I am no stranger to hangovers, having had more than my fair share in the last five years, but the one that accompanies me the next morning, however, is by far the worst I have ever experienced because this time it is paired with a broken heart.
I don't get out of bed, opting to stay in it all day and wallow in my heartache.
The next day is pretty much the same. I only leave my bed to use the bathroom because I'm simply too sad to do anything else except lay in bed a ball my eyes out.
By the third day, I have cried myself dry and am left feeling empty. The only thing that pulls me out of my pit of misery is the curiosity that arises when my mum comes into my room and says, "Emilia, honey, there's someone here to see you."
A tiny part of me hopes it's Reuben but I know that's highly unlikely. And pathetic. I hate myself for even thinking about him after what he did.
Heading downstairs, I hear voices coming from the kitchen. Upon entering, I see someone who I haven't seen in months.
"Hello, Emmy," my little cousin chirps, smiling cheerfully over a large mug of what I presume to be tea.
"Oh," I say numbly, blinking a few times to remove the sleep from my eyes. "Hey, Sofie. When did you get here?"
"About half an hour ago," mum answers. She's busy filling the kettle up with fresh water. "She has come to stay with us for a few days. Isn't that lovely?"
"Are Uncle David and Aunty Jess here too?"
"Mummy and daddy couldn't come with me because they're working," Sofie says and my mum asks me, "Would you like some tea, honey?"
"Er... yeah, sure," I mumble, taking a seat beside my cousin at the table.
"How about some toast?" mum continues. "Would you like some toast too? I'll make you some toast."
"Okay," I agree weakly, too tired to reject, and my cousin watches me closely, her forehead creasing with concern.
"Hey," she says, "Are you okay? You're looking kind of... unhappy."
An involuntary bark of laughter escapes my mouth.
"Unhappy is an understatement."
"Why?" she asks. "What's wrong?"
"Your cousin just hasn't been feeling very well lately," mum tells her, placing a cup of Earl Grey and a plate of buttered brown toast in front of me.
"Why? Are you sick?"
"No," I reply. "Just tired." In so many ways.
"Not too tired I hope," she says "Because you and I are going out to celebrate tonight."
I almost choke on my toast.
"Excuse me, what?"
"Oh, yes, I forgot to mention," mum says, "Aunty Jess bought tickets for the two of you to go see that new musical being advertised at the Theatre Fantasia. Isn't that nice?"
"I hate musicals," I state and my mother throws me a disapproving look.
"You have been cooped up in this house for the past three days, Emilia," she scolds. "It will be good for you to get out for a bit."
"It'll be fun, Emmy," Sofie insists. "We're celebrating."
"Celebrating what?"
She grabs her yellow Kanken backpack from the floor by her feet, zips it open, then pulls out a large white manilla envelope. When she passes it to me I see that it has already been opened and inside it is a typed letter that's addressed to her. It read;
Dear Miss Llewellyn, Following your audition at The Elite School of Ballet, we are delighted to offer you a place on our scholarship programme...
I stare at the letter, momentarily distracted from my own shitty existence, before looking back up to see my cousin grinning from ear to ear.
"You got in," I breathe.
"Uh-huh." She nods, her turquoise coloured eyes so bright they practically shine.
"You got in," I repeat.
"Yep," she says.
"Oh my god, Sofie, you got in!"
I launch myself at her, yanking her up from her seat and hugging her so ferociously she erupts into a fit of giggles.
"I'm so proud of you," I say, squeezing her tightly.
"I was scared to open it," she admits sheepishly. "I was sure I had been rejected."
"Oh, as if," I scoff. "Sofie, you're the best dancer I've ever seen. They would have been crazy to turn you away."
"Thanks," she replies, somehow managing to beam even brighter.
My mum watches us with a fond smile, before saying, "That's settled then. You will both go out tonight and have a nice time."
"We could just have a nice time inside," I suggest innocently but Sofie shakes her head.
"The tickets are nonrefundable," she says. "And they cost a lot."
"Fine," I sigh. "Guess I'll go take a shower then."
It has been three days since I last bathed and I'm beginning to be able to smell myself, which isn't a good thing.
"Okay," Sofie says. "But there's no rush. The show doesn't start until seven-thirty-five. Perhaps your dad can drive us there?"
"No," I grumble, "He's at work."
I wasn't stupid. I knew my dad's job was important, but using it as an excuse to avoid his family is a cowardly move. He's always telling me to grow up and take responsibility. Perhaps he should take his own advice and do the same.
Sofie is luckier. Her parents may not be as financially fortunate as mine but at least they are happily married and don't constantly blame her for everything that goes wrong in their lives.
Upstairs in the bathroom, I can already feel the heavy weight of my depression returning. Looking in the mirror, I cringe. Ugh. I look like how I feel inside; terrible.
No wonder he cheated on me, I think miserably.
Out of old habit, my eyes briefly flicker to the cabinet above the sink.
No.
I force myself into the shower and try to wash away the poisonous thoughts that plague me but no amount of soap can get rid of them. Eventually giving up, I get out and dry off, resolving to do my best to act as if there's nothing wrong in front of my little cousin.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, my inner voice chastises me. Tonight's not about you.
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