❉| chapter six

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❝if bad luck knows who you are, become someone else

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❝if bad luck knows who you are, become someone else.❞

-jandy nelson, author

IT HURTS LIKE HELL. The loss of so many innocent lives, the fact that two friends have been lost. Gina and Caleb's face dance in my memories, just out of reach, hazy and unclear already.

The alcohol burns as it goes down my throat. I grimace at the strong taste, setting down the glass with a little more force than necessary. A shadow sitting at the table across from me causes me to jump. However, I calm down once I notice it's just Jasper.

He stares at me blankly. He's looked better, of course, with his eyes glassy and face pale even in the lack of lighting provided by the bar. It unnerves me how his pupils seem to bore into my soul.

When I speak, my voice comes out throaty. "What?"

I'm pretty sure I hear him mumble, "Not again," but with my senses dulled by the liquor, I could be wrong. He takes the glass from my hand and drags it toward him.

"Hey--" I start to protest, but to no avail. He downs the rest before I can finish.

"That's enough for you," he scolds. "Don't make this a repeat of what happened last time."

"What happened last time?" I question and tilt my head to the side in confusion. I don't remember there being a 'last time.' Alcohol is not the substance I usually turn to in order to help me cope with my hardships. I don't even remember the last time I did.

I stop. I don't remember the last time I did, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.

"Jas--"

"Go back to your room, Fallon," he orders like a parent. More like a brother who needs to care for their older sibling. "Bellamy is probably wondering where you are."

He's right. I know he is, and maybe that's why I finally sigh in defeat and stand -- albeit a little wobbly -- and give Jasper a small wave before heading out of the bar. I have a little trouble navigating my way across the uneven land to get to the Ark. One of the guards stationed at the entrance gives me a nod which I return. The corridors are fairly empty and quiet at this hour of night. The constant hum of electricity is the only sound I can distinguish as the doors slide shut.

I begin walking, but not in the direction of mine and Bellamy's room. Instead, I find my feet carrying me past it and toward the garage. I can see through the glass window in the door that the lights are off- all except a single lamp aimed at the underside of a Rover. I twist the doorknob and open it silently. The room is silent except for a slight tinkering sound.

"Raven," I call. My voice echoes; the tinkering stops. There's no reply. I try again. "Raven."

Wheels rolling against the ground catch my attention. I walk around one of the cars to discover her standing up, face shining and dust coating her cheeks. I can't tell if it's sweat, tears, or both. Bags line the skin beneath her eyes due to lack of sleep. Her hair, though still up in its usual ponytail, is nearly falling out.

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