Twice in one day is probably too many times to use my failsafe. I come to lying on a new couch, stiff and unmoving against my back. The room walls, if they can be called that, are canvas panels of black and white floral design. Nothing has any variant color whatsoever. Sitting up uses the last of my fuel, leaving me immobile on the couch.

“She’s awake,” a guard dog says from the one exit in the entire open space. I’m pleasantly surprised Declan isn’t grayscale. I mean, his eyes are gray, but that’s it.

A young man with sun-kissed brown hair and aquamarine eyes disrupts our stare down. Ryan Keane doesn’t resemble any doctor I’ve ever seen unless you count the Soap Opera kind. Echinacea and Aloe hit me the instant his mouth opens. “How are you feeling?”

“Very best,” I lie.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Taxi fare.”

“Taxis don’t run out here.”

“How do people normally get home?”

“I drive them in my van.”

Creeper van, no doubt, Superego notes.

I stare blanks, considering whether to break down and ask for a lift. The prospect of leaving outweighs my pride. “Can you take me home, please?”

“It’s late,” he deflects. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’m happy to drive you in the morning.”

I do mind. I mind very much, in fact. “Forget it. I can walk,” I spit boldly.

“It’s not safe to walk into town at night.” His smile contradicts his claim.

“I’m sure the big, bad wolves are all too busy playing by the fire to bother bitty old me.”

“You’ll freeze,” he persists.

No, Bud. My temperature only rises. It never falls.

“If you can stand on your own two feet, and walk out the door, I’ll let you go.” His thigh slap indicates this argument is done and dusted. Heh, no. It definitely isn’t.

“You say that like I need your permission,” I hiss.

“I promised your father you’d be taken care of,” he informs me. “I’m a man of my word.”

“Bright side for you, I don’t need supervision.”

Liar. Liar. Pants on fire, Superego goads.

“We all need occasional looking after,” he counters.

“We all doesn’t include me by default. Besides, as of today, I’m permission exempt.”

“Ah yes, happy birthday,” he clips cheerfully. “Stay for a spell. We’ve taken a lot of time preparing for your arrival.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Time well wasted, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps,” he returns thoughtfully.

What were they preparing for? What if their parents aren’t really dead? What if Doctor Hotness kidnapped them for some beautiful-people experiment? When I grimace, Ryan shoots Declan an accusatory glare. Declan shrugs, signaling he didn’t invoke my physical response. Of course he didn’t. He hasn’t even spoken except to announce my rousing, meaning the creeper was watching me sleep.

Bad lad, Superego chastises him.

I try to sit up again, and sheer stubbornness allows it. I’m not making it out the door on my own. Not quite yet. My lack of motor control after a shut-off episode is standard. My body has to rewire itself when the circuits blow. It’ll take another fifteen minutes before I can stand, unassisted, on two feet. Walking out of here won’t happen for at least half an hour. Not without help.

“What can I get you?” Ryan reengages.

I need an accelerant. Energy drinks are ideal, but any caffeinated beverage will suffice. “Coffee?”

He’s genuinely pleased by my giving in. Little does he realize I’m simply refueling for my escape. “Sure,” he agrees. “How do you take it?”

I rest my elbows on my knees for support. “Black.”

“Make her a sandwich, too,” Declan suggests, unmoving from his post as Ryan leaves the room.

At the mention of food, I’m suddenly starving and nauseous simultaneously. Eating in private is a struggle lately, so eating with an audience is a hard no from me. I glower at Declan. “Not hungry.”

He whistles low in response.

“We’re teenagers,” says a new voice. “We’re always hungry.” Tally winks at her brother. As if she’s taken over babysitting detail, he joins Ryan in what I presume is the kitchen. She plops down on the opposite end of the couch and plays idly with the ends of her hair. Not one of the blonde strands would dare defy her by splitting. “I had to cancel my bonfire for you,” she grouses. “The least you could do is show faux appreciation.”

She’s annoyed I’m here, but she can’t be as annoyed as me. I didn’t invite myself, and I didn’t dump myself off. “That’s too bad. I had minion goals,” I deadpan.

“You should work on not being so obvious,” she snaps.

How less obvious could I be? I coast through life with minimal visibility, pleasantly comforted by my lack of radar presence. She’s just trying to get a rise out of me. She won’t succeed.

“You’d get less attention if you tried to blend in,” she tuts.

“Thanks for giving me something to strive for,” I say sweetly, both impressed and aggravated she’s wise to my camouflage tactics.

Ryan returns carrying a tray, placing it on the table next to me. I ignore the commercialesque sandwich in favor of the mug. His frown is every bit as forlorn as my father’s scowl is disapproving. Unperturbed, I inhale the aroma of the coffee, anticipating the pick-me-up. It won’t last long, but it’ll be enough to get me gone. Just enough.

What do they want? I have nothing to offer these people. My father ditched me, so they aren’t going to him for ransom. There isn’t anyone else who’d pay to get me back. Maybe pay to keep me away, though. “Why am I here?”

Ryan replaces Tally on the couch. “To celebrate your birthday,” he reminds me.

“I celebrate in my own way.”

Your way is pretty boring, Superego admits.

“Pretending the day doesn’t exist isn’t celebrating,” Ryan argues.

“What stake do you have in how I celebrate my day? It’s my day, right?” I take a giant swig from the mug.

“Birthdays mark more than a yearly passing,” he explains. “What if this was your last one? Would you feel differently?”

I mull that over while taking another long drink. The heat from the liquid soothes me when it should scald me. The caffeine hits my bloodstream, fueling my reserve. Would I feel differently if it was my last birthday? Hmm. Every year beyond the first has been a fight against fate. The only thing my birthday marks is my back with a big, red X. It’s an obscene reminder I shouldn’t be living. Eventually, someone will see the visible target and finish the job nature started. “Yes, I would,” I answer honestly, draining my artificial energy and continuing to ignore the sandwich.

Ryan looks like he’s just made a major medical breakthrough in getting his desired response from me, but that’s only because he’s taken my words in the wrong context. He motions for Declan to refill my mug.

Good lad, Superego praises him.

“How would that make you feel?”

“Relieved.”

Ryan’s lips twitch. “We should’ve come sooner.”