14
My head is pounding and my stomach burns with acid.
There’s hardly any light in the room when I open my eyes, which helps my hangover—but not by much.
I take in my surroundings. I’m on the bottom bunk of the world’s narrowest brown-coloured bed, which is surrounded by a thin cream curtain. Where the hell am I? Right next to me is a small window, covered by a set of closed-blinds. I move them over a little to look through. Outside the sun is shining down on a field full of white and cream caravans, and the memory of last night’s drinking comes hurtling back.
Beyond the curtain, I hear whispering. Dread slithers over me as I push the blanket from my body and climb off the bed. Ben is lying on the top bunk, fast asleep, a blanket over his fully-clothed body.
I hear the quiet laughter
