End Game: A Gamer Romance Page 14

  I gaze around the shop as I stand at the counter, waiting. Glossy prints in different sizes, displaying business artwork or family photos adorn the walls and there’s a smell created by ink and paper peculiar to the shop.

  My art prints appear covered in plastic wrap as someone places them in front of me. I trace a finger across the protective covering on the A3 images. I created this. The vibrancy and detail originally displayed on my screen magnify in reality as the colours