Читать книгу The New Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist perfect for fans of Friend Request - Ingrid Alexandra - Страница 7

I heave over the basin, but there’s nothing left to come up. I spit, turn on the tap and splash my face. It’s bad this time, worse than usual. But I know it won’t stop me. I’ll only do it again.

Gulping a mouthful of stale water from the mug on the sink, I take a deep breath and tiptoe out of the bathroom. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lead to the balcony, making me squint. The sky glares sapphire blue, the overzealous shrieks of children and families drift up from the shore below. People out and about, doing whatever it is regular people do on a Sunday afternoon.

Cat is in the open-plan kitchen by the counter, bent forward and shaking out her shower-wet hair. Her fingers comb the long, raven-black strands and fat beads of water drip onto the kitchen floor.

‘I’m still freaking out about that accident,’ she says through her hair. ‘You could have been killed.’

I watch her upside-down face, forcing down my irritation. I could slip in the puddle she’s making and crack my skull on the tiles. Then I might really be killed. ‘It’s nothing, just a dent.’

‘It’s not the car I’m worried about.’ Cat tilts her head, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. I wonder if she knows I lied about how much I’d had before getting behind the wheel.

I sip the coffee she’s made me but it tastes too bitter. ‘The car barely hit me. Nothing a little buffing can’t get rid of.’

‘Which I’ll sort out,’ Ben interjects, winking at me over his shoulder as he nudges past Cat to get to the kitchen sink. He pours himself a glass of water and swallows it back in three large gulps. ‘Once the hangover wears off.’

‘Ugh. I guarantee mine’s worse than yours,’ Cat moans, flipping herself back upright and pushing her wet hair over her shoulder as she leans against the kitchen counter. She looks fine to me. I’m positive I’m the most hung-over. ‘Whose idea was it to crack open the vodka?’

Ben and I exchange a look, but before I can be found guilty, Cat’s phone rings and she jumps, knocking over the empty cocktail pitcher. It clatters loudly into the sink and my head pounds in response. ‘Shit. I’ll get that in a sec. This could be about the room.’

Retrieving the pitcher, I make a half-hearted attempt at clearing some of the house-warming collateral while Cat takes the call.

Ben steps over a squashed lime wedge and right into the puddle on the floor. He slips and yelps, arms shooting out, hands finding my shoulders and clamping on. His fingers dig into my flesh.

I gasp, my chest contracting. Ben’s laughing, his feet skidding on the floor. Suddenly the ground slips out from under me and my spine connects with something hard. Spots of light dance before my eyes.

‘What are you two doing?’ Cat shakes her head, one hand on her hip, the other holding her phone in the air. ‘You both look retarded.’ She looks at me and her brow furrows. ‘Mary?’

I shake my head, ducking to hide the tears. When I look up, Ben’s there, his face close. His irises are a strange colour – not quite brown, not quite green.

‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’ he asks.

I can’t answer; my throat is too tight.

‘Sorry …’ Ben says again, but his kindness is too much. I turn away. Ben lets me go, clears his throat. ‘You know,’ he says, addressing Cat, ‘it’s actually your fault we’re in this … situation.’ He points to the tiles, which are now more grubby and smeared than wet.

Cat ignores him. ‘Good news! I think we might have a candidate for our new roomie!’

‘Seriously?’ I say. The last few applicants have been less than desirable, particularly the creepy middle-aged guy who wouldn’t stop staring at Cat’s cleavage.

‘Yup. She’s our age, I think, doing some kind of arts degree at uni. She works part-time and she’s available right away.’

‘Another girl?’ Ben moans, then pauses. ‘Did she sound hot?’

Cat narrows her eyes. ‘You have a girlfriend. And I only spoke to her on the phone. How the hell should I know if she’s hot?’

Ben shakes his head sagely. ‘You can tell. And Gia isn’t my girlfriend. She’s just a friend.’

‘Does she know that?’ Rolling her eyes, Cat turns to me. ‘What do you think? Are you okay to meet her later?’

‘Sure,’ I say with a shrug, but anxiety whispers across my chest at the thought of meeting someone new. I try to ignore it.

‘Great!’ Cat squeals. ‘I’ll just text her to see when she’s available, okay?’

‘No worries.’ I step out of the kitchen and take a moment to breathe.

Eagle-eyed Cat pauses in her texting and slings an arm around my shoulder. ‘You okay there?’

I manage a smile, though I’m still edgy.

‘It’s better here, isn’t it?’ Cat gestures to the high-security intercom system with its intricate array of buttons. ‘I’m glad we’re here. I feel safer, don’t you?’ She smiles in that goofy, affectionate way that only an old friend can and wraps me in her arms.

As I inhale the smell of coconut shampoo and childhood, the waves of the past whoosh and roar in my ears.