Hazel
Something had happened. She was not sure what it was but she had woken up that morning with the internal discomfort of a person who has done something they cannot fully account for. Not a hangover. She had barely drunk anything. But a gap in the night that sat at the back of her mind all morning and would not move regardless of how many times she tried to approach it from a different angle.
She had gotten home somehow. She remembered the party up to a point — the music, the crowd, the lemonade she had nursed while looking for Maya. Then the heat. Then gaps. Then waking up in her own bed at some point in the early hours with a dry mouth and the persistent sense that something had occurred that she could not place.
She had sat at the kitchen table at eight in the morning with a glas
