We Were Liars | ONC 2020 ✔

Room Service

TWENTY DAYS AFTER

Today marked the sixth day of commencing my studies from home, except for the fact that I sat at the desk of an unfamiliar hotel room with whatever I had salvaged from my house. Perhaps the change of scenery helped me focus more, for I blazed through my preparative equations at lightning speed.

My mind seemed extremely alert, rarely wandering back to the events of the previous few weeks. I was grateful for that---several deaths and a new relationship was no excuse for slacking off in my studies. Then again, was that what Ezra and I had? A relationship? I couldn't dare to hope for that. The memory of his lips ghosting over mine was hardly enough to call it a relationship. The goosebumps that shivered their way down my spine whenever I thought about him wasn't exactly scientific evidence either.

Feelings were unreliable, meddlesome things.

My mother was working, which was fine with me. As long as 'Death' didn't go after her---I highly doubted he would, since he appeared to only be interested in murdering Liars, Ette and me---she would be safer if she spent less time around me. I'd sucked back my pride, readied my heart for disappointment, and composed a lengthy letter to my now-estranged father requesting assistance for house repairs. He hadn't replied, but his sister had, with a sizeable cheque banked straight in to my mother's account and a heartfelt apology for her brother's behaviour.

And now, I was sitting in a sterotypical hotel room alone, legs crossed and one hand resting on my thigh as I frantically scribbled sums in my best handwriting. After this, I would write two practice essays for English and take a quick refresher course for annotating in preparation for Literature, but for now, I would focus on equations. Mathematics was my weakest subject, as I frequently scored ninety-eights in it, even in regular times. Ninety-eights were indeed disgraceful.

There was a knock at the door, making me scowl and glance around for something I could use to defend myself in the unlikely case of burglars or more kidnappers. As I'd learned from my unfortunate encounter with Hank Hank and Nat, brainless thugs could not be reasoned with. All they had in their useless minds was sawdust and far too much brawn. My search came up mostly unfruitful. I decided on my extremely thick Biology textbook---although it was unlikely that I would be able to hoist it high or long enough to bring it down over a robber's head.

"Room service!" a muffled voice called out, rapping on the door again. My creeping fingers stilled, slipping away from my textbook as I heaved a sigh of relief. I was in front of the door when it hit me---I hadn't ordered any food.

I instantly reached out for the empty vase on the nearby table, then decided against it. I put my eye up to the peephole instead. The hallway was completely empty. Finally, after more than five minutes, I carefully unlocked the door and yanked it open. All I saw was a lone chair on the ugly carpet outside, a brown paper package sitting atop its yellow-stained seat.

Cautiously, I moved to pick it up, then recoiled. What if it's another bomb? Staring at the package, I decided it was worth the risk. Curiousity prickled inside me like a burning flame, stroking my heart and lungs with inflamed inquisitivity. If it did end up exploding in my hands, at least I was the only one in the room. I slowly took it from the chair and lugged it inside. It bore a strange weight in my grasp, further fuelling my worries.

I managed to pull it to the desk. The temptation to open it was too strong, so I gave in to it. I slipped the brown paper from the outside of the package, half expecting to be blown up any second. What fell out, however, was not a bomb, but a leather-bound book---and a phone identical to the burner 'Death' had gifted me.

And there were already several messages lighting up the screen.

I pounced on the burner, dignity forgotten as my skinny fingers frantically scrambled to click on "Death's" texts. Once I saw them, my stomach fell into my shoes.