Free Conspiracy Girl by Sarah Alderson Page B

They’re still hollowed out with pain, though now they have a
guarded look to them, as though she trusts no one. She looks at everyone and everything as though it’s about to attack her – and who can blame her? Despite that though, and despite how
hard she tries to mask it, her vulnerability still shines through. She purses her lips a lot, holds her head high, stares at you like she’s trying to stare
through
you, but the tough
act, is just that: an act. The fear is masked but still there. It’s something she seems to wrestle with, a beast that’s bruising her from the inside out. If she doesn’t find a way
to let it out then one day it’s going to destroy her. I should know. I’m an expert on these things.
    She strides over to me then, her arms crossed over her chest. ‘I need to make some calls.’
    I sit up and face her. ‘Who do you need to call?’ I ask, rubbing a hand over my eyes. The coffee is buzzing through my system but I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours so
it’s not making much of a dent.
    ‘I need to let my teachers know.’
    ‘I already let school know you’ll be out for a few weeks.’
    ‘What?’ she hisses angrily.
    I shrug at her. ‘I told them it was a family emergency.’
    She stares down at her feet and her face contorts. After a few seconds she looks up, throwing back her shoulders. ‘How long am I going to have to stay here?’ she asks.
    I’ve been wondering about that too. The truth is I have no idea. ‘As long as it takes,’ I tell her. In some cases the witness has to go into protective custody for years.
‘Hopefully not too long,’ I add quickly, thinking about how that might pan out.
    ‘Come on,’ I say before she has a chance to start pacing the rooftop, or before that beast of hers has a chance to crap all over my fake grass. ‘I’ll show you what I
found out while you were sleeping.’

NIC
    ‘I just need to use the bathroom,’ I say, once he lets us back into his apartment. I feel like a school kid having to ask permission from my teacher and it annoys
me. I grab my bag and head towards the door Finn points to, feeling his eyes following me the entire way.
    Once safely locked inside his bathroom I lean against the wall and take a few deep breaths. Sweat prickles my skin and I rip off my sweater. For a moment I cover my face with my hands and try to
get a handle on everything I’m feeling. Though what I’m feeling is an all-consuming terror and that’s not so easy to get a handle on. I’m scared I’m going to have a
panic attack. I try to remember what Dr Phipps taught me about focusing on my breathing. As I concentrate on that and on slowing my heart rate, I take a look around.
    The bathroom is big. An old-fashioned bathtub sits in the centre of the space, with a lambskin rug laid out in front of it. Antique candlesticks are arranged around the bath. Over in one corner
is a walk-in shower with a glass wall. An old wood-burning stove rests against the far wall. The sink is made from copper and inlaid into a slab of wood. It’s like a shoot for
Elle
Decor
. Not what I expected. Though I’m not sure what I expected from someone like Finn. Judging from the rest of his apartment I’d have thought something minimal – something
more male and distinctly less boudoiry.
    I walk wearily to the sink and, taking a deep breath, stare into the mirror. I look like death; pale, wrung out, exhausted. I splash water on my face and then open the cabinet, looking to see if
Finn owns a spare toothbrush. Of course he does. He has two pink toothbrushes in his cabinet, unopened in their packets, lying there neatly beside three boxes of condoms, a fifty-dollar bottle of
massage oil, some aftershave and an electric razor.
    I slam the cabinet with a bang, deciding to finger brush my teeth because I wouldn’t want to deprive any future one-night stands of their rightful toothbrush.
    Then I remember my bag. I think I packed some toiletries, but then again, I