Conflicted

by Missy Johnson

  “Look, I’m sorry…” I shake my head. “I don’t even know your name—”

  “Eva,” she cuts in, her bright eyes lighting up.

  “Eva,” I repeat. “Look, I’m not good with this whole spilling my heart kind of thing. It’s not for me. What is for me is drinking until I can’t remember what the fuck is bothering me, so if you want to help me then keep these coming.” I pick up my glass and tip the contents down my throat, my head spinning as it burns its way down my gullet. “It would be appreciated.”

  “Okay, well if you change your mind you know where to find me.” She shrugs and stands up. Before I can stop her, she has my phone in her hand.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, too shocked to do anything but laugh.

  “Giving you my number,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact. I catch the phone as she tosses it back to me. “In case you change your mind, or if you need me to talk you off the ledge of a ten-story building.”

  She’s gone before I can respond, which I’m glad about, because I have no idea what the fuck to say to that. Does she really think I’m on the verge of doing something stupid? Am I? Maybe she can see something I can’t. I watch her as she hangs up her apron and grabs her bag from under the bar. She says something to the other girl serving and struts towards the door, leaving me to try and figure her the fuck out. Maybe that was just her way of hitting on me?

  Lacey would love this. She’s always joking that women throw themselves at me, and maybe I do get more than my fair share of attention, but this is a first. Even I’m not used to women being this forward. I shake my head and examine my empty glass. I should be getting home.

  Getting up, I make my way to the bar and fix up my tab. I’m a little shaky on my feet, so I decide to walk it off. Even I’m not stupid enough to drive.

  **

  The light nearly blinds me as I crack my eyes open. Groaning, I roll over, nearly falling off the couch in the process. The phone vibrates under me. I fish around for it, realizing that’s probably what woke me up in the first place. I eventually grasp hold of it. Pulling it up to my ear, I press answer.

  “Hello?” I mumble, my voice barely audible.

  “Are you serious? You’re still in bed?” Lacey’s voice screeches through the line.

  I wince and sit up, cradling my throbbing head in my hands. “I’m not in bed,” I mutter. At least I’m being honest.

  “You were supposed to pick us up half hour ago.”

  Oh shit. I jump to my feet and grab my jeans off the floor, shuffling myself into them.

  “This whole thing was your idea, Lucas. I honestly can’t think of a worse way to spend my day than at this stupid festival. What is it with you and wasting my time lately?”

  “Sorry, I’ll be there in five, I promise.” I slam the phone down before she can reply. My head pounds, making me regret drinking so much the night before. All I really want is to spend the day in bed, nursing my hangover, but I can’t. I tell myself that it’s because when I make a promise, I keep it, but even I know that’s bullshit. The real reason is I don’t want to pass up an opportunity to spend the day with Lacey.

  Lace arches her eyebrow and glares at me when she opens the passenger door.

  “What?” I ask, defensive. Do I look that bad?

  Ariel slides into the back and lets out a loud snort.

  “Jesus, did you bathe in whiskey this morning?”

  Oh fuck. I lift my hand to my mouth and breathe. I didn’t even consider that I might still be over the limit. Lacey sighs and motions for me to get out. I don’t argue, but then I remember she can’t drive manual.

  “No, but she can,” Lace says, nodding towards Ariel.

  Ariel rolls her eyes and climbs over the back seat into the front, muttering under her breath something about staying in bed. I get into the back and slam the door, annoyed at how shit the day has begun. I hope this isn’t an indication of the rest of it.

  “Where did you go last night?” asks Lace. Her blue eyes study me as I avoid her gaze. I can’t tell her the truth, but lying and saying I got drunk at home doesn’t sound much better. “You must have been really tired,” she adds when I don’t answer.

  “A friend called as I was leaving your place, begging me to go out for a drink.” I shrug, as if it was no big deal. “So I did.” I close my eyes and hunch down in the seat, hoping she takes the hint that the conversation has ended. She does, and as we drive along I listen to her chatter with Ariel.

