“Listen, love,” she continued, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Gerry’s a good man. One of our best. He doesn’t usually give out his mobile, but for you… since you had such a rough night… let me just give it to you directly. You call him, you hear? I’m sure he’ll remember you.”
She gave me the number, and I thanked her, my mind reeling. A few moments later, I was speaking to Gerry himself.
“Aye, I remember you, miss,” his gruff, fatherly voice said. “You alright? You were in a right state last night.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Gerry,” I said, sinking onto my couch. “My memory after the party is… gone.”
He sighed heavily. “Well, miss, it’s like this. That fella you were with. He got you in the cab with him, said to head for some takeaway place. But on the way, he started getting… handsy. You were pretty out of it, but you still had enough fight in you to tell him to get off. When he wouldn’t, you kicked him right in the family jewels.”
A flicker of pride shot through my fog.
“He started screaming bloody murder,” Gerry continued. “I pulled the cab over right then and there. I wasn’t having any of that in my car. I got out, opened his door, and told him to clear off. He argued, shouting all sorts of nasty names. So, I grabbed him by the collar and dragged his sorry arse out onto the curb myself. Told him if he didn’t fuck off, I’d call the polis and let them sort it out.” Gerry chuckled grimly. “That shut him up right quick.”
“You... you did that for me?” I asked, my voice small.
“Aye, of course, miss. That bloke was a proper creep. You passed out cold a minute later. I had to help you up to your building’s main door. Good thing you had your keys in your hand.”
“Gerry,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.Truly. You might have… you saved me from something awful.”
“Just doing my job, miss,” he said kindly. “You take care of yourself, you hear?”
I ended the call, the phone slipping from my trembling fingers. I curled into a ball on the couch, shaking uncontrollably. That guy at the party. If it wasn’t for a flash of my own fight and a decent taxi driver, I could have been…
The thought was too horrific to complete. Rock bottom didn’t even begin to cover this. This was a freefall into a darkness I had never known before.
Eventually, the raw, gnawing ache in my stomach overpowered the fear. My head throbbed, a brutal reminder of the vodka and the gummies. I needed food. Greasy, unhealthy, hangover-curing food. And painkillers. Lots of them.
Putting one foot in front of the other felt like a monumental effort, but I managed to pull on a pair of leggings and a hoodie. I grabbed my purse, wincing as I remembered its contents spilled across the floor just hours ago. The short walk to the corner market felt like a marathon. Every passing shadow made me jump, every person who glanced my way felt like a threat. The bright sunlight was an assault on my aching eyes.
Inside the store, I moved like a zombie through the aisles, making a beeline for the junk food. I loaded my arms with crisps, chocolate biscuits, and a massive bottle of Irn-Bru—the ultimate Scottish hangover cure. As an afterthought, I grabbed a pack of paracetamol.
At the checkout, I dumped my haul onto the counter. The cashier, an older woman with kind eyes, gave me a sympathetic look. “Rough night, dear?”
I managed a weak, noncommittal shrug.
“That’ll be £23.50,” she said.
I pulled my primary credit card from my wallet, the one my father always called my “emergency lifeline.” But instead of the usual friendly beep of approval, the card reader emitted an angry, final-sounding buzz.
“I’m sorry, love,” the cashier said, frowning at the machine. “It says the card’s been declined.”
My stomach dropped. “That... that can’t be right. There must be a mistake. Can you try it again?”
She did, but the result was the same. Declined.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle under my skin. I fumbled in my wallet, pulling out the second card my mother had given me. Same result. Declined.
“I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered, my cheeks burning with a fresh wave of humiliation. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ll just… I’ll come back later.”
I fled the store, leaving my mountain of comfort food behind. Outside, I leaned against the brick wall, trying to catch my breath as the city swam around me. What the fuck was going on?
With trembling fingers that felt like they belonged to someone else, I yanked out my phone and pulled up my banking app. The second the numbers loaded, my heart didn’t just skip a beat—it flatlined.
£0.00
My vision blurred. No, no, no… I frantically tapped into my savings account. Same thing. A perfect, soul-crushing row of zeroes.
I scrolled through my recent transactions, my eyes widening in horror as they landed on a single, stark entry at the top of the list, time stamped from yesterday afternoon, right after my parents’ summons:
