Page 82 of Lucky 14

My stomach growls, but I ignore it. I’m sure I could figure out a way to get food here. Apply for a card under Dad’s name or something. But as I stare at the sparkling lights, I can’t find the energy to care. I can survive off a bag of rice and some old peeps. That part doesn’t matter.

They forgot about me, and it makes my shoulders want to curl in on my body. Makes me want to lie in bed, close my eyes, and never get back up again. Would anyone at school care?

Doubtful. They treated me with pity for a few weeks after Connor died, and then they seemed to expect me to get over it. To forget it. They went back to their lives like nothing had happened. Like Connor’s kind, bubbly spirit never existed.

If something happened to me while they were gone, would they do the same for me?

As I stare at the floor, I realize with a sickening sensation that they would. In fact, it’s almost like they already have.

I’m not sure how long it takes me to come back to the present. I’m not sure what the present is anymore. He left me. Oakley, the man who took me…Elijah, Connor…it doesn’t matter.

No one has come. Because in the end, people always leave me, for one reason or another.

I stare at those same three grains of dirt. One is bigger than the rest. Did it get caught in a tread? Was it there to witness someone’s last moments? An end that was only seen by those who don’t care. An end that will be forgotten.

Against my will, tears prick my eyes. I’m shocked I even have any moisture left to get one out. I spent years and years going through school to help other people not feel alone. Learning every disorder I could and trying to understand their inner workings so people could heal. So no one felt forgotten.

So no one felt like I did.

And as I stare at those pieces of dirt, I can’t help but realize this is a fitting end for me. Alone, forgotten, on the bathroom floor.

There’s a noise outside. It’s a deep explosion, like a firework or…cannon.

I freeze. The floor shivers, like the building can feel the evil in this place.

Then there’s screaming. Yelling, like coyotes excited and giddy to rip their prey to shreds.

The hunters. There are so many of them. They have a community. Family. Even though they’re the worst people possibly to exist.

And that makes me angry. It makes me deeply, bone-achingly angry. I want to dig my fingers into them and rip them apart. Separate them from their clones and throw them all across the island like pieces of purple peeps. I want to tear their eyes off, pull their ears off their heads, rip their bellies open. Separate them from what they love.

Show them how it feels to be me.

My breathing is heavy when I hear noise at the door, much closer than the normal noise of the hotel. I hold my breath. I’m not stupid enough to scream. No. I won’t give them the satisfaction.

The door opens. I scramble to face the door and sit up.

A man strides in, a half-skull mask on his face. Recognition makes me freeze. It’s the man from the golf cart.

Wyatt.

He almost passes the bathroom, does a double-take, and stops to face me. Something flashes in his gaze. He looks at me like a wolf looks at its prey, hungry and calculating.

Wyatt doesn’t give me a second to breathe, just rips the mask off his head and stalks toward me, with a short beard on his face and hair in a top knot. He has a handsome face, all harsh angles and dark eyes. He looks…slightly familiar. But not like I’ve ever seen him before, but like I’ve seen a version of him in a dream.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Wyatt strides into the bathroom with one giant step, snatching me by the arm and lifting me up. Not being able to stand, I trip, him holding all my weight with one hand. He doesn’t even falter, just carries me to the bed and tosses me there.

I hiss, throat hoarse, unable to get out words.

“No need for games, I know who you’re working for.”

I snarl at him, the man behind the skull mask who thinks he can cheat death. His eyes would look pretty smeared across the floor. He can’t cheat death if he unties me.

He just stares at me with a weight of hatred behind his eyes. Hatred for me. Like I’m the one who did something. Which just confuses me, but with the fuzziness from the lack of water, I can’t figure it out.

Water.

I can’t fight him without a drink. I open my mouth, my first word in I don’t know how long coming out rough, “Water.”