Page 83 of Lucky 14

Wyatt doesn’t listen. “Why did he bring you here?”

I don’t have the answers. I just stare at the man, wondering if I could get his eyeballs up his nose. In my fuzzy state, I realize that he has the mean, bad-boy look down. Why does he have to be hot?

Hot? Oh my god, I’m hallucinating. I’ve officially lost my mind.

I think Wyatt continues to ask me questions, but the world is pretty fuzzy until, finally, I recognize a flash of rage settle over his face. I think for a second he’s going to kill me, but then he turns on his heel to leave.

“Wait!” I gasp. He can’t go without getting me water without at least giving me a chance to fight him in my death throes.

He doesn’t stop.

Slowly, my eyes roll to the clock. It’s seven AM. Again. “Two days?” I say it, not sure why. It doesn’t matter.

“I’ll die,” I rasp. I mean it as an emotionless statement. More of a statement of fact.

I’ll die before I get to kill him, and that makes me fucking sad.

Wyatt comes back from around the corner, and I force my fuzzy vision to focus on him.

For the briefest second, something flashes across Wyatt’s face. It looks a lot like…confusion?

Then, he’s gone.

Gone.

Walked away.

I can’t process it. Instead, I stare at where he disappeared. I wonder where they’ll bury me. I wonder if archeologists in a hundred years will dig up my bones. I wonder if they’ll be able to tell how I died. Can you tell if someone died from dehydration from their bones?

I start letting out bursts of air that are supposed to be a laugh. So silly. Dehydrated bones.

There’s movement in my periphery.

Oh cool. He’s back. Maybe they won’t have to water-test my bones. Maybe a cracked skull will do the trick.

When I open my eyes again, I feel like I can only focus one eye at a time. Wyatt is standing there, a cup in his hands.

A paper cup.

That sobers me enough to focus both my eyes. Water.

“Why are you here?”

I try to sit up to get to the cup.

“Why are you here?”

Slowly, I remember my arms are tied, so I can’t reach the cup anyway. Then, miracle of miracles, Wyatt brings the cup of water to my lips. At least, it looks like water.

I have one last rational thought: the water is poisoned. Vaguely, I recognize the centipede poisoned me already. Would this make a double poisoning?

I flick my gaze up to Wyatt’s, fuzzy tongue licking my cracked lips. I’d spit on him if I could, but I make sure to include all the hatred I can in my gaze.

I’m certain he’ll laugh in my face. Maybe hit me.

But he doesn’t. He just looks at me, eyes narrowing, darting all over my face, like he’s memorizing every detail.

“Your eyes are sunken.” He says it like it surprises him.