Ginny woke up and immediately ran to the Baker's toilet to throw up again. Apparently she didn't get it all up last night.

Marcus walked out his bedroom and chuckled behind her. He sleepily walked over and pulled her hair back with one hand while stifling a yawn with the other.

'Went a bit too hard last night, eh?'

Ginny groaned, and was sick some more.

'Enough that I'm having to do this again, yes.' Her voice echoed strangely in the toilet bowl.

'Again? You threw up last night?'

Ginny frowned, annoyed.

'You know this.' She paused as a dry retch rocked her. 'Why do you think I went running past you into the bathroom last night before you left?'

'I thought you were going to cry.'

'No. I threw up and had to brush my teeth. Hence the toothbrush I threw at you.'

'Oh. ' Marcus took a moment. 'Gross, why would you throw that at me?'

Ginny answered with another wave of vomit.

'Sorry,' she croaked.

'Ugh, want some water or something?'

'No, I never want to drink anything ever again.'

Marcus laughed, and rubbed her back. Ginny relaxed.

'I think it's over,' she sighed. 'Go away, before you smell it.'

'Too late.'

'Ugh,' Ginny moaned, making her way to the washroom and stealing another toothbrush. 'Tell your parents you need more toothbrushes. I keep using them all.'

'Noted,' he said with faux seriousness as Ginny washed out her mouth and furiously scrubbed her teeth. 'Oatmeal?' he added, with the tone of a rhetorical question.

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

'Oatmeal...' she said back.

'Eggs?'

Ginny looked at him non-plussed, not troubling to hide her frustration. She did not have the energy for random food riddles.

'Hangover foods,' he said simply, grinning at her.

'Oh.'

Marcus smiled far too happily for Ginny's taste at that particular moment.

'Leave,' she said quietly, waving Marcus away with her hand. 'I'm borrowing a towel. Which is Max's?'

Marcus pointed at a bright orange towel and took his leave. Ginny treated herself to a warm shower and got back out feeling distinctly more human. Max was still sleeping, so Ginny went downstairs.

'I went with oatmeal,' Marcus said from the kitchen table. 'I really only know how to fry eggs, and I wasn't sure you could handle the oil.'

Marcus handed her a warm bowl of oatmeal, with a drizzle of honey in the shape of a smiley face on top. Ginny looked at Marcus tiredly.

'Are you a morning person or something?'

'Sometimes,' he shrugged as Ginny took the bowl. 'You're welcome.'

'Thank you,' Ginny added, taking a tentative bite of oatmeal. She did not immediately reject it, and took a little more. 'This is good,' she told Marcus.

'Yes, my years of culinary training really paid off. I can microwave milk and oats. But the stirring – ' he pointed at Ginny with the air of a seasoned professional, 'is what separates the wheat from the chaff.'

'I'm too hungover for sarcasm.'

'Aw.'

Marcus put a hand on Ginny's thigh and turned back to his phone that was sitting on the table, scrolling aimlessly. Ginny smiled at the gesture, and enjoyed the way the oatmeal soothed her sore throat. It had been a good choice.

Someone knocked on the front door. Ginny tensed, recognising her mother's knock.

'Ginny?' came Georgia's voice from the other side of the front door. It was hesitant.

Good.

Marcus turned to Ginny and pulled a questioning face at her.

Ginny shook her head, and Marcus nodded, turning back to his phone as if he hadn't heard Georgia at all.

'Peach, please. I didn't mean it.'

Ginny roller her eyes at the table and stirred her oatmeal.

'Peach? Are you there, baby?'

'Nope,' Ginny muttered quietly.

'What'd she do?' Marcus whispered.

'She called the cops on the party because she was angry I snuck out.'

Ginny pursed her lips. Exhausted from the events of last night, Ginny was feeling a little more lenient on her mom. Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody does reckless and stupid things. Like kiss boys that aren't their quasi-boyfriend. But Ginny wasn't going to move a muscle until she got a damn apology.

'Shit, I'm sorry.' Marcus looked astounded. 'Damn, you mom is racist.'

'I don't think she actually meant it like that…' Ginny said. 'She didn't even seem to realise. I kinda had to point it out.'

'Don't do that,' Marcus said gently.

'What?'

'Make excuses for her.'

'I'm not. I'm so angry at her...I just don't think she thought about it that way.'

