Page 131 of Feed Your Fiends

A letter to Bart detailing my demands and a summary of what’s inside the folder. It hadn’t been there when I first found her in Bart’s room. She must have typed it last night. She helped me, and I can’t say it’s solely because she doesn’t want me to flub my talk with Bart. In her own way, I think she’s craving a friend too. She’s all alone here, with her family in South Korea and her mother dead. What could be so wrong at home that it’s okay for her sisters to visit but not her? What could be so horrible that she’d rather sleep on a hospital futon, or in Bart’s closet, or beneath the bed to hide from Gant and Heldina?

I close the folder, swallow the bitter spit in my mouth, and finally wrench the bathroom door open.

This is it. Now or never.

Goodbye Gant.

The lobby is massive, with triple-height ceilings and pretty chandeliers perfectly aligned with the elegant graphic designs on the tiles. Tiles I would never see under my feet again. I knew this wasn’t my home and that I was on borrowed time until I got my revenge.

Yes, I knew my reunion with Gant was temporary because I was going to walk away the winner. This is winning, so why do I feel like crying every second? I’d barely held my tears back when Gant showered me, fed me brunch, and helped me into the final outfit he’d ever see me in, in his penthouse. Why can’t I be strong and confident like Rin would be, gliding down the massive hallway to the indoor cricket pitch, ready to burn everything to hell?

I throw back my shoulders as an icy chill climbs my spine as I see the men, decked out in their cricket gear, already on the field. Even if I hadn’t seen Gant’s jersey, I’d know which one he was because he’s the only player who turns at the sound of the door closing behind me, though I doubt he’d seen me. The others are locked in, especially Hale, who’s batting.

The resounding crack of Hale’s bat hitting a red Kookaburra ball, the same ball he used to make Bae’s dog chase after me, makes my shoulders shoot up to my ears. I ease along the mini rows of bleachers I’d darted behind and will myself not to look at Gant.

I can’t.

A feminine cheer from the sidelines echoes around the room as I spot Aria bouncing on her seat, arms raised. Her curly hair is like a massive cloud today, and it blocks out half of Stassi’s face that she’s already hiding in her phone, completely uninterested that her father is trying to catch the ball to stop Hale’s runs. Or so I think.

I don’t know jack shit about cricket. It’s one of those sports like squash, badminton, and lacrosse that I vaguely know of mostly through rich, poised male models, but the rules or logic is lost on me.

Aria clearly gets it, though, because she cheers louder for Hale, who’s in the same colour as she is, a mint green, while Stassi matches her brother and father in cerulean blue.

I’ve never met Alistair Beaumont, but I don’t need to. He’s an older, slightly shorter, thinner version of Zedd with a massive dusting of salt through his formerly blonde hair. He jumps for the ball that’s about to bounce out of bounds, given the lines on the floor.

His bare fingertips reach toward it, his arm shooting so high over his head that his shirt rides up, revealing his prominent ribs. He almost reaches it, almost catches it to throw it back in bounds, but he misses it by a nail and crashes,hard. Aria’s cheers turn into a cry she quickly muffles with her hands. That gets Stassi’s attention because she drops her phone and shoots onto the field, kneeling beside Zedd, who’s helping their father up.

He’s bleeding on his elbow, but he’s trying to smile away the pain. Except his teeth are bloody too, like he’s bit his tongue or shattered a veneer.

The two batters, Hale and Gant, pause their running, the score forgotten at the sight of blood.

“Are you okay, old man?” Just like with Alistair, I don’t need confirmation of who Bart Auclair is. He’s taller than Gant by a few centimetres, his black hair and eyes identical. I’d thought Gant had haunting features, but his mother must have softened them because Bart’s all harsh angles, sunken cheeks and a sharpness that makes him look wickedly ethereal.Otherworldly. Or is it just my thundering heart and buzzing mind that’s exaggerating the phantom that’s come to life as I shrink behind the bleachers?

“Just a bruise,” Alistair says as Stassi gingerly inspects his elbow.

“You should’ve let it go out of bounds, Daddy,” she chastises as a woman wearing a jersey dress with the word “STAFF” scrawled across the back swoops in with a medical kit.

“That would defeat the whole purpose of playing princess.”

“But do you have to play so hard?” she asks, her eyes narrowing at Hale. “It’s just a friendly game.”

“No, it isn’t,” Hale says, and Aria bites her lip to stop from grinning.

“It’sbackyardcricket,” Stassi snaps. “With half as many players, and half of them are old.”

“I know she’s not talking about me,” a slim, dark-skinned woman says. She has small doll-like features like Aria. Full pouty lips. Large, almond eyes, and a button nose. Out of all the parents, she seems like the youngest, though something tells me it’s just an illusion.

“You didn’t have to hit it so hard.”

“Stas,” Alistair says, tugging her down onto the bench beside him as the staff member wraps his elbow. “For us, it’s just a game. For Hale, it's a way of life. Of course, he takes it seriously.”

What?I freeze at that, and so does the pitch because it takes a second for everyone to reanimate.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hale asks.

Alistair shrugs. “Just that you’ve been playing like your life depends on it. Zedd tells me you’ve played competitively for years.”

“I’ve been trained to win. Not to consider my opponents.”

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