Page 43 of The Lottery

“Details of his requests are confidential, as are all passengers’. I am only required to give you access to information others can obtain about you.”

“Okay, tell me that then. What was obtained?”

“Your general health and wellness, if your needs were being met, if you had a crutch, if you had a pot for your tree, if you were being helped when you were injured.”

“Has anyone but Marek inquired about me?” I’m probably imagining it, but I swear I can hear a smile in Metis’ voice.

“He is the only one.”

* * *

That night I fall asleep dreaming of Marek pinning me down, his hand between my legs, his mouth on mine, my body arching against him.

When I wake, I feel alone and cold and unhappy. When I bite into my piroshki during lunch, I break into unexpected tears.

“Mon ami, what is wrong?”

I recognize the French accent immediately. Lana sits down across from me at the small circular table, this time dressed in red from head to toe, a thin scarf draped around her neck. She is like an elegant blood stain against the cold metal and white neutrality of the decor around us.

I wipe my eyes quickly, composing myself. “It’s nothing. Just… missing home, you know?” It’s not a complete lie, but it's not the truth either. No one can know the truth.

Lana smiles, flinging her platinum hair over her shoulder. “Then let me cheer you up. Tonight, your place. I’ll make drinks.”

“I--”

“Trust me. We all miss something. Best thing to do now is stay busy.”

I nod. A girl's night might be just what I need to forget Marek Volkav.

Robert was already planning to see a movie tonight, so at least we’ll have the small room to ourselves. I very much look forward to some quality time with another woman.

Lana struts off without another word. I finish my lunch and head down to my suite, suddenly overcome with the old, unwelcome sensation of having to host. There’s not much I can do in the way of prep, so I just pick up a few stray items of clothing carelessly tossed about and make sure the bed is made.

Then I find the page in the book I’ve been reading, recline in a chair and spend the next few hours lost in another land, a grand fictional adventure that feels a bit smaller now that my real life has become its own unbelievable narrative.

When the door chimes and I bookmark my page and rise to greet Astrid. I’m surprised to see a man in a leather jacket at my door, his black hair bleached blond at the tips. Lana stands behind him, dressed in complementary shades of gray and charcoal. “Zae,” she says slowly. “This is my partner. Silas. He insisted he had to meet you.” Then silently, she mouths. Sorry.

Silas walks in, the top buttons of his jacket undone, a silver cross dangling against his bare chest. He grins at me, showing too many teeth, his eyes scanning me up and down. “I had to see who my lovely Lana keeps spending her lunch with.”

Lunch. We’ve only had lunch twice. Oh… I see…

“Yeah. We eat lunch together all the time.”

Lana sighs quietly. Thank you. Her lips spell out, and I wonder what she’s actually been up to.

Silas steps past me, glancing around the room. “Huh. Your place is just like ours. Guess they must be identical.”

I look at him again. The black jeans with holes. The chain hanging from his belt. His roughness is the opposite to Lana’s elegance. In a way, their contrasting styles are oddly complementary. He kisses her cheek, then plops down on the couch, spreading his legs wide. He pulls out a bag of peanuts from his jacket, then tosses one into his mouth. The crunching sound is painfully loud in the silence.

“I’ll turn on some music,” I say, wishing Silas would leave, but knowing he’s not about to. “So… uh, what do the two of you do?” I ask, turning on a jazz playlist. Something my grandmother would have listened to. I take the couch across from Silas, leaning back as far as I can.

Lana lights an electronic cigarette, sitting down next to her partner and crossing her legs. “Oh honey, she’s wondering which one of us is zhe rich one.” Her accent sounds sharper, more pronounced, than usual.

A knowing look comes over him, and he chuckles. “Ah yeah. I’m just a glorified veterinarian. Lana’s the billionaire.”

I look at her again. I’ve heard of a few of the billionaires who funded this journey, but she doesn’t ring a bell. Still… from her perfectly manicured purple nails, to her perfectly luscious and yet bleached-so-much-it’s-platinum hair, she definitely looks accustomed to a certain lifestyle.

She puckers her ruby lips at me in a fake kiss. “Guilty as charged, my dear. I was… I am… a therapist.”

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