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My friendship with Emily spans almost a decade. A chance meeting at our university’s orientation for new students meant a law student and a science student became close friends, despite never actually having classes together.
We’ve had holidays together and far too many drunken nights I can’t remember. We know all each other’s secrets and our siblings have even become friends too.
She was the kind of person I could text at 6pm to meet for a drink at 6:15pm, who was always up for a laugh or doing something fun. Now I’m finding every excuse not to see her, but dodging her invitations is becoming increasingly hard.
It started last year when she got a new job. With a couple of years’ legal experience up her belt, she was offered a higher-paying position at a top-tier law firm. She was besides herself with excitement and of course, we went out to celebrate.
A few weeks later, we caught up for breakfast as was our usual fortnightly Saturday tradition. After arriving almost an hour late, she looked a mess. Eye makeup was still smeared under her eyes, her hair was matted and her skin white. This was no ordinary hangover; trust me, I’d seen hers before.
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“Had a big one last night,” she said.
“Clearly,” I replied, pissed off that I’d been sat there by myself for so long. “What happened?”
“It started out as a few quiet work drinks, then my team leader took us to another bar where he knew the owner and we just went nuts,” she said laughing. “There was champagne, shots… and I may have done some E.”
“E… you mean ecstacy?” I asked, shocked. Emily was not this kind of person — an old university friend of ours had caused havoc a few years ago with a drug addiction and she had always been staunchly against the stuff.