There was a hammer hitting my skull.

No, there were a hundred – a million hammers hitting my skull.

I cracked open sleep-crusted eyes, and was immediately stabbed in the brain with bolts of winter sunlight.

"Fuuuuuck," I whispered and burrowed under the covers.

That protected me from the light but not from the hammers.

I pressed my palms to my eyes and whimpered.

I hadn't been this hungover in – well, ever.

My stomach pitched, warning me that it was about to empty itself, and I shoved back the covers and ran for the bathroom. I only just made it.

I hunched over the toilet, miserably retching, gin-vomit burning my throat, tears leaking down my cheeks. It seemed to go on forever, my stomach heaving, eyes and nose running, but when I finally had nothing left to throw up, I sank back on my heels and flushed the toilet.

My head still pounded and my mouth tasted foul.

Using the toilet for support, I dragged myself up and fumbled for a toothbrush, careful to avoid the mirror. I did not need to see how much of a horror-show I currently was.

I brushed my teeth twice, then peeled off my clothes and stumbled into the shower, turning up the water as hot as I could take it. I scrubbed my skin until it was pink and raw, but nothing would scrub away what had happened yesterday. At some point, I'd have to face the music.

When I went back into the bedroom, I automatically checked my phone.

More missed calls and voicemails from Louise, which I deleted, but also several missed calls and texts from Lily.

CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS! read her last message.

Nerves writhing in my stomach, I scrolled through her previous messages.

Are you drunk?

Wait, you're not serious, are you?

Tasha Harris, answer your damn phone!

Tell me if it's true!

Oh God, Izzy had released my name, hadn't she? If things had been bad yesterday then they were about to get a million times worse –

I stopped, mid-panic.

Before Lily's series of texts was a voice message, from me to her, sent at 9:45 last night. My thumb hovered over the play button, torn between wanting to delete it so I didn't have to know how much more I'd fucked up, and knowing that I had to listen to it.

I played the message.

"Lily," my voice slurred. I sounded like shit. "I fucked up. Why aren't you here? I'm so stupid. Why am I so stupid?"

I had to pause it because I was asking myself the same question again.

"It's true, Lily," my voice went on when I pressed play. "But not all of it. I'm Finn's secret girlfriend, but I'm not his girlfriend because we were only fucking, but now we're not even doing that because he hates me." My voice got all teary. "He hates me, Lily, and I fucking deserve it. I'm such a bitch. This wasn't s'posed to happen."

Last-night me said something else but the words were too slurred for present-me to make out, and then the message ended.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked myself, clutching my phone until my fingers turned white.

My memories of last night were a gin-soaked blur, vague snapshots of recollection, but as I struggled to cast my mind back, something came into hazy focus.

I remembered slumping on the kitchen floor, having an out-loud debate with myself about calling Lily and spilling everything.

One part of me had insisted that that was monumentally fucking stupid and would only make things worse and hadn't I already done enough damage?

The other part of me had argued that Finn already hated me and I couldn't possibly make things worse than they already were.

Apparently that second part had won the debate.

Calling Lily had probably made complete sense at the time, but now I wanted to punch myself in the face. If there'd been any chance of salvaging things with Finn, I'd destroyed that by running my mouth to Lily.

It didn't matter that Lily would die before she betrayed my trust.

I had still betrayed Finn's.

As I stood there, silently hating myself, Louise called again, and my misery and regret coalesced into a burning ball of rage. This wasn't Louise's fault – she hadn't forced me to do anything – but remembering that the woman I'd wanted to emulate was no different than the paparazzi trash who destroyed reputations, relationships, self-esteem, and lives just for clicks, left a taste in my mouth as bad as the vomit. Even now she was hounding me, determined to get her story, no matter the impact on anyone else.

I answered the call.

"Amy, at last." Louise didn't attempt to sound friendly this time. Her voice was sharp as a knife. "I don't appreciate being kept out of the loop like this –"

"I don't care," I interrupted.

