AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Finding myself at the game store down the street after my shift is a surprise to me. Even though I’ve, of course, made about seven conscious decisions to end uphere, after all, but still, I stare at a pink and purple controller and try to decide if I want that gracing my living room. I do, clearly; and I let out a sigh while I wonder how my subconscious has talked me into coming here.
Because I’m doing something for myself.
I’ve got to get out of thismoodI’m in. It’s May first, and it’s been six months since the incident on Halloween. I really can’t keep up with my incredibly convincing show of moping, and I don’t plan on letting it last any longer.
I haven’t played a good first-person shooter inmonths.I haven’t taken any boy’s ego down a few notches, or ten, inmonthson top of that. It’s pathetic.I’mpathetic if I let this go on any further when I have talents that the world so desperately needs.
I’m basically a saint in the world of amateur gaming, if I think about it.
Veryamateur gaming.
I curl my hands in the sleeves of my too-long hoodie that I love, glad that it’s survived a multitude of washes and the trip to San Diego without any damage to it. In Solen City, which is close enough to Spokane to share most of its weather and lake effect rain to boot, May isn’t always exactly a promise of sun and good temperatures. Not to mention it’s still very early May, and the temperatures are dropping back into a cold front that promises heavy wind andheavierrain.
I blink, reach out for the controller, and realize that something feelsoff. My hand pauses in mid-air, and my eyes narrow at the reflection that I can see on the mirrored surface of the shelf in front of me. I’m just as pale as I’ve always been, and my long, black hair could probably use a trim. My curves are right where I remember them being, obviously, and I’m dressed in my hoodie and leggings, which is pretty standard for me.
But my problem isn’t withmyappearance.
It’s with the two shapes that loiter behind me, not close enough to anything to genuinely belookingfor something to buy.
I study them in the poor reflection of the metal shelf, unable to tell more than just that they’re men, not women, and one of them is taller than the other. If they’re talking, then it’s a quiet conversation that I can’t hear over the sound of the trailers playing across the televisions set up in the store. Though, those are pretty loud, so there’s a high chance theyaretalking, and I just don’t hear them.
And unless I’m mistaken, their bodies are angled towardme.
I have no idea who they are, I’m sure. If I know them, why don’t they just call out to me or say something?
But they don’t.
So I turn around, wishing I had something other than my keys that are still in the pocket of my hoodie.
I was right. Theyarelooking at me. The shorter man, who looks to be an inch shorter than my five foot seven inches, smiles as soon as my eyes catch his light green gaze and holds his hand up in greeting.
“I’msosorry for staring at you. And I guess being a creep,” he tells me in a voice that’s lighter and friendlier than I would’ve expected. “I totally get that I’m being weird, huh?”
As his sleeve rides up, I catch sight of the bottom edge of a tattoo on his arm, but he drops his hand before I can do more than see the vaguest shapes of whatmightbe wings or leaves.
“He’s always weird.” The man beside him is a brunette as well, though his hair is dark, walnut brown, almost black, compared to his companion’s chestnut hair. Both of them have shaggy haircuts that fall around their faces, though the darker-haired one sweeps his hand through it, and I find that it’s shorter on the sides instead of even all around. Perhaps he’s just overdue for a haircut, then.
“Do I…know you guys?” I ask, still perplexed at the closeness that they’ve now admitted to. It makes my skin tingle, and my palms turn clammy. I may not be in an Airbnb in San Diego, but that doesn’t make this any less nerve-racking.
The chestnut-haired man smiles. He looks to be about my age, and if his companion is older, it’s only by a year or two. The former shakes his head, then sighs. “I kind of saw that tournament last year,” he admits. “I was cheering for you. Especially with who your opponents were.”
I blink, taken aback by the words. It was the only time my face was ever shown on a stream, thanks to me being talked into it by the streaming company, and for the longest time, I felt awkward about it.
Halloween night in San Diego cured me of thatrealquick.
But now, those doubts come rushing back, and while I’m notembarrassedorashamedof how I look, generous curves included, I can’t help but be a little self-conscious in front of them.
It’s not like I haven’t been insulted for my weight before, and I hate that it’s the first thing on my mind now.
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly, wishing they’d just go. “I’ve only ever met one other person who admitted to seeing me during that. And they were, uh, less than nice about it.”
His smile freezes in place, and for a moment, the amusement in his eyes changes to something…else. Something still just as good-humored but different. Darker maybe, though I can’t place why it feels that way to me.
“Oh yeah?” His companion is quieter and has his hands shoved in his pockets as if he’s bored with the whole thing. “Was it some asshole you beat, or what?”
“Just…another gamer,” I shrug. “Lots of guys don’t think it’s a girl’s hobby. But whatever. Can’t change stupid, right?” I’m barely aware of what I’m saying, and I feel awkward saying anything at all. This isn’t a hobby I talk about much, but mostly because I don’t have a lot of friends who game, and I don’tplaya lot of online games anymore.
“Sometimes stupid is better off just being kicked off the proverbial island,” the nicer-looking man agrees with a couple of nods.
