Page 97 of Gambler's Fallacy

“I’m sorry, Seven, but this really isn’t something I need to hear,” Nat says, and while their voice is gentle, it’s firm too.

“I was worried about you, you know,” Isay once Nat is gone. “You didn’t show up for lunch—again—and you didn’t respond to my texts.”

“I’m sorry,” Seven says sullenly. He looks down at his cards, throwing them onto the table. “Thanks for ruining everything, Havoc. Now they’re not going to let me play anymore — and it’s Caleb’s money, not mine..”

“What?” I’m honestly confused now. “We can open a bank account for you, Seven. Hell, I bet Caleb’s already got a savings account and he set up a 401k or whatever for you.”

“He can’t do any of that when I don’t exist,” Seven says. “No birth certificate, no ID, no anything, remember?” He lets out a harsh laugh. “And I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to. No one would let me.”

My frustration bubbles up even more, but I focus on breathing. I can’t lash out at Seven, because I’ll make things worse.

“Seven,” I say, fumbling for the right words. “What’s the real problem? I thought you liked working with everybody. Did Caleb do something? I’ll kick his ass if he did.”

“No,” he says, staring down at his cards. “No one did anything. I just didn’t feel like working.”

He’s lying, and I know he’s lying, but getting him to admit the truth when he’s shutting down like this is always hard.

“Okay.” I extend my hand out to him. “Let’s go, Seven. We can have lunch, and after that I’ll take you to my apartment or we can find a movie or a museum or a show or… anything.”

Seven gives me a strange look. “Did you already forget that I can’t?” he asks, only to shake his head. “Never mind. I want to hang out here. I was doing really well, Havoc. I won the last two rounds. I wasgoingto win this one too if you hadn’t interrupted.”

I reach over to the cards that Nat left on the table. That was unprofessional of them, but I assume they were too keen to leave to clean up. I turn over the cards, and reveal the king of spades.

“You would have lost, Seven,” I point out.

“Okay, so maybe I would’ve lost that round, but not the next,” he insists. “I almost have the hang of this whole counting thing.”

I highly doubt he does. “Seven, what is this really about?” I ask as carefully as I can.

“It’s notaboutanything,” he says. “I just like playing. You get your hobbies. Why don’t I get mine?”

“My hobbies are working out and playing video games,” I point out. “I used to gamble so I could make a modicum of rent money, and I barely managed that. You aren’t winning at anything, Seven. The only way to win at blackjack is to know when to quit.”

“I know when to quit!” Seven snaps at me, his voice going high. “I also know that I’m never going to get anywhere if I quit too soon. God, Havoc, stop being such a jerk about this.”

I recoil at his vehemence. “What the fuck, Seven? I’m looking out for you. This is unhealthy. Did you remember to get food? Something other than the peanuts and pretzels they hand out to all the gamblers?”

“I ate this morning.” He glares at me. “It’s only lunchtime. It’s not unhealthy. I’m still way under my allowance for the day, if you’re worried about Caleb’s money.”

“I don’t give a shit about Caleb’s money,” I snap back. “I care aboutyou, Seven. How long has the secret gambling thing been going on? It wasn’t only today.”

“Secret what?” he demands. “I’m not doing anything in secret.”

“No? Then why didn’t you tell us about it? Why did you disguise yourself so I wouldn’t see you while I was scanning the room?” I counter. “You knew you weren’t supposed to be doing this.”

“I’m not—” he sputters. “Just stop, okay? I don’t want to talk about this.”

I reach out for his wrist, but Seven gets off the chair and skitters back a few steps. That hurts more than I’m willing to admit.

“Seven. Come on. Let’s go back upstairs. I’ll make us some sandwiches and we can talk about it, but you can’t keep sitting here and gambling away the days,” I plead.

“I don’twantto talk about it,” he repeats. “And you don’t own me. None of you do. I don’t care what you put in my body. Don’t you keep saying I belong to myself? That I get a choice in things?” He’s half into panic mode, I can see it, but I don’t understand why.

“What are we putting in your body?” I ask, even more confused than before. I get up and slowly take a step toward him.

He huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t act like you don’t know.” When I shake my head, he goes on impatiently, “The tracker?”

I laugh. “Tracker? What, in your phone? You can turn that off. I’ll even show you how.”

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