only yours darling

The lingering haze of last night's excess clung to Madelyn like a second skin. Her head throbbed in rhythm with the insistent rumble of her stomach, a brutal reminder of her current state.
"Fucking starving," she mumbled, pushing herself up from the tangled sheets. The room spun for a moment, then settled. She reached for her phone, its screen a beacon in the dim light of her bedroom. With a few taps, an absurdly large breakfast order was placed, enough to feed a small army, or at least one very hungover club owner.
The mirror in her bathroom offered a grotesque reflection. "You look like death warmed over, Maddy," she chastised, wincing at her disheveled appearance. A quick, practiced skincare routine, then the doorbell chimed, a glorious sound. Food. She practically sprinted to the door, three bags of salvation clutched in her arms.