Becca had no recollection of that night. It wasn’t just ‘simple intuition’, she knew something horrible had went down, and she couldn’t recall what. Nobody would listen to her, brushing it off as ‘everyone makes bad decisions when they’re drunk’.

But she wasn’t drunk that night.

She grew desperate, sought the comfort of her older sister Andie, only to be met with a cold shoulder and the strict order to keep quiet about the fact their classmates have access to that sort of stuff. She felt as if she were drowning, did it not matter?

She had one last hope; her closest friend, the one girl who’s been by her side for years. The girl she grew up with, who she yearned for so tragically — she didn’t even notice. She needed you, now.

Her fist pounded against the white paint of your front door, no time for her usual sequence of knocks. Her breath escaped her lips in short, desperate pants, she couldn’t catch up with her own mind right now.

The door swung open at her last knock, probably result of her loud, panicked knocking — leaving her fist midway in the air before quickly taking a sharp inhale and snatching an iron grip around your figure. No time to explain.

“I’m sorry.” She quickly blurted out, her voice strained from previous panic. In her stressing, it’d completely slipped her mind that it was at least 2am, and she’s most definitely bothering your sleep at the moment.

But she clung on tighter, anyway.