Fate's Exchange (Twisted Fate, Book 1)

Chapter Twenty

Alyssa

Bubble wrap popped around me. From every direction, it snapped in my ears and zapped the surface of my skin as the air was pushed out of its pockets. I blinked, once, twice, and again. With each movement, the surroundings became clearer. The foreign sounds faded.

The confusion was so overwhelming, so disorienting, that I almost fell from my chair. The first journey, when I had returned without awareness, was easier. Now, nausea swelled to my throat and a mosh pit was rocking-out in my head. Even worse, this time I wasn't alone. Instead of waking in my room I was at the supper table with my parents.

Their mouths were hanging open, their forks paused in the air halfway back to their plates, and they were staring at me like I had just thrown Scruffy inside of a box to play with a litter of kittens that hadn't yet been declawed. Had I shuddered? Jerked? Convulsed like a seizure was taking control of my actions?

No, they would have moved to help me if that had happened.

They said nothing. I held my breath. A minute passed, and nothing happened. Then, just as I thought I would pass out from lack of oxygen, they shook their heads and resumed their meals. My breath whooshed out and I looked down to the table, relieved but feeling let down. How could I learn what happened if they were made to forget seeing it?

"I asked you a question, Alyssa."

I looked up to see my father watching me. Damn, he recovers fast. I knew the topic, but still, I had no clue what part in the conversation we'd reached.

"I'm sorry?" I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that had manifested in response to my transition. My father's scowl deepened, and my mother's fork settled with a clang onto her plate. Was the voice laughing at how fast I failed after being so certain I could handle this?

"Don't be flip with your father, Alyssa," my mother said. "Tell us why you've been cutting class."

Right. This was the part where I get myself grounded. I could get out of it, I knew, though the only way I could do that would be to narc on Tina. That's what I'd come back to change. I couldn't hurt her again. I'd rather stay dead.

The voice said it was about choices. It was easier to make the wrong one because there was such an unlimited number and so few that were actually right. How would I know the difference?

"Alyssa."

"I'm sorry for cutting, Dad. I don't have a reason," I muttered without looking up, hoping they wouldn't see through what I didn't say—it wasn't a lie, per se, but I didn't finish the sentence as it formed in my head, leaving out that it wasn't something they would be able to understand. It wasn't a reason that I could explain.

They both stared at me. I squirmed in my chair, but there was nothing I could do or say. I couldn't tell them about Tina, or even about the movies, without hurting her. I couldn't tell them I'd died not once, but twice, only to be sent back to make the 'right choices'. That would get me in a padded cell where nothing could hurt me.

Would that kill Death's plan to snap me back up?

Maybe it was worth considering.

"You must have had a reason, Honey." My mother reached out to place her hand on my arm.

I jerked away before contact could be made. Her compassion would crumble my resolve to do what was right, especially since I knew how easy it would be to do the wrong thing. Or what was right the wrong way. I could spin it and twist it into unidentifiable knots, but ratting out Mr. Tinsley? Not wrong. I just had to do that and not hurt Tina, or die as consequence, and then watch her die because I had failed.

"I don't. May I be excused?" I needed to get away from their questions and watchful, knowing eyes.

"Yes," my father said and tore his gaze away. "You might as well go to your room and get used to it. For the next month, it is school and home, and that's it. No phone, either."

"But—"

"Joe,  Alyssa's a good girl. She will do the right thing without being grounded for a month. Right, Honey?" She smiled, but her words fell to the silence in the room, just as I knew they would.

"A week, then," he corrected, and my mom opened her mouth to negotiate on my behalf.

"It's okay, Mom. I was wrong to cut class for no reason." I patted her hand and stood. "Goodnight."

There were only two days to come up with a plan.

I sat in the tub for an hour and stewed over my options. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't generate an answer that felt right. The bubbles didn't ease my discomfort. Instead, the warmth of the water added to my frustration, making me feel too hot and clammy to relax. Monday morning would arrive quickly, and there was no time to reflect on what I'd done so I could figure out what to do—or not do—next. Doing the wrong thing didn't make finding what's right any easier, but I was too exhausted to figure it out.

Tomorrow was another day.