Page 21 of Ramshackle
I think of Jackson. I’ll stare at the tattoo on my forearm, touching it to remind myself that it’s real. That his love for me was real. He took on an entire city of corrupt GE members on his own for me. We promised each other there would be no sacrifices. I’m sure he’s furious with me right now. I repeat the words tattooed on my arm over and over again as a reminder to myself of why I can’t give in.
I think of Kellan. Of his promises to me and how he swore he would never let me go again. I picture the look on his face when he told me not to go with Jack. How much pain was there when I went with him anyway, leaving him behind. And then doing it again through the portal while Holt had him trapped.
I think of Aiden. Of what happened in the locker room and how that somehow felt like the most honest,realmoment between the two of us. And then how his face dropped when I lied to him that it didn’t mean anything to me. I was hurt and angry, but I hear you see things more clearly when looking back. Something was happening between us, but I ruined it before it had a chance to unfold.
I think of Dane. I hope he’s able to sway Vera back to their side so they can be happy together again. I hope she reads his notebook. We had just worked out peace between us, and I wanted to earn his trust back. Did this do it?
And, of course, I remember Elias and Portia. I swore an oath to destroy GE so she can return home.
I run through these memories every night before falling asleep, hoping they’ll be enough for me to keep my head and my heart away from Gordon.
But after weeks on end with no improvement in sight, I’m worried that I’m losing this battle.
The guests that Gordon spoke of finally showed up a few weeks ago. It’s a chance for allies against GE. Or even justsomeoneto talk to who isn’t Gordon, Holt, or myself.
One morning, the dining hall that had been an eerie, echoing room by myself, was filled with two dozen others. The ages ranged from children to pre-teens, with the oldest-looking one probably a decade younger than me.
It reminds me of my younger years with the guys on the island. Back in our earlier days when the school and training seemed like something fun and cool. There’s no sign of fear or anger riding them as they chatter excitedly amongst themselves.
At least, there was no fear until they noticed I had walked in the room.
Trying to sit or talk with any of them was pointless after the third table got up and left. A clear buffer of tables surrounded whichever table I sat at. They whispered behind my back or shot looks of fear my way if I so much as looked at them.
She’s dangerous.
I couldn’t hear what they said but could feel it nonetheless.
Fucking Gordon.
So, even with a room full of people now at breakfast, I still sit alone in my own table-sized bubble weeks later. I tried at first to eavesdrop and learn what I could, maybe see if I could work my way into a conversation or someone’s favor. But when all those attempts failed miserably, I stopped trying.
I stab my fork into the scrambled eggs and start in on my plate. If nothing else, I like the buzz of chatter around me when I eat now rather than the awkward silence I’d had to deal withbefore. I can almost pretend I’m not alone during meal times, even though these people may as well be back in the States for how close they are to me.
A plate appears on my table a few seats down, and I stop eating to look up. I’m half-expecting it to be Holt, coming to insult me to warm me up for Gordon this morning.
A little girl sits there without a word. Her blonde hair is straight with mild waves, and there’s a headband pushing the hair back from her face. She’s wearing a purple dress that looks more like dress-up than everyday wear.
She finally looks at me with her big blue eyes. “Are you a bad guy?”
I swallow the egg still in my mouth. “I’m sorry?”
The girl shrugs and starts picking at her plate. “It’s what everyone’s saying. That you’re bad and scary and to stay away from you. But I’ve been watching you, and you haven’t done anything scary. So, I think they’re wrong and wanted to come and see. Do you think you’re a bad guy?”
Talk about a loaded question.But I remind myself that she’s just a little kid and to keep it simple. Do I think, at my core, I’m a bad person? “No. I don’t.”
She smiles at me and nods. “Me neither.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, returning to my eggs while she devours her pancakes.
“Mallory. What’s yours?”
“Raegan. How old are you, Mallory?”
“Six,” she answers with her mouth stuffed.
I nod and take another bite of my eggs. “Do you know why you’re here?” I keep my voice calm and mildly curious. I have no idea if she experienced any trauma before coming here or if she’s oblivious to it all.
Mallory chugs some orange juice and then sets it firmly back on the table with a loud knock. “Yeah. My parents said there’ssomething wrong with me. I think I’m sick. So, they sent me to these doctors who said they’ll make me better. And then I can go home.”
