The Fortunates (Unfortunate #2) - Skyla Madi Page 0,3
for days, but the second Kade shows up he manages to squeeze one out of me with little effort. Go figure.
“I can’t be a Fortunate,” I whisper. “I’m not like you.”
“You and I are one and the same.”
His words smash into my ribs, metaphorically splintering the bones into my already deflated heart. I barely feel it as they pierce the tissue. I found peace and love in Kade, but we’re not the same people. I desire companionship and comfort. He desires power, punishment, and control. That’s why he killed his father. That’s why he won’t let the Unfortunates in the mine go.
He is a Fortunate.
And I hate him because of that.
I narrow my eyes at him, making my statement as clear as I can.
“We are nothing alike.”
He smirks—actually smirks. “We’ll see.”
I don’t tear my eyes away from his as he straightens his legs and brushes his large palms over the dark fabric covering his thighs.
“I’ll see you in an hour, Nine. Fortunate or Unfortunate, you’re coming home with me. Understand?”
His lips quirk at one corner, but the humour doesn’t reach the rest of his face. He’s trying to keep his tone light, but his black eyes are screaming something entirely different. I will murder for you.
I don’t doubt it. He’s done it before. After Vince had an Unfortunate roughly finger me in the Black House, Kade came to my rescue. Later that night he went back and killed for me…with his bare hands. I can still recall the way the blood glistened on his skin and the satisfaction I felt deep down knowing my aggressor suffered at the hands of someone who cared about my well-being.
“He loves you, you know,” Kathryn croaks, her voice dry and unhealthy.
It pulls me from my own thoughts and when I blink the world back into focus, Kade is gone and I’m back to staring at a dull grey wall.
“What do you know about love?” I shoot back, my voice equally dry.
“What I did was wrong, Anna, but there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of you.”
I scoff and cringe at her name for me. My “Fortunate” name. The name I was born with. It sounds alien in my ears.
“I counted every day from the moment I dropped you off until your eighteenth birthday when I knew I’d finally see you again.”
“See me again? You talk as if seeing me again was guaranteed. Thirty-nine deaths a year occur in those camps. Half of them are suicides—the rest murders by the very moderators that are supposed to raise us.” I pause to let it sink in. “You’re lucky I’m stronger than most.”
How many people does she know that have died from anything other than natural causes? Growing up, how many children did she know that ended up slitting their wrists or throwing themselves out windows because they couldn’t take their lives anymore?
All my life I’ve witnessed death. I’ve lived with it and brushed past it in the hall knowing any second it could come for me. No amount of apologising can make me forget the fear I felt…
The loneliness.
It can’t give me back all of the tears I cried or the eighteen years I sat festering in hell before a Sario rescued me.
A fucking Sario.
Of all people I found salvation in a Sario, the “monsters” of the Fortunate world. What are the odds?
I spent years telling myself this is just the way the world is. It’s no one’s fault, just luck of the draw. Now I know that’s not true. Now I have someone to blame for everything I’ve had to suffer through. How many more Unfortunates were born a Fortunate? How many children in there are suffering because their parents didn’t want them?
“Have you seen the living conditions of the place you dropped your precious bundle of joy in? There are holes in the walls and rats at your feet. When it’s cold the blankets aren’t enough to keep you warm and no one cares.” I take a breath, fighting hard not to choke on sobs. “You’re crammed into a tiny little room—forced to listen to other children cry themselves to sleep.”
“Anna—”
“That’s not my name!” I snap, smacking the back of my head against the wall.
Pain seeps across my skull and embeds itself in my eye sockets, but I don’t care.
“Nine…I’m sorry.”
I press my lips into a firm line. Sorry can’t give me back my life.