Page 8 of Jain

“If you want to fuck, Eloise and her cronies are over there,” I said, moving away from Harley, who frowned at me.

“Why are you so difficult?”

“Harley, can wenotdo this?” I sighed, searching for the vodka bottle.

Shit, I’d left it on the bathroom floor. There was no way in hell I was drinking from that now, so I went off to find a substitute.

As I snapped open the lid from a new bottle, I filled a glass, topping it with coke. The liquid looked light brown, and as I gulped it, I realised it was pretty much pure vodka.

I needed to get drunk to get through this party.

Chapter Four

Iwoke up at eight AM to the awful sound of my mother shrieking my name when she walked in to deliver a fresh pile of washing.

"Jain! Get up, right now!"

I tried to open my eyes. The makeup from last night held them together. Mum had to be joking.

Wasn't it a Saturday?

"Mum, it'sSaturday." I groaned, burying my head into the pillow.

"Yes, and you've got your private session in one hour with Madame Frost."

Oh, fuck.

"Mum, cancel it. Please. I feel sick."

"Cancel it? No! Look how well you are doing with your French now—"

"Please! I'm dying. I can't even see."

The duvet is pulled away from me.

"Then I suggest you get up and wash that crap off your face. What the hell were you drinking?" Mum stormed out, not waiting for an answer.

I sat up, leaving my head behind on the pillow as I tried not to vomit. Somehow, I made it to the bathroom, spending the best part of an hour in the shower. When I finally surfaced, I had to dash back into the toilet to be sick.

"I'mneverdrinking again," I muttered as my mum shot me a look.

Madame Frost was seated at the gleaming mahogany table, smiling at me kindly.

"En français, s'il vous plaît."

How did you say fuck off I'm dying in French?

Over an hour later, I finally made it back to my bed. I fully intended to sleep for the rest of the weekend.

"So, how is English coming along?"

I groaned inwardly before peering at my mother through tired eyes.

"I think I may be better at French," I muttered, as the familiar anxiety filled my stomach when I thought about it.

I wasn't engaging with the damn subject, no matter how much I tried. Mrs Fern had reassured me that once I understood the question, I would understand the answer. Then she would proceed to help me understand the question.

Now she was gone.