  My head is still pounding when we pull into the parking lot of the bar half an hour later. I fumble under the front seat for a half-empty bottle of water that is God knows how old and pop a few Advil in my mouth. My throat feels like sandpaper as I force the pills down. I’m never drinking again. But even I know that’s a lie.

  I follow the girls into the bar. We wade through the crowd of people and find a booth near the back. I’m shocked at the number of people that have turned up, considering it’s a Tuesday. But then again, they’ve been advertising this thing all over the community boards at the university. What student is going to pass up cheap booze and good music?

  Speaking of which, I wince. The music is too loud and I’m fucking cold. I’m feeling more and more like going home as the seconds pass. I all but collapse into the booth and rest my head in my hands. I fumble in my pocket for my phone and realise I’ve left it at home.

  Fuck.

  “Are you okay?” Lace asks. She leans over and touches my hand, the action making me jump. Her touch feels electric.

  I force myself to sit up, because I know if I don’t at least try to act normal there will be a shitload of questions being fired at me.

  “I’m fine,” I assure her. “Last night just turned into a much later night than I was anticipating. I’m still waking up.”

  “Yeah, well I hope you feel better than you look.” She hesitates. “You’d tell me if there was something wrong, right? You can tell me anything.” Before I can answer, Ariel is back with her arms full of drinks, chatting about some guy she met at the bar who is in one of the bands. Lacey giggles and swoons with her, but glances over at me, her eyes full of concern. I wink, letting her know I’m okay, even if I’m not really.

  As the day goes on, my mood improves as my headache eases. I’m having more fun than I’ve had in a while, right up until some dude starts flirting with Lace. I watch, my stomach churning, as he leans against the wall next to where she’s standing in line at the bar, and laughs at something she’s said. Her face colours and she grins. Just like that, I’m back to wishing I’d just stayed in bed.

  “Could you be any more obvious?”

  My heart pounding, I glance over at Ariel, who is smirking at me. Am I really that transparent? Fuck, I hope not.

  “What?” is all I can muster. I focus on reaching over for a glass and filling it with beer from the jug sitting in the middle of the table. I’m not sure my stomach can handle more alcohol at the moment, but I force it down anyway.

  “The way you’re staring at her. Or more him. Anyone can see you have a thing for her.”

  Anyone? I glance over at Lacey. My heart begins to thump out of control as the sweats begin to set in.

  “Well, almost anyone,” Ariel adds, as if reading my mind.

  I think about denying it, but what’s the point? I’ll only dig myself a deeper hole. Besides, so fucking what? It’s not like I’m going to do anything about it. Except maybe drag that fuckstick outside and beat the crap out of him. I chuckle to myself. Yep, that would lift my mood.

  “Are you going to say anything?” asks Ariel, arching her eyebrow. I scowl at her and she hold her hands up defensively. “I mean, you’re not denying it. If I’m wrong, tell me.”

  “What business is it of yours?” I ask. I’m sick her trying to interfere, especially when it comes to trying to hook Lacey up. “Maybe you should be focusing on your own love life, because last time I checked, it wasn’t all that great.”

  Ariel’s mouth drops open, her green
eyes filled with hurt.

  I sigh, because I know that was a cuntish thing to say. “Look, I’m not into Lacey. I just worry about some loser hurting her. She deserves better.”

  “You’re right,” Ariel agrees, “she does deserve better. Better than some guy who can’t man up and admit that he likes her. It’s your loss. She’s not going to be single forever, and one day you’re going to wake up and realise your chance has passed. And you’ll be kicking yourself.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” I mutter. She’s right and I hate her for it.

  We both shut up as Lacey wanders back over to us carrying a tray of drinks. She sets it down on the table and glances from me to Ariel.

  “Everything okay?” she asks, the tension between the two of us obvious.

  “Sure it is. What do you think of the band?” I ask. I reach over for my beer and take a sip, half listening to her talk. My tactic worked, and I’ve managed to redirect the conversation. I laugh and tease her about her lack of taste as Ariel glares at me.

