22
ALICE
When Alice woke, her mouth was dry.
She was in her bed, though how she’d arrived was unclear. Her top was off but she still wore Cheri’s black skirt, and while her limbs throbbed, it was really her head that hurt most. In college, when she had been hungover, it always took Alice a full day – until she’d sweated and pooped out everything impure – to recover. And now she was over a decade older, and had also done drugs.
Pale yellow leaked through the curtains. Alice hoped that whoever had put her to bed would appear with water. (It must have been Cheri / It couldn’t have been Cheri.) ‘Thirsty,’ Alice said. Her throat like sandpaper.
She pushed herself upright and hunted for a shirt with her foot, eventually landing on the oversize MIT crewneck she usually slept in. In the bathr
