Page 103 of Hunted By Fae
Such basic people with basic existences that it had me questioning how we’re all meant to have souls. I looked at those people, watched them on my TV, and doubted that they were really people at all.
Now, the Before is gone.
It’s the blackout.
And in it, Emily is the biggest NPC I’ve ever met.
She’s so… bland.
Vanilla.
It’s not that we have different personalities. It’s that I have one and she doesn’t. Emily is a bland person.
In the Before, there were a thousand more just like her in any given direction. Her hobbies were to watch other people have hobbies while she complained about basic guys.
It's no different now.
Bee has a friendship with Emily.
I do try to talk to her.
We just can’t seem to get past the superficiality of her existence, always going on about the things she misses from the Before, which is limited to social media and adating show on an island, her leased Audi, and self-care (which I suspect she confuses with botox and getting her nails done).
I just can’t with her.
I can’t pretend there’s enough depth to connect when it comes to Emily.
There are two things we have in common.
A friendship with Bee.
And Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
Don’t judge me on that one. It’s good. I mean, itwasgood. Gone now.
But the difference between me and Emily is that I don’t make TV shows my entire fucking personality.
So now I have to convince Ms Beige to dip out on the rest of our group.
Part of me wonders if I can manage knocking her out and dragging her down the stairwell without pulling a muscle in my back or being noticed by anyone else.
Probably not.
Ugh, this is gonna be a pain in my ass.
The huff that grates through me morphs into something of a groan as I push up from the floor.
I sneak out of the patient room and, soft-footed, creep around the curved desk.
Some snores gravel through the sleeping station.
The light is faint, the softest and dustiest glow from the candle lantern beside Carlos. He snores the loudest.
I spare him a dull look before I reach for my backpack. It’s tucked under a sleeping bag on the rows of plastic-wrapped mattresses.
I don’t risk waking anyone by packing here.
I gather all my things into my arms, then carry them to the roof.
