The reality of my new predicament is a slap in the face. This is what I have to look forward to now?
Some of the women glare as I’m pushed past them—as if I’ve offended them in some way—while others don’t even notice. The majority of them wave and smile, while others laugh at my broken body like they’ve never seen a cast. Some of them try to stop and talk to us like we’re all old friends. I feel like a new inmate who just stepped into the prison yard.
Fresh meat.
For a second, I swear I even see Lolly from Orange Is the New Black. That’s how I know I truly might be going crazy. This goddamn shithole is rubbing off on me. She’s a fictional character, for fuck’s sake.
For the remainder of the tour, I try to ignore the stares and the discomfort of being the center of attention, paraded around in this wheelchair, while my entire body is wrapped in casts, but it’s not easy. I find myself keeping my gaze down to avoid any more of their stares.
My gaze accidentally snags on an angry pair of green eyes. The color is stark, just demanding to be noticed. The woman’s upper lip curls into a snarl, and I swear, even from across the room, I can hear her growl. I make a mental note that if I’m ever let out of here while she’s around, I need to stay far, far, away from her.
After leaving that overpopulated section, I’m shown the eating area, which is a cafeteria of sorts. It doesn’t look all that promising either. I imagine a prison cafeteria doesn’t look all that different from this one. Just as we’re leaving the cafeteria area and heading toward a different wing, we pass the main visiting area and, my gaze snags on a black form. I glance over my left shoulder, and all the hairs on my body stand at attention. The body from behind looks familiar. All too familiar. My eyes grow round when the person disappears around the corner, but not before glancing back over his shoulder once.
I feel the walls crumble around me.
I grip the handles of the wheelchair, trying to hold on as I process.
My heart hammers in my chest, my breathing ragged, as I try to rationalize who I just saw. Or at least, who I think I saw.
No, it can’t be.
What would he be doing here? There’s no way he’d know I’m a patient here, would he? It’s impossible. I refuse to believe he’d go to all these lengths to find me.
I slam my eyes shut, shaking my head as I try to pull myself together. In doing so, my mind automatically replays what I just saw.
There, in the clearest picture in my mind, is one of the Savages. In the flesh. It was him. I know it was. The second I saw the back of him, I had this feeling, but as he turned the corner and I got a glimpse of his profile, there was no mistaking the planes of his face or the confidence held in his broad shoulders.
That couldn’t be just a coincidence, could it?
Was I…hallucinating? I mean, they do have me on plenty of drugs, so it’s possible, but it looked so real. Hell, it felt so real.
Even if it were him, I try to rationalize what he would be doing here. I can only imagine one reason and just thinking about it sends a shiver of dread down my spine. He is back to finish what he started. That has to be the reason.
I shake my head, forcing the thought away. I chalk it up to me being crazy.
It’s not real.
It wasn’t him.
I have to believe that, or I’ll really start to go crazy in here. Maybe I was so focused on the night in question, I was starting to see things.
God, I hoped not.
The rest of the tour is much of the same, and quite honestly, it doesn’t inspire much confidence. I still don’t feel safe here, and I sure as hell don’t think I belong here. There is an obvious difference between the patients and me here in this facility.
Why am I the only one who can see it?
I try to push thoughts of the Savages and a possible doppelgänger out of my head, but it is an impossible feat. Every corner we turn, it now feels like I am being watched, but when I look around, there is never anyone there. I am being paranoid, I know this. I just don’t know how to make it go away.
All I know is I need to find a way out of this hellhole as soon as possible.
Past
Warmth vibrates recklessly through my veins thanks to all the alcohol I’ve consumed tonight. The party is still in full swing, Summer’s still on her childish bullshit, Vincent, Marcus, and Zach are scouring the crowd for who they want to fuck tonight. And Trent, he’s nowhere to be found.
My cell dings with a notification. My vision splits on the text message, telling me I’ve drunk way more tonight than I should’ve. It takes me a while to read it, but when I finally do, I toss my cup somewhere on the ground and shuffle toward the clearing of trees where everyone’s parked.
The jet is ready for takeoff.
My football buddy, Simon, offered to give me a ride earlier, since he’s the only person in all of Ferndale who doesn’t drink or do drugs. He’s the only fucker with his head on straight. I can finally get away from the bullshit for at least a few weeks before I leave this shit town for college, then hopefully, for good.
As I stumble through the woods, leaving the party behind me to get to Simon’s car, I spot a hunched form up ahead, sitting on a fallen tree trunk. It’s covered in moss, mostly hidden by the foliage surrounding it. My feet slow to a stop next to the person who’s hunched there, and when she turns, taking notice of my presence, my brows droop.
“Madison?”
She swipes at her cheeks. “What do you want, Sebastian?”
I could easily walk away, but for some reason, I don’t. I take a seat on the bark of the trunk next to her. She stiffens but doesn’t say anything.
“Nothing. Just trying to figure out why you of all people are crying.”
She turns to face me, angry eyes drilling holes into me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “You always seem happy. Like you got it all figured out. I mean, you can be a real bitch sometimes, but you’re not as miserable as everyone else here.”
She scoffs. “You know nothing about me, Seb. Don’t pretend you do. And if you’re looking for pussy, look elsewhere, because I’m not interested. One Savage is more than enough for me.”
I laugh, caught off guard by how blunt she is. “Believe me, I’m not interested.”
We sit in silence, and I know I should go. I don’t know if it’s all the alcohol thrumming through my system that convinces me to stay, but for whatever reason, I stay beside her.
“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asks, as she stares out at the trees ahead of us. The moon gleams down, casting a silver glow around us.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, and I realize she’s crying again. The moon crystalizes the tear tracks on her face. “No, I don’t.”
“Then why do I feel like I am?” she chokes out, turning to face me, and for some reason, seeing the pain in her eyes, starts to eat away at the numbness coursing through my body. There’s so much pain hiding behind her gaze, it’s hard to look at.
“Call it intuition, I guess.” I shrug. “Whatever it is, Madison, you’re not a bad person. You’re just lost. I think we all are. Alma Perdida.”
“What does that mean?” she asks, sniffling.
I push to my feet, getting ready to leave. The last thing I want to do is keep Benedict Pierce waiting. “It means Lost Soul. And I think there’s a lost soul in all of us.”