Born Wrong

12. a girl who isn't (or is) bad luck

Kala Roshan

After Ford left, I went for a swim.

It was something I've been craving since the moment I arrived at Sierra, but I didn't get the chance to do it because of the additional companion. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the moment we shared together—where he didn't feel like a complete stranger—but I still don't trust him. Even after that, there were still some intermittent cases of awkward silence, moments where we were unable to contribute to a natural conversation, and the lingering feeling of apprehensiveness to see him as a friend.

I hope it gets better, but right now, we're not at that stage.

Around nighttime, after a couple of hours of splashing in the water, sitting on the edge of the jagged rocks, swimming through the currents and watching the sun lower into the horizon, I step out and dry myself.

While doing so, I glance over to The Strip to observe its nightlife in full swing, with customers roaming up and down the streets in search for their next high and others exiting from hours of consuming one. I knew I didn't have a shift at the bar tonight and while I linger on unsuspecting pedestrians, I spot something familiar. More precisely, someone.

It was a split second, almost a blur of a vision with the way he moves but I'm confident it's him.

My brother's best friend.

I haven't seen him all week. He hasn't been at school nor visited the apartment in a while. Or, at least, while I'm there. This means this would be the only opportunity that I can give back his jacket he told me to return. I'm here, he's a walkable distance away, and it's important.

I have to give it back to him tonight.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

I headed for Joker, the casino he disappeared into, and followed the guide to the entrance. Underneath red neon lights that promise a better tomorrow, I descend into the stairwell into the open floorplan of the one-story casino filled with large round tables in the center of the room and slot machines lining against the walls. It isn't the type of casino you'll see when you visit Vegas, or any high-end casinos that warrants a large-scale heist. It is low-graded, with little decorations, pendant artificial lights that hang from the ceiling and plain red carpet flooring that reminds me of blood. It is sectioned in a way that is functional, especially against the thickening crowd of drunk players, but isn't aesthetic in any capacity.

My eyes scan through the swarm of people slipping their money into slot machines and throwing dice on velvet tables, before picking Bright from the crowd. He's at one of the casino tables slightly elevated off the floor, with an opened beer bottle to his left. His back is turned to me, but I can tell he's tense—stiff shoulders and a hardened gaze.

I shouldn't be here.

The thought came immediately. Despite the fact that I'm not cashing in checks for tokens or steam-rolling twenties into slot machines, I don't belong here. The small gain of confidence from seeing him again built enough momentum for me to enter into the establishment, but it's fleeing with every second serving as a reminder of who I am within these types of places.

I would cause more harm than good.

I should leave but I don't move. In my head, I rationalize through many channels of thoughts and the most prominent argument being that this is one of the rare instances where Bright and I run into each other and I need to give him back his jacket.

Plus, I shouldn't hold myself to what my mother believes I am.

But ingrained beliefs don't falter in one night and doubt follows me like a shadow. I know I should leave, I know I should think of others, but I owe him. As a compromise, I decide to wait until Bright is done with his current game.