Louise Hoffman appeared to have been stunned into silence. Only for a split-second, but still.

"Excuse me?" she said, her voice even sharper than before.

"I am so fucking done with this," I said. "I'm not treating Finn like some object that people like you can tear apart for a few minutes' entertainment. He's a human being and he's been used enough. Fuck you, and fuck your internship."

I hung up and tossed my phone onto the bed.

A great swell of relief rushed over me like a breaking wave.

My journalistic dream was in shambles. I'd never get a job at Clash now, internship or not, and Louise's influence could destroy any chance of a job with any other major publication, but at least this was over now. I didn't have to keep lying and pretending, and even though I had absolutely no clue what to do with my future now, there was something freeing about telling Louise Hoffman to fuck off.

It wouldn't win back Finn's trust, but that wasn't why I'd done it. I'd done it because Finn deserved better.

Even so, I didn't want to go out and face him.

Just because he'd put me to bed last night – assuming that had actually happened and wasn't just some drunken dream – didn't mean he didn't still hate me.

But I couldn't avoid him forever, even in a house as big as this.

I ventured out of my room and, after a few moments of indecision, made my way to the kitchen. There was a higher chance of running into Finn here, but my poor hungover brain desperately needed coffee.

There was no sign of Finn, but the fire crackled happily in the stove and a mug of fresh coffee steamed on the countertop.

I hovered in the entryway. Should I make some coffee and slope back to my room, or wait for Finn and face the inevitable shitshow like an adult?

I chose to wait.

After a few minutes, the door near the stove opened and Finn came in, kicking snow off his boots as he balanced a stack of logs in his arms. He stopped when he saw me, his expression unreadable.

"Hi," I said quietly, then immediately felt like an idiot. Was that the best I could do? Then again, what the hell else was I supposed to say?

Finn dropped the logs into the basket and wiped his hands on his jeans. "That's for you," he said, nodding towards the coffee. "I thought you'd need it."

Surprise and gratitude flashed through me. "Thanks," I mumbled, reaching for the mug.

For the longest moment, Finn and I stared at each other across the room, which seemed bigger than ever.

My eyes ached; I wanted to cry, but that felt like a cop-out. I was responsible for this mess and I had to face the reality of it. I didn't get to cry my way out.

Finn walked into the kitchen and pulled out a seat on one side of the island. "We need to talk," he said. His voice was as carefully neutral as his expression.

I took my own seat, noting the physical barrier of the island between us.

"I know that sorry won't change anything, but I really am sorry," I said.

"When Justina sold me out like that, it fucked me up in a lot of ways," Finn said. "My sense of privacy was shot to shite, along with my sense of judgement. I'd trusted Justina and if she'd thought so little of using me like that, then I obviously didn't have a very good judge of character, did I? She made me feel paranoid, isolated, like I had to second-guess every friendship, every interaction. My entire fucking view of the world changed."

I flinched, but I didn't say anything. It was Finn's time to speak.

"It affected me for so long, and when I finally thought it was time to face my fears, with Suzanne, it happened again," Finn said. "And then there was you."

I flinched again. Tears burned my eyes and I lowered my head so Finn wouldn't see them, biting my lip to hold back a sob.

"Tell me everything," Finn said, rubbing his leather bracelet.

I gathered my thoughts.

"You know that I came here to interview you, and you know that I wasn't satisfied with the interview that I received," I said.

Finn nodded.

"When I realised I was trapped here for the foreseeable future, I saw an opportunity, the kind that no one else could ever have. I could gather material for articles – about how you lived, what you ate, how you entertained yourself, what the architecture of your house said about you, anything and everything." The words tasted sour but I wouldn't sugar-coat this. Finn deserved the truth.

"Initially, I was too scared to tell Louise that I didn't have the interview I'd promised her, but eventually I admitted what I was trying to do instead. She loved it," I said.

