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Protect him.

“No, I’m not his friend. He was just a boy I took pity on. I was nice to him once, and suddenly he thinks we’re friends.” I laughed. Did my parents not realize how fake that laugh was?

Turning towards Ducky, I sneered as if I found him repulsive. If anything, I found myself repulsive. At that moment, I hated myself.

Protect him.

“You can leave now. God, the creepy stalker look doesn’t look good on you.”

Dad clamped his lips together as if to hold in a laugh. Mother, however, had already turned back towards her lobster.

I watched Ducky’s face fall, surprise giving way to betrayal. He looked at me as if I had ripped his spine from his body, spat on it, and then fed it to my dog.

For as long as I lived, I would never be able to forget that anguished expression.

And then he was running. In his haste to escape, he stumbled into a passing waiter.

And I laughed.

I fuckinglaughed.

I watched him as he ran through the doorway, into the road. He glanced back, tears on his cheeks, and I resisted the urge to run to him.

I’m so sorry.

These were words I couldn’t say. Looking back, I sometimes wished that I accidently spoke my thoughts aloud back then. That particular trait wouldn’t pop up until a couple months later.

Ducky’s face was still turned towards mine, so he didn’t see the truck barreling down the street. He didn’t see the driver attempt to slam on his brakes in a desperate attempt to avoid the small boy in the road. He did see my face, my mouth opened in a scream he couldn’t hear. His brow drew down, head tilting to the side.

And then the truck plowed into him.

I screamed until my throat was hoarse, and I haven’t stopped since.

* * *

I replayed Declan’s words,sure I had heard him wrong. He probably meant to say that he knew Ducky. Maybe he actually said, “I’m Lucky.” That was a more plausible explanation than the one he gave me.

Ducky was dead. I had seen him die. My parents told me as much.

This man, this Declan, was not my Ducky.

“I don’t know what type of fucking game you’re trying to play, but I’m...” A sob broke through my chest. I knew Declan was icy, but I had never suspected him capable of such cruelty. This was unforgivable.

Without taking his eyes from mine, Declan pulled down the collar of his shirt. Staining his tanned skin was a dark birthmark.

Ducky’s birthmark.

No. No.

I hadn’t even realized I was speaking aloud until Declan grabbed my hand in both of his. I shook my head, as if that action could somehow change what I saw.

“Your name is Declan, not Ducky,” I insisted. I could barely breathe. My heart, my damn heart, thumped in my chest like a sledgehammer. It dared to hope while my brain warned me against it.

“My nickname is Ducky,” Declan signed. He, too, had tears in his eyes. At some point, the other guys must’ve left us alone. I no longer felt the heat from their bodies.

“No. This can’t...you can’t...this can’t be happening.”

I began to sob in earnest now, overwhelmed from the influx of information he tried to relay. He couldn’t be Ducky, I knew that, but I couldn’t ignore the facts slapping me in the face. No, they weren’t just slapping me. They were full-on bitch punching me while a train ran over me.