Page 56 of The Naughty List

It’s fucked up on so many levels, but my emotions are singing to a crazy, frazzled tune.

I loved it,it was weirdly amazing,I tell her, but what I really want to say is I lovedhim. I loved Holly’sdaddy.

And…her next message says.

I’m still trying to find the words to describe it, how to even begin. I type and delete, type and delete. How the hell do I say it? I’m crazy about a stranger I met last night.

She must see my stilted typing.

Are you struggling? Morning after syndrome?

I look at her message, puzzled.

What’s morning after syndrome?

The cab pulls up at my place. It looks like more of a shithole than ever after the beauty ofDaddy’s. I don’t even want to go in.

I’m stood looking at the wooden door, with its chipped black paint and loose handle when my phone buzzes with Ebony’s next message.

Morning after syndrome. It’s a term we use. Look it up in the chatroom, or I’ll give you a call about it, if you like? I’ve just got in from an all-nighter with Mr Medic, and Stephen’s done the school run.

Great, thanks, I say.Give me five.

At least it gives me the impetus to go inside.

I grab a glass of water from our gross excuse for a kitchen, stacked high with dirty plates, then head up to my room. I toss my backpack and coat aside and throw myself down on my bed.

Urgh.

I stare up at the ceiling, still in pigtails and my school uniform, already pining another round in Wrenshaw.

I wantDaddyagain.

I reach my laptop from the dressing table when Ebony’s call starts pinging through. I’m virtually lying down when I click answer, and she does a double take. My pigtails must be sprawled across my pillows.

“Holy fuck, Ella. You make a convincing schoolgirl. I wondered if it was really you then.”

My laugh is shallow. “Yeah, well, I wish it was convincing enough to be true right now. I’d love some more time as young Holly the naughty schoolgirl.”

She sighs, her eyes scoping mine out through the screen.

“You missing him? Did you want to stay?”

“Want the honest answer?”

“Always, yeah.”

I place a hand on my stomach. It’s still churning. My brain is still trying to process things, like a spiral of a whirlwind, everything out of control.

“I swear to God, Eb, I didn’t want to leave, and how I have, I feel sick. Like a pang, right here.”

I point to my sternum, where the ball of aching want is.

“Yep,” she says. “You’ve got morning after syndrome. It happens, don’t worry. You’re a newbie. Everything is intense. So many sessions will feel like they mean something. Totally normal.”

I think of Daddy holding me in his arms last night and telling me what a good girl I am. It makes the aching ball in my ribs pang even harder.

“We were so up close,” I tell her. “It felt so real. Not like in the proposal.”

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