  Maybe she’s right, but that doesn’t give her the right to stick her nose into things that don’t concern her. In the back of my mind, I’m worried, though. If Ariel has figured it out, how long do I have until Lacey figures out I’m in love with her?

  By the time I get home, I’m finally beginning to sober up. I grab my phone from the off the coffee table and check my messages. A number I don’t recognise pops up. It takes me a second to realise who it is. I click on the message.

  Eva: Thought I’d better make sure you were still alive.

  I chuckle and flop down onto the couch. I click Reply and type out a message.

  Me: Still alive. How did you get my number?

  Eva: You gave it to me. Well, I gave it to myself when I took your phone. I sent myself a message.

  Me: Smart girl.

  Eva: Some people might say that. Others might describe it as more stalkerish.

  I laugh again. I like Eva and her sense of humour. I’ve only known her a day, but I’m liking her a lot. She’s so easy to talk to. I click Reply.

  Me: Yeah, well, you haven’t really lived until you’ve been stalked.

  Eva: I know several celebrities who might disagree with that. Wasn’t Whitney Houston murdered by a stalker?

  Me: I’m pretty sure that was a movie, and I don’t think she was actually murdered.

  I press Send and shake my head. At least she has me smiling. I have no idea why the girl has attached herself to me, but for the moment I don’t mind. If annoying me gives her something to do, then good for her.

  My stomach growls at me. I get up and walk over to the fridge, surprised to find it’s full of food. Chuckling, I pull out a yoghurt and peel the top off. I knew he’d give in and shop. He always does.

  The rest of my evening plays out pretty low key. I do some laundry and study for my last exam—not that I’ll ever admit it to Lacey. I wouldn’t want to damage the “I couldn’t care less” approach to school she thinks I have. Regardless of what she thinks, I do give a shit about passing my course. I want to make something of myself; it’s just I find it hard to focus on that when the rest of my life is such a mess. Rather than have Lacey pity me, I pretend I don’t care.

  Because it’s easier that way, and it’s the only thing in my life right now that’s easy.

  Chapter Six

  Lacey

  I step inside the elevator, my hands shaking. I wipe a layer of sweat onto the side of my skirt and try to steady my breathing. Just as the doors begin to close, they swing open again. I look up and into the eyes of Aaron Wilmot. My eyes widen as my hands begin to shake harder. I grip one in the other to cover the fact that I’m losing the plot. If I wasn’t nervous enough before, now all I can think about is how good he smells, standing less than a metre away from me. The photos I found when stalking his Facebook page don’t do him justice. He looks incredible in his expensive-looking suit. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and a light shadow covers his strong jawline. My daydream is interrupted by the abrupt halt of the cart. The doors swing open and Aaron marches out. I follow, trying to focus on anything but his arse.

  He disappears into an office and the spell is broken. I swallow the lump in my throat and approach the receptionist’s desk. I introduce myself, shocked when she directs me straight down to his office. I was counting on having the waiting time to compose myself.

  Taking a deep breath, I knock gently on his open door. He calls for me to come in. My legs feel like jelly as I walk inside. He watches me from his desk, his dark eyes narrowed as if he’s taking in every inch of me. I blush as my nipples harden under his intense gaze. If he recognises me from the elevator moments ago, he doesn’t show it.

  The edge of his mouth creeps up into a smirk as I approach his desk. God, I’m shaking. How can he have this effect on me? It’s like I’m walking towards a movie star I’ve been waiting to meet all my life.

  “Ms. Anderson, I presume?” he says, sitting back in his chair. He raises an eyebrow and peers at me, his stare intense.

  I nod, my cheeks growing warmer as I sit down. I extend my hand out over his desk and almost sigh as he places his against it. Soft and warm, his touch lingers before I quickly retreat, resting both hands awkwardly in my lap. He grins, as if he’s enjoying my reaction. I wonder what he’s thinking. Am I like this around him because I find him attractive or because of who he is in the world of criminal law?

  “Yes. I’m one of the applicants for the internship,” I mumble, the words sticking in my throat. I cringe. Why else would I be sitting at his desk at 4 p.m., my allotted interview time slot? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wilmot,” I add. “I can’t tell you how much I admire you.”

  “Thank you,” he says graciously, as though he hears those words every day. “Let me start by telling you a bit about what I’m offering. You’re probably wondering why I’ve decided to direct this internship at psychology students, considering it is not my main area of expertise.”

  “Sort of,” I admit, my voice squeaking. Relief washes over me. I’m glad I’m not the one who had to bring that up, because if it were left to me, I probably wouldn’t have asked. “I mean I don’t doubt I could learn a lot from you, but I was shocked when my professor told me what you were offering.”

  “Are you familiar with Duane Fairgone?” he asks, studying my expression intently.

  “Of course,” I nervously reply, wondering what he has to do with anything.

  Duane had been charged with the alleged murder of fourteen-year-old Amanda Parkenson the previous year. I’d been following the case in some of my classes. What he did to that girl makes me feel sick—especially because it hits so close to home.

  Nearly fifteen years ago, my cousin Allie disappeared on the way to school when she was thirteen, ten miles from where Amanda had last been seen. I was only seven when Allie went missing. I don’t remember much about her, other than thinking she was incredibly pretty. I remember wishing I would grow up and be as pretty as she was. Only she never got to grow up. Her body was found nine months later in a shallow grave in a reserve a few hundred metres from her home.

  “What does he have to do with this internship?” I ask, pressing my lips together. Thinking about Allie makes me upset, and I’m struggling to contain my emotions. As much as I admire Aaron, Allie is a big reason why I could never do what he does.

  “I’ll be representing him,” he responds. “If you’re successful, you will be assisting me with the preparation for his trial.”

  “You’re representing him?” I repeat, my mouth dry. My heart begins to pound as anxiety starts to set in.

  “Yes,” Aaron confirms. “Is there something you’d like to say?” He raises his eyebrows in a way that makes me feel unprofessional.

  “No,” I say hastily. “I’m just…” My voice trails off. I wish I could start this whole thing over. He probably thinks I’m an idiot who can barely string a sentence together. I close my eyes and try to put my thoughts together. I want
to say something, to try and explain why I’m acting this way, but what’s the point? There is no way I’m getting this role.

  Sighing, Aaron sits forward, his eyes locking on mine. “If you are going to have an issue with this, I need to know now, Ms. Anderson. Everyone, including those suspected of raping and murdering young girls, has the right to a fair trial.”

  “I realise that. I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” I reply, my tone harsher than I’d intended. I run my hand over my clammy arm, horrified by what his impression of me must be. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give the impression that I wasn’t capable of being impartial. I promise you I am.”

  “Good,” he replies before I can continue. “Because in this field you need to be. You’re going to come across many people over the course of your career who have done things that will make your stomach turn. You think this is bad?” He laughs. “You have no idea. Your job is to push past that and ensure they’re treated fairly. You’re either able to handle that or you’re not.”

  “I can handle it, I assure you,” I say, with more confidence than I feel.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he replies. “Why don’t you tell me why you think you deserve this internship.”

  “Because…” I go blank. If there is one thing I struggle with, it’s admitting that I deserve anything. Why should he give it to me? I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound stupid. “Because I’m a hard worker,” I finally say. “And because I think I can learn a lot from you.”

  He nods, a slight smile on his lips as he examines my application. A flicker of recognition passes his eyes. “You go to Sydney University?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “A solid school. And your marks are very strong. Academically you’re probably the strongest out of all the applicants, but I’m not convinced this is something you really want.”

  I stare at him, alarmed. Am I really giving him that vibe?

  “I promise you I want this more than anyone else you’ve interviewed,” I say, my voice bordering on pleading.