My first mistake is showing up to the party already drunk. And the joint I smoked before I got in the cab. Chemical courage. The front door opens and music and garish light wash over me. Bodies hidden in costumes and the smell of sweat and beer. This is what I need, so I tell myself. Just the thing to put Jeff behind me.

I’m welcomed inside and handed a drink by a woman in a skeleton onesie. Monster mash is playing over the stereo and people are awkwardly dancing up against each other. I sit and drink my drink and then another, trying to make small talk, both hating the dancers in my jealousy and hating myself in recognition of that jealousy. I can’t just stare into space. And so drinks never leave my hand for long.

He speaks to me. Smiles at me. Makes me laugh. Never tells me his name. A man in devil’s costume. He’s handsome, I think. I feel so flattered. He touches my knee. Tells me I’m beautiful. Tells me stories that take my mind away. Oh that smile. When he suggests we leave I agree at once. That’s the last thing I remember that night.

When I wake up I’m alone. My head. I drag myself to the bathroom, swallow some pills, drink from the tap and try not to wretch. I put the TV on and drift in and out of consciousness. Slowly a dull pain spreads out from my genitals. It grows worse. I bite my lip, look down there. Nothing. I put it down to last nights stupidity and struggle on with my mess of a day full of regret.

The pain doesn’t go away. I dream strange things and then lie awake, embarrassment and fear clawing at me. I ought to phone the doctor. When my stomach begins to swell I still hesitate. I feel shame. Two weeks after the event and I look deeply pregnant. There’s blood… down there. Deep crimson, thick, sweet smelling. I make the call.

I explain the situation. They’re very understanding. Can I have a late appointment, I ask? Sure they say. How about ten? That is late. Yes, I say.

When I arrive the car park’s empty. A single light on at reception. The woman behind the desk is all smiles. They’re expecting me. I can go on through. I’m scared, I hesitate. But I’m committed now. Need to see it through.

I don’t recognise the doctor. He’s reassuring. I lie on the table and he rubs gel on my belly. An image appears on his screen. It’s turned away from me, but I catch a glimpse of… something. I turn away, uncomfortable. Everything’s fine, says the doctor. It’s all going according to plan. Plan, I ask? Don’t worry he says. He’s just going to give me something for the pain. To help my nerves. I feel the needle go in. The last thing I’ll ever feel.