'Ginny, your mom knows what you look like. She knows you look black.'

Ginny blanched at his blunt phrasing.

'Sorry,' he added, seeing her recoil. 'I just – look, I don't wanna fight your battles for you. But don't let her pretend that she doesn't know her daughter's black.' He shrugged, like it was so simple.

Ginny stared back at Marcus.

He kind of had a point.

Ginny tried to find that fire inside her that blazed at Georgia last night, so offended and furious. But the fire was smouldering embers at this point. It lacked energy. Maybe after a nap?

'Ginny, baby? I'm sorry, you know I would never do anything to hurt you,' Georgia wheedled from outside.

Ginny's embers set ablaze, and she dropped the spoon into her oatmeal with force, standing up from the table abruptly. Screw apologies. Wide-eyed, Marcus watched her go. Ginny stormed up to the front door and wrenched it open.

'Oh, really?' she challenged. 'What about when you slapped me?'

Ginny almost lost the wind in her sails as she saw that Georgia looked terrible – by Georgia's standards, at least. There were deep, grey bags under Georgia's eyes, her hair was messy and pulled into a sloppy bun. The perfect face of make-up she drew on every day was gone; that Georgia veneer of intimidating perfection was missing.

In its place, just a small woman, who looked defeated.

Ginny set her jaw to hide her surprise, and narrowed her eyes at her mother. How long had it been since even Ginny had seen this side of her mom?

'Peach,' Georgia started. 'I – I feel awful.'

Ginny folded her arms across her chest.

'I just – you made me so mad when you snuck out like that.'

'Oh, so it's my fault?'

'Well, you shouldn't have left, at least that much is true.'

'Fine! Punish me for leaving! I don't care! That's not the part of last night that I'm really concerned about, believe it or not.'

'I know...that I made a mistake. Okay, I'm human, peach. Okay, your mother is just a regular human!' Georgia's voice began to escalate, and the tiredness on her face transformed into a weary determination. 'M – maybe I'm not a perfect mother, I'm no Ellen Baker, but I throw you nice parties and I chaperone your school events!' She waved both hands out to emphasise her speech. 'I've done well for myself and for you and Austin. And you don't seem to appreciate it very much. You were the grumpiest sourpuss I've ever seen, and you were rude to Paul – '

'What does this have to do with you calling the cops?' Ginny interrupted.

'Ah, at least you don't deny it. The last few weeks have been tough, I know. But you're not exactly easy to live with sometimes, Virginia.'

Ginny couldn't help but derisively snort.

'And you are?'

'Ohh!' Georgia cried out in frustration. 'Just – come home – please. So we can discuss this in private.'

'No,' Ginny said simply, trying to enjoy the annoyance on her mom's face.

Georgia's eyebrows steepened in warning.

'You know, it's almost funny how angry you are now compared to how contrite you seemed when I opened the door,' Ginny said, with a display of nonchalance.

Georgia inhaled deeply through her nose, eyes closed, acting like it cost her a great deal of patience. Ginny took the moment to quietly take a deep breath as well – this was not as fun as she had hoped when she pulled the door open.

'Ginny, you left the house without my permission. I let you stay out last night.'

Let? Ginny began to think her 'screw apologies' sentiment was unfounded. Was Georgia really not going to properly apologise – because she didn't truly think she needed to? Ginny could only maintain an unbothered facade for so long, running off the fumes of petering-out rage.

'But you come home now, or you're grounded.'

'Oh, "grounded"? That's okay actually; I'd rather be grounded than dead,' Ginny spat with venom.

Georgia scoffed.

'God, you are dramatic, peach.'

'How do you think Dad might feel about your phone call, huh?' Ginny's voice cracked ever so slightly and the smallest of tears began to bud in her eyes. She cleared her throat – she would not show weakness. 'Do you think he might have a slightly different perspective on it?'

Georgia visibly swallowed, but was ready to launch a rebuttal when Marcus sidled up beside Ginny.

'Ms Miller, I think you should go.'

His calm voice was strangely authoritative and his closed expression offered no invitation for response, but Georgia balked.

'This is my daughter I'm trying to talk to, and I will not be told to go by some floppy-haired teenager who hides his pot in a box labelled "math homework".'