"Of course she fucking did." Finn rubbed the back of his neck. "So when I caught you in my room – you really were snooping."

"I didn't actually mean to go into your room, but yes, I was snooping." I blinked back fresh tears. "You were right, I'm no different to Justina or Suzanne."

"Except you didn't go through with it," Finn said.

I blinked, frowned.

"In all the weeks you've been here, not one single article has come out about me." Finn didn't smile but his voice softened. "If you've been feeding info to Louise Hoffman then you've done a shite job of it."

"I still wanted to get something out of you, same as everyone else," I said.

"How long were you in my room before I found you?" Finn asked.

"I don't remember. Not long."

"Long enough to take a few photos?"

"Yeah."

Finn spread his palms. "Yet you didn't."

"It didn't feel right," I mumbled, looking at the counter.

"And that's what makes you different," Finn said. "You've had opportunity after opportunity to do that, and you didn't take any of them."

"But I still strung Louise along for weeks when I should have told her that I wouldn't use you like that. I still kept that option open for the sake of my career," I pointed out.

Finn rubbed his bracelet again. "I know what it's like to want something that badly, Tasha. I let my pursuit of a music career lead me down some shitty paths, so I can't really judge you for doing the same."

I closed my eyes for a shaky moment. "You can't forgive me just like that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't deserve it."

Finn tipped his head to one side. "Don't I get to decide if I forgive you or not?" A wicked smile teased his lips. "Anyway, I never said I was forgiving you just yet. It might take a few blowjobs."

That more than anything else told me that Finn didn't hate me like I'd thought he would. He wouldn't joke with me like that if he hated me.

Although that could still change.

"There's still something I haven't told you," I said.

Finn's expression dimmed.

I played him the voice message I'd sent Lily, and her responding texts.

"Okay," Finn said slowly.

I held my breath.

"Do you trust her?" Finn asked.

"With my life," I said.

He nodded, but the shape of his mouth was troubled. "I need to hear it from her myself," he said. "Call her."

I did.

Lily answered on the second ring, her face filling the screen, and I felt a rush of affection. It had been too long since I'd seen her.

"I'm very confused right now," she announced.

"Hi, Lily," I said.

"I know you were hammered last night, but you don't just make shit up, even when you're falling down drunk. So what the hell's going on?"

I glanced at Finn. Lily couldn't see him from where he was sitting. Finn shrugged and gave a little nod.

I turned my phone so Lily could see him.

For a moment there was silence and then my best friend shrieked.

"Holy fucking God!" she exclaimed.

I turned my phone back to myself. Lily gaped at me, her eyes wide.

"Fuck me," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "No, seriously, Tasha, fuck me sideways, how is this real?"

I explained everything, Finn chiming in when relevant, and Lily managed to contain herself until the end.

"This is unbelievable," she said. "Except for, you know, the fact that it's actually happened."

"It's absolutely crucial that you don't repeat this to anyone," Finn said.

Lily rolled her eyes, not that Finn could see her. "Of course not, I'm not a complete idiot," she said.

Finn frowned. "I need to know you're taking this seriously."

Lily straightened up, tucking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. "I am," she said. "Tasha's my best friend, and I would never do anything to hurt her."

"Some people would offer you a lot of money for this story," Finn warned.

"Let them. I don't set a price on my friendships."

"Easy to say now," Finn said.

"Hey." A sharper note entered Lily's voice. "I'm not that easily swayed, Mr Big Rockstar. I won't breathe a word of this to anyone, not even Captain Beefheart."

Finn gave me a confused look. "Captain Beefheart? She knows he's dead, right"

"Not the singer, her hamster," I explained. "She usually tells him everything."

Finn shook his head, but he seemed more baffled than annoyed.

"My lips are sealed, zipped, locked," Lily said, miming all three.

"Good," Finn said.

Under the table, his hand found mine, and for the first time since yesterday morning I managed a smile.

Maybe things would be okay after all.