BENEDICT
I woke up at eight in the morning with a throat as dry as sandpaper and a low, dull throb behind my eyes.
The alcohol from last night was mostly out of my system, but the memories of three in the morning were crystal clear. I took a quick cold shower, pulled on a fresh dark grey tee and black jeans, and headed downstairs to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.
The moment I pushed through the swinging kitchen doors, I ran right into a wall of pure tension.
Valerie was standing by the marble island, leaning against the counter in a soft cream cardigan, holding a mug of coffee. Her blonde hair was pinned up, and her eyes were dark, rimmed with red, looking like she hadn't slept a single wink.
The second her hazel eyes hit mine, her face locked up into a cold, rigid mask