Marcus laughed, and Ginny almost believed that he genuinely thought that was funny, if not for a tightening in his eyes.

'Alright, then I'll call the cops,' Marcus said lightly. He rested his hand on the frame of the door, eyebrows raised politely and expectantly at Georgia in the most remarkable display of quiet smugness. He nodded in the direction of Ginny's house. Now that he did seem to find funny, and he barely concealed his smirk.

Georgia stared back at him, sifting for any truth in his words amongst the cruel irony. She huffed, casting her eyes back on Ginny.

'You better be home today.'

'Fine,' Ginny muttered, and shut the door forcefully in Georgia's face.

Ginny and Marcus waited silently until the sound of Georgia's feet faded away. Ginny turned to face him.

'You hid your weed in a box labelled "math homework"?'

'Decoy weed,' he said simply, but he looked seriously at Ginny. 'You okay?'

'She didn't apologise,' Ginny said disbelievingly.

'Yeah...are you okay?' he asked again.

Ginny put her face into Marcus' chest as a response, and allowed him to wrap her in his arms. Ginny let that sensation of safety envelop her and relaxed into the warmth he shared with her, the gentle way he held her, and the way she squeezed him back – small traces of the deep love they shared for another. Ginny's heart fluttered. She was acutely aware of how close she had come to losing all of that last night, and gripped him tighter.

Marcus kissed the top of her head, and Ginny looked up at him and wouldn't have been surprised if there were stars in her eyes as she overflowed with appreciation. Marcus' eyes gazed around her face, and one hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair back from her face.

A disgusting noise came from the kitchen entrance. They both looked over, and saw Max pointedly miming sticking her finger in her mouth and making vomit noises. When she had suitably disturbed them, she pulled an overly pleasant face at them, her eyes almost disappearing into the faux-smile and her mouth twisting unnaturally. Her face then rapidly grew serious.

'Stop being a hallmark movie around me.'

o
o - o
o - o - o
o - o
o

When Ginny arrived at school the following Monday, she was deeply ready for the reprieve from her mom. Ginny had returned for dinner on Sunday, and hadn't uttered a single word to her mother – but Georgia's sour presence had been constant and all-consuming. Ginny had wordlessly accepted her dinner with a snatch, met with Georgia's sigh, and then struck up a conversation with Austin, pointedly falling silent whenever her mom tried to direct any pleasantry towards her. It was awkward, but it was working – and the next morning she hugged Austin goodbye, left with a packed lunch and a stiff middle finger directed at Georgia as she waltzed out the door.

Ginny felt a little bit like a loose cannon.

As Ginny got closer to her locker, she started needing to sidle awkwardly between a throng of giggling and heated whispers. As Ginny pushed past, it became clear why.

Ginny's locker had been spray painted.

S

L

U

T

The angry red word was still shiny. As Ginny stared, a bead of paint rolled down. This was very new, and the culprit was probably nearby. The laughter of the crowd grew louder as they realised the target of the word was there and reading it. Ginny looked around, her cheeks burning, the crowd merging into a horrific blur of wide smiles. Ginny turned back to her locker and placed her palm flat against the top of the 'S' and dragged her hand firmly down, smearing the fresh paint. It worked somewhat. But the word SLUT could just be made out from where the paint had partially dried underneath the top layer, now surrounded by a wash of thinner paint.

As Ginny turned to leave, she clapped eyes on Hunter, who was standing towards the back of the crowd. His face seemed carved in stone, as he gazed coolly back at her. Furious, Ginny strode forward to meet him.

'What are you angry at me for?' he asked coldly.

It happened before Ginny fully processed the intent that flashed across her mind.

Smack.

Hunter's cheek now had a clear imprint of Ginny's hand painted on his face. The crowd around them gasped and grew silent. Ginny became aware of several phones pointed in their direction.

'I didn't do it,' he snapped, as he touched his cheek. He examined the paint transfer on his finger. 'Although maybe you've got a guilty conscience. Where were you when the rest of us were being rounded up by police?'

His tone was very pointed, and then his eyes slid to look at something behind Ginny. Ginny turned slightly and saw Marcus making his way up behind her, seeming drawn in by the commotion. She turned back silently, and sheepishly. Hunter glared at her.

'Exactly. So don't slap me – because this is on you.'

Hunter walked past her, and the oof she heard told her he'd intentionally bumped into Marcus as he went. Their audience began to whisper again, the chittering grating on Ginny's nerves like the many voices of a sea of rodents, and the winking of many cameras like their glittering eyes. She stared at the remaining paint on her hand.

'Hey, show's over,' Marcus called out. He shooed them along like cattle. 'You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here,' he intoned sarcastically.

Slowly, people walked away.

Marcus took in Ginny's locker.

'Your first high school reputation. Aw.'

Ginny glared at him. He put his hands up defensively.

'Hey, I didn't paint it. I only just got here.'

'I better wash this off,' Ginny said, holding out her hand. 'I'm okay, you can go to your class or whatever.'

Ginny turned and hurried into the next bathroom, ignoring the immediate silence of a couple of girls who were standing there, having clearly been talking about the public spectacle, and rinsed off the paint as best she could. The girls exited quickly, leaving Ginny alone. Ginny stared at the red water draining down the sink and the small drips of red that had splashed up onto her wrist. Ginny took a deep breath as her body began to tremble.

She was not okay.

It was happening, what she'd feared as her feelings grew for Marcus, knowing this would place her at odds with her group. She was down at least one friend, she was sure. Ginny was suddenly desperate for her lighter. Which was at home.

Ginny picked up her bag and put it on the sink, opening the pockets and rifling through the contents quickly. Keys? No. Tweezers, for eyebrow emergencies? No.

Ginny tipped the bag upside down, looking for something – anything – sharp. A small pharmacy tumbled out of her bag – pain pills, bandages, tampons. She paused as a sole safety pin fell out from the bottom of the bag. She stuffed everything else back in the bag haphazardly and locked herself in the toilet cubicle. She pulled down her pants and sat on the toilet lid, hand shaking. She'd never done this.

Slut.

Slut.

She had cheated on Marcus. She'd led Hunter on. Hell, she'd slept with Marcus somewhere in the vicinity of two minutes after he climbed in her window.

Slut. Good for nothing. Reckless. Own mother doesn't love her the way she should. Own father makes an appearance once a year.

She opened the safety pin and dragged it across her left inner thigh. The scratch was light. It wasn't enough. She went back over the faint line she'd left, experimenting with more force. She was surprised by how similar the sensation was to burning – the needle did feel like it seared as a glided across her skin, but it was tiny and concentrated. Tiny beads of blood began to develop on the line, and Ginny went again and again on the same course, deepening the laceration until she had one long, thick line of blood. Ginny shook and gasped with the expended effort, and then hissed as her skin stung.

Ginny pressed her palm to her face as she began to cry and leaned against the cubicle wall for support.

Such a slut.

It hadn't worked.

Ginny brought the pin down against her skin again in a new fury, starting another line. Her blood shone bright and wet on her skin. She dug as deep as she dared, wincing. There was an unfamiliar aspect to the cutting than there was to burning, Ginny found. Burning was passive – all she needed to do was move the flame to her skin and stay still for as long as she could stand. No force. Easy.

But she was aware of every strain of her muscle and the tautness of her fingers as she hacked away at her skin, choosing to come back over and over.

This was punishing. It didn't concentrate and release her from the pain like fire did, it exonerated her.

This is for hurting Marcus. This is for hurting Hunter. This is for whatever it was about her that made Georgia slap her, and call the police. This is for whatever made her inferior to her dad's passions, as he travelled around the globe. This is for being such a bitch. This is for being a slut.

Slash. Slash. Slash.

Ginny sobbed as she cut, barely able to see through her tears, and at some point crossed an invisible line where she had done enough to herself. She slowed, her chest heaving, and her hand with the pin relaxed to her side. Ginny wiped her eyes clear and looked down at her thigh, and frowned.

It didn't look enough? There were a variety of cuts, some minor scratches, some deeper and bleeding strongly. Some criss-crossed, some vertical, some horizontal. Ginny placed her palm at the top of the scratches and dragged it down like the paint from earlier, smearing more than half the length of her thigh in blood.

She grabbed some toilet paper and dabbed away the blood, sucking in air through her teeth at the tenderness. She realised she'd flicked blood up onto her cream knit shirt somewhat. She wiped everything away, put the bandages from her bag over her thigh and gently pulled her pants back on. She tried to wash the blood from her shirt in the sink, but it resisted. She zipped up her jacket instead, and briefly wiped her face with water.

She caught her eye in the mirror before she left. It was the same face. No one would know what she had been in here doing.

Ginny cleared her throat, fixed her hair, and went back out. She walked over to berry tree cautiously.

Hunter was there. But so was Max. No Norah, but Brodie, Press, Jordan and Abby were there.

'Hi…' Ginny said quietly.

Everyone turned around. Max, seated on the armchair, looked like a deer caught in headlights. Press scoffed.

'Hi, slut.' He smiled viciously.

Ginny swallowed, and looked to Hunter. Hunter's cheek was a little pink. Ginny couldn't tell if it was the beginning of a bruise, or from vigorously washing off paint.

Brodie stepped in front of him.

'I'm gonna have to ask you to walk away from my boy.' His tone bordered on playful, but there was an unusual note of sincerity.

Ginny peered around Brodie, and Hunter reluctantly met her eyes.

'I should have told you,' Ginny said.

'That you're a slut?' Press said loudly.

A few people passing in the hall looked over. Ginny bit her lip.

'I'm sorry,' Ginny continued, ignoring Press, and the burning eyes of her – hopefully – friends.

'That you're a slut?' Press said again.

Ginny's eyes snapped at him briefly, biting back a retort.

'Shut up, Press,' Jordan said.

Press grinned indulgently. He was enjoying it.

Ginny turned back to Hunter.

'I'm sorry I hit you, and about Marcus. I shouldn't have...'

'You had your chance,' he said quietly. 'I hope you have fun with that loser – because I am a great boyfriend. You knew I liked you, and you had me running you and your brother to your secret therapy appointment, like an idiot. That's real nice, Ginny.'

Ginny blinked, and looked down in embarrassment as the rest of the group looked at her. She had asked him that favour as a friend, but that didn't seem to matter anymore.

'Hunter, go easy,' Max said. She glanced at Ginny, unsure what she could say. 'Ginny's going through some stuff right now.'

'What?' Hunter said rhetorically. 'Literally, what – because I don't know what I did to deserve this.'

Hunter stepped around Brodie and stared down at Ginny. Ginny nodded.

'You didn't do anything,' she agreed. 'That's why I'm sorry.'

Ginny glanced around at the faces of her friends. Max looked stuck in the middle and Jordan impassive. But everybody else ranged from mad to outwardly hostile.

'Yeah, and any therapist worth their salt is gonna tell you that your actions have consequences,' Abby said cattily.

'Slut consequences,' Press grinned.

'Oh, shut up, Press!' Ginny exploded. 'You – I don't even know why everybody likes you. You haven't said a single nice thing in the whole time I've known you, so excuse me if I don't care what you have to say.'

It felt good to say. But Ginny regretted it immediately. The vibe in the group changed immediately, and Ginny knew she had stepped over a line she couldn't come back from. Ginny looked at Max, who was looking down at her knees.

Ginny took a step back, and looked at Hunter again.

'I really am sorry.'

And she left, walking past Hunter as if in slow motion. Ginny would never be allowed back at berry tree again. As she walked, she saw Press out of the corner of her eye making a motion, and she turned to face him slightly as she passed. His hand was coming out from his pocket, and there was a rhythmic metallic sound. Ginny didn't have time to react before the paint was being sprayed across her. She froze in surprise, and was rooted to the spot as he sloppily painted the word SLUT on the front of her jacket.

'You painted it?' Hunter said.

Max stood up and pushed the paint can out of Press' hand.

'What the hell? That is way too far,' Max yelled. 'What are you gonna do next, write dyke on me?'

'Might be good advertising,' Press sniffed.

Ginny hurriedly unzipped her jacket and pulled it off. She folded her arm across the front of her shirt, trying to cover up as much of the blood stain as she could with her jacket. She glanced around at everyone's eyes – most everyone was looking at Press, but Hunter was looking at Ginny's midriff and then his eyes met hers in alarm.

Ginny backed away, and then began to run.

'Ginny!' Max called out.

But Ginny didn't turn around. She ditched her jacket in the nearest bin and ran the whole way home, her breath painful and laboured. She didn't even stop to close the front door behind her as she arrived home, and sprinted up the stairs. With tears in her eyes, she snapped up Dr Darmody's card and dialled.