The sun bled through the thin hotel curtains, casting stripes of golden light across the tangled sheets and clothes scattered across the room like forgotten confessions.
Gwendolyn stirred, her body aching in unfamiliar ways, and a throbbing headache pulsed in sync with the fluttering panic growing in her chest.
Her eyes blinked open, dry and disoriented. The world spun slightly, like a cruel joke.
Then she remembered.
Flashes—soft at first—began piecing themselves together. The prom. The dancing. The drinking. Roman's hand on her waist. His voice in her ear. The hotel room. His touch. Her decision. Or lack thereof.
She sat up suddenly, the sheet falling away from her chest, and gripped it tightly to herself. Her breathing came in short gasps, her heart beating like a drum in a parade she never meant to join.
"What have I done . . ." she whispered to the empty room.
