Nine

Conrad doesn't sleep too well.

When she finally managed to fall asleep, she kept waking every few minutes, every little sound in the house startling her until she gave up on sleeping and settled for merely resting with her eyes closed.

She opens her eyes when she hears Atlas moving around downstairs, reluctantly climbing out of bed.

She was cosy under all of her blankets and sheets, but if she doesn't get up soon, she won't move.

The doorbell rings, and she can hear him hurrying to answer it while she plods into her bathroom, brushing her teeth and combing her hair.

She looks at her bra on the desk chair, and then back over to her baggy hoodie, going for the hoodie instead.

Comfort over style, as always, Jane complains.

Don't make me put a bra on you; I'll do it, and then I'll watch you try to be happy, Conrad snipes at her, shaking her head as she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She looks how she feels: a bit like death.

She stuffs her feet into her slippers, walking down