‘Where have you been?’

It’s 4am by the time I finally climb back through my bedroom window. Normally at this hour, I’d either be staring at the ceiling, clawing through another nightmare, or getting ready to go for an incredibly long dawn run.

Weirdly, I don’t feel the impulse to do any of that now.

‘Hmm?’ I flop in exhaustion on my bed. ‘What?’

Mercy is sitting cross-legged in the middle of my rug, like an indignant Aladdin. ‘You’ve been out.’ She looks at her watch. ‘Where did you go?’

‘Oh.’ I rub my face tiredly. ‘I just went for a quick … night jog.’

Mer scowls. ‘Through a hot-dog stand?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ In fairness, I am sticking to the duvet with a faint pfffft sound. ‘Tripped over a rubbish bag in the park.’

Then I close my eyes. Within seconds, I can feel my sister’s warm breath on my face as she sniffs me all over like a suspicious cat.

‘You stink,’ she points out, disgusted. ‘And what happened to your mirror? Did a bird fly in and smash it or something? I mean, are you …’ Mercy pauses. ‘Like. Uh.’ Another pause. ‘OK and stuff?’

I open one eye in amazement. Did Mercy Valentine just ask me if I’m OK? I’ve been trying to teach her that question for years.

‘Yes. I’m OK.’

Interesting that it doesn’t occur to my sister that I might have broken my mirror on purpose. In her mind, I am nothing but the passive victim of an errant pigeon.

Sleep sweeps over me in waves, so I tiredly pull my filthy hoodie off and fling it across the room. There’s a flash of guilt – pick it up, Faith! Fold it nicely! That’s no way to treat your belongings! – before I firmly roll towards the wall.

Consequences are for tomorrow.

Life is for today.

I mean, it’s already tomorrow, but there’s no need to be so literal.

‘Did you just throw your—’ My sister sucks in her breath. ‘Holy guac, Eff. What have you done to your head?’

I shrug into my pillow. ‘Felt like a new look.’

‘Right.’ A sharp, shocked laugh. ‘Sure. A new look. I can’t help noticing that it’s very similar to the haircut your loser, cheating ex-boyfriend has. Do you have any thoughts of your own, Faith?’

Suddenly I’m not that tired. I sit up in bed and stare hard at my sister. Firstly, Noah is not my ex – it’s been one day. I have no idea what to do about the situation yet. Secondly, does she really think I’m pitiful enough to shave my hair off for a boy?

‘Excuse me?’

‘You’re copying him, right? To win him back.’ She scowls. ‘It’s kind of pathetic, Faith. No offence.’

As if no offence nullifies everything rude that goes before it, instead of highlighting it.

Something inside me snaps.

‘Get out, Mercy.’

‘But—’

‘Get out of my bedroom.’

My sister is staring at me as another crackling wave of anger whips through my body. Eyeliner all over my white pillows, hairs all over my carpet, stinky sweat seeping into my duvet, snoring, cold feet on my legs at 4am, whimpering in her sleep, every single speck of my privacy completely invaded on a nightly basis.

It’s like having a really ungrateful stray dog living with me and I don’t even like dogs.

‘Eff,’ Mercy says, holding her hands out in surprise. ‘Maybe I’m wrong. I didn’t necessarily mean that—’

‘OUT!’ I shout, jumping up. ‘GET. OUT!’

With a burst of energy, I grab my sister under each armpit and start dragging her bodily towards the door. It’s surprisingly easy. Who knew all that weightlifting and downward dogging would come in handy for something other than Instagram?

‘Whoa. Faith.’ Mercy’s so shocked she’s gone into rag-doll mode and is just letting herself be pulled across the floorboards. ‘Come on, dude. This is mad. All I meant was—’

I chuck my sister into the hallway so hard she lands on her bottom with an oof.

‘GO. AWAY.’

‘But—’ Blink. Blink. ‘Where am I going to sleep?’

‘YOU HAVE YOUR OWN BEDROOM, MERCY. OR YOU CAN SLEEP IN THE HALLWAY. UNDER THE STAIRS. HANGING UPSIDE DOWN FROM THE RAFTERS LIKE A BAT. I LITERALLY DON’T CARE – JUST GIVE ME SOME SPACE!’

I slam the door between us and lock it.

Click.

Then I curl up in my empty, silent bed and fall deeply asleep.