He keeps shaking his head. “I had the guy play it back four times.” He shrugs like his words aren’t breaking me. “It wasn’t there.”

“That’s not poss—”

I’m so stupid. I told Taylor about the footage. But there’s no way she could have—

My head shakes. I’ve underestimated her before. I don’t want to do it again.

“Look, we’ll figure out a different way,” Nate says, but I barely hear him.

There is no different way. That footage was my only hope of proving my alibi outside of Nate’s word that I was with him all night, and now it’s gone.

It was her. I know it was her.

I’m too tired for this. I feel drained. Numb.

I look up at Nate, my body heavy and limp like I’ve been dragged a hundred miles. It’s only been three days in there, but it felt ten times as long. “Just take me home.”

He flags down a taxi and helps me inside like I’m some battered princess who can’t do anything for herself, but in some ways, that’s exactly what I feel like. Totally and completely defeated. Nate wraps an arm around me and holds it there the entire ride downtown. I lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as silent tears roll down my face.

When we pull up in front of our building, I barely move. I want Nate to pick me up and carry me in his arms, but of course I don’t ask. I don’t say anything. I can’t. My mind is moving too fast. I can’t keep up with any of my thoughts.

As soon as we step out of the car, it happens.

Bright lights.

Fifty cameras flashing at once.

A cacophony of shouting people, some screaming, waving microphones, thrusting them in my face.

I don’t know where to look.

I feel Nate’s hand grip mine and I grip his back. “Ignore them. Keep your head down.”

I try to ignore them, but their overlapping words echo inside my head until they sound something like pain.

When we walk inside, all I can think about is getting this stale smell off my skin. “I’m getting a shower,” I tell Nate, not pausing to look back at him. He says okay and lets me be.

I walk right into the bathroom and start stripping out of my clothes. I avoid the mirror. I can’t look at myself like this. I know I look horrible. Like all the life has been sucked out of me.

I turn on the spray and wait for the water to warm up before stepping in. I stay under the pounding heat for as long as I can, until the heat doesn’t feel good anymore, then I grab a bottle of shampoo off the shelf and start to wash my hair.