When Edmund woke up, he did not regret drinking.  He regret ever being born.

A quick glance around the hotel room was enough to tell him that he was alone.  He had fallen asleep in Mable's bed, beside her, as she cried herself to sleep and cried more in her dreams.

He felt like shit.  Even more so when, as he finally got up to start the day, he noticed a glass of water on the nightstand.  Right at the edge, close to him, obviously meant for him.

He felt to cry.  Mable was too good for him.

Edmund downed the glass of water gratefully, and filled it up in the bathroom sink to drink more because he was very certain that he's never been quite so thirsty before in his life.  There was no breakfast waiting for him on the table, but that was okay.  He couldn't stomach anything this early anyway.

He needed to find Francis.

Leaving the hotel room into the bright sun of outside was more difficult than it should have been, but he didn't have a choice.  He really, really needed to find Francis.

Not that he had any idea what he would say to him when he did.  Memories of the night before painted Edmund's face bright red, made him touch his lips in a poor echo of Francis, had his heart beating so loud he was sure the people around him would hear and know.

But he had to find Francis.  He'd told him the night before he would, and they needed to sort this out sooner rather than later.

So, Edmund headed to St. Hilda's.