Page 62 of Lucky 14

Vaguely, I recognize the symptomology of disassociation. Disconnection from the body. Disconnection from emotions. Body…floating.

I try to remember how to fix it, but what little memories I do have of that past life are of late-night study sessions where I wanted to give up. Do I remember nothing?

I feel hot. Sticky. Somewhere, I know I have to be thirsty, but all I feel is vague nausea.

I have a feeling that smashing a rock into someone might help. Maybe smashing a rock into myself. Pain is a great way to break the brain out of disassociating. Either that or it’ll drive me all the way inside, and I’ll never come back out again.

Somewhere behind me, I hear the sound of someone moving through the forest. Instinctively, I drop down to the ground. The pressure on my leg erupts in a flare of pain, and I blink.

My leg. The pain breaks through my fog, pulsing in an SOS.

Not safe. Not safe. Not safe.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to retreat again. Only, the sounds of the person get louder. I look around for a rock to grab. I realize slowly that I’m in a rocky, grassy area where the trees are a lot thinner than they normally are. And right in front of me is a perfect rock with jagged edges.

I look behind me to see who it is I’m going to kill, and that’s when I see him. He’s tall, with a pointed jawline, full lips, and dark eyebrows.

I blink, and slowly, recognition falls over me. It’s the man. The one who chased me on the beach.

For a heart-stopping moment, everything freezes. Him again? This isn’t an accident. He’s determined to kill me.

I’ve stopped breathing, face hot, pulse pounding in my neck.

The man stops, looking down at something. His dark hair falls into his face. The kind of face that I would have thought attractive before. Now, the sight turns my stomach. This might be the last person I see before I die.

But not before he dies first.

The realization hits me, waking me up just enough to feel it. It’s still like I’m in jello and the outside world is so far away. But now death is staring me in the face, pounding the walls to get in, vibrating in my skull.

Death, death, death.

The man looks up, scanning the field, then starts walking directly toward me.

My heart pounds, blood rushing in my ears as I wait. I don’t want to give away my position before he’s close enough to hit.

He gets closer, and I can see the large bruise on his head. A knife strapped to his belt.

The man takes one more step, and I scramble to my feet with a cry. I dart toward him, my body humming with adrenaline. Suddenly, everything is crisp again, and the fog is gone.

I will survive.

The man lets out a startled sound, and then I’m on him, swinging my rock down. At the last second, he ducks, and my rock slams into his backpack, hitting it so hard I lose my grip.

My backpack is jerked backwards, and the straps yank into my shoulders, pulling me back. Scrambling, I twist and shift, trying to get the backpack off.

He’s saying something, but I can’t hear it.

The straps slip off, and I’m darting toward a small, thin tree, then a hand catches my wrist. Immediately, I turn, clawing at the man’s face.

“Fuck.” He ducks, pressing into me and making me stumble back. He follows, still gripping my wrist, and I swing, trying to hit the vulnerable injury on his head.

“I’m sorry!”

Scanning the ground, I look for another rock.

Then, he’s whipping me around by my wrist, twisting my arm up into my back. My chest hits something hard, and I realize he’s pressed me into that tree.

“Don’t hit me again. Please.”