heart sinks.

Kel: Hope you're good at covering your ass. Lexy put up some photos of last night and they sure aren't pretty. 

I open up the first social media app I see, dread filling my stomach. Sure enough, there I am.

At first, it's not so bad. I'm dancing with Caitlyn and the large group of people on the dance floor. Then they get worse. Caitlyn and I are standing on top of the snacks table, and I am flipping the bird to the camera. My third and final appearance is quite possibly the worst. I'm in a selfie with Lexy - she appears to have taken photos with everyone who came. My hair is plastered to my face with wetness - someone, if not myself, has poured a drink on me. My dress is sitting crooked and puckered on my body as though I couldn't work out how to put it on. My eyes are closed and my tongue is out, taunting the camera. The post has been liked by 120 people and it's only the next morning.

As soon as I throw my phone back onto my bed, it beeps once more. I groan and pick it up. It's Cam messaging the group.

Cam: Regroup at mine this afternoon to compare notes? Come over at 3, let me know if you can make it.

The last thing I want is to go out, and I reflexively start to type out a refusal. Then, a thought hits me. This could be my chance to reduce Cam's hatred and obvious suspicion of Caitlyn. Eradicating her as a suspect will be an important step to take in narrowing down out options, and I cannot possibly fathom the idea of Caitlyn killing her best friend in cold blood. Caitlyn might be known as cunning and cruel in the social scene, but she's no killer at heart. Her bark is much stronger than her bite. I type a response to the group.