Page 77 of Gambler's Fallacy

I lift up one of the boards, ready to smash it into the floor—and stop myself before I do more damage.

Fuck.

I really have a problem.

SIXTEEN

SEVEN

My wrists arered from the manacles Caleb used on me.

I keep staring at them, pressing down on them, trying to remember the weightless feeling from last night, but the only thoughts that swirl around in my head are Havoc and Vortex andher.

“Seven?” Nat asks, startling me back to attention. “Are you playing blackjack or not?”

For once, I don’t feel like playing, but I don’t know what else to do with myself. Staying upstairs in my room alone isn’t appealing, and I don’t feel like seeing either Havoc or Vortex. I haven’t answered their text messages asking if I’m all right even though my first instinct is to placate them.

Tolie.

I can’t ask Caleb to take more time away from work, which means I’m utterly alone.

“I’ll finish this round,” I tell them, but I’m already mentally checked out, and I go bust without even thinking about it. I sigh, but I don’t feel the usual frustration that envelops me when I lose on Caleb’s tab. “Thanks,” I tell Nat.

They nod, and I can see that they want to say something, but they don’t.

I get up from the table, not knowing where to go. I don’t want to be surrounded by people, but I don’t want to be alone. There aren’t many options.

I think about trying to pester one of the bartenders into serving me even though I know they’ll insist all over again on seeing the ID I still haven’t gotten.

I head for the bar anyway, only to stop in my tracks when I see Duncan and Linda at the bar. Even from this angle, I can see that they’re smiling, laughing.

I hate them for it.

I hate myself even more, though, so I slip away before they can notice me.

I end up on the fifth floor lounge in Caleb’s private area, far enough away from people that I go unnoticed but close enough to where I think I won’t feel so alone.

I’m wrong, though. If anything, I feel more alone watching people chat and enjoy their vacations at the Roi.

Why didn’t you leave before?

Havoc’s questions, his judgment, keep stabbing into me. Every time I think I’ve forgotten, I feel that condemnation again.

The door isn’t locked.

I barely ever checked. How many times was the door unlocked, and I didn’t try to leave? How many times could I have walked out and nobody would have noticed?

It was only 21 steps. I could have walked it easily.

Sometimes the clients left the door propped open. She’d look at me through the crack in the door and smile, and I’d be so happy that she was pleased with me, or so terrified of what would happen if I tried to fight, that I didn’t even try.

Baby, what are you rattling on the doorknob for? You know I hate it when you cause a scene.

I bite my lip, closing my eyes against the tears.

Don’t cry, baby. You don’t look pretty when you cry. And you want to look pretty, don’t you?

No. No, I hadn’t wanted to look pretty. I’d wanted to cry it out, to ruminate and feel, but I’d been a good boy. I’d been everything she’d wanted. Even when someone had offered to take me out of there, I’d smiled and told him that I was happy.

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