Chapter 5

Camille’s POV

In my head-pounding hungover daze, I rolled, slipped, and fell off my bed, feeling like someone had stuffed cotton wool in my eyes and pushed me down a steep cliff.

“Ouch!” I groaned lazily, rubbing my head.

“Do you want some coffee? I made a jar filled with it. We both need it if we will be surviving Friday at work.” Harriet said in a sing-song voice. From the pitch of her voice, I could tell she was in the living room.

“I have no choice. Why does my body feel like hundreds of people trampled over me all through the night?” I cried.

“Because you drank to the brim and puffed w**d to the fullest. C’mon, drag your sober self out here this minute.” She called in that authoritative tone that held no room for arguments.

I stood up clumsily and pulled the now very itchy sequin skimpy dress off me, and rushed into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. The aching in my skull ebbs and flows like a cold tide, yet the pain is always