The first thing I did upon waking, heart pounding, was look for my phone. To my enormous relief it was there on my bedside table. So far so good.
I was naked and, mercifully, alone. I could make out last night's outfit lying in a discarded heap on the floor by my bed, along with my handbag. My head was throbbing, my mouth dry and foul — yes, it had been quite a night.
How had I even got home? The first stab of shame struck as I realised I had absolutely no idea. I started scrolling through my phone for clues, my sense of unease and self-disgust increasing as messages appeared from numbers I didn't recognise.
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