Best Served Fake

six // we are never ever getting back together

I was 98% sure I was dead and had been sent to hell. And I was 2% sure that if I wasn't, I was well on my way.

A groan tore from my throat, painful and croaky. My head felt as if a million tiny leprechauns had spent the night Irish dancing on my brain, and were now using hammers to perform a demolition on what remained. Sunlight streamed through the windows to bleach my collarbones white, and I felt the heat of it like a gentle burn. Blankets were wound around my legs, twisted through the night.

Opening my eyes didn't seem particularly conducive to a good time, so I left them squeezed shut as allowed a second groan of complaint to pass through my lips.

"Good morning, sunshine." Cora.

"Well, doesn't my girl look like a million bucks this morning?" My mother. With a decidedly limited scope of sympathy for my current situation, judging by the unbridled amusement in her tone.

"Kill me, please," I complained, pulling my pillow securely over my head to hide from the world, ideally forever.

A snort of laughter. "Seems like you attempted that yourself last night," said Mum. Lovingly. "Liver poisoning is not a cute way to go."

I flipped her the finger, without deigning her with a response.

"How are you feeling?" asked Cora. "Did you want me to bring you some Panadol?"

"I'd probably prefer crack cocaine," I said into my pillow. "Or, like. Death."

My own mother simply laughed at this statement. Cora made a faint sound of protest, but I heard my mother dismiss her concerns. Cora would make a far better nurse; she was sweeter, and would probably leave cute snacks under my pillow.

I felt Mum poke me experimentally in the shoulder. I swatted her hand away. "You know," she said. "You don't always have to try to keep up with Sydney."

I almost laughed. I would always try to keep up with Sydney. She was my best friend, and I couldn't just let her put herself in danger. She needed me. Besides, she would always make sure that I was—

My eyes flew open.

Mum and Cora were standing at the foot of my bed. Mum just seemed amused, a faint smile resting on a face that was so similar to mine; strawberry blonde hair, big doe eyes, a heart-shaped face and a placid expression that easily fell into a smile. Cora looked less pleased at my pain, but Cora was also a nicer person than either of the Williams women. She was wearing a sympathetic frown cut deep into the lines of her face, as if grooved there by a sculptor. Sydney had mocked that expression a hundred times, but I—

Sydney.

Oh. Shit.

"Oh shit," I said, pressing a hand to my forehead. It was warm and hot and solid, and I definitely wasn't in hell, but I might as well have been. I buried my face in the warm cotton of the t-shirt I was wearing. The material was thick and the shirt was so big it swallowed me, which made it an easier place to hide from the world and the truth. "Oh. Shit."

"What?" Mum asked, bewildered.

Cora was looking at me with a mix of heartbreaking sadness and nervous anticipation. As if she was waiting for me to fall apart, and was ready to catch the fractured pieces of me as I shattered.

Because Sydney had slept with Tommy. My best friend and my boyfriend. Ex.

"What is it?" Mum asked again.

I looked up at her, then across at Cora. "Am I wearing Kai Delaney's t-shirt?" was all I could say.

The lines in Cora's face smoothed as she laughed. "Well, you puked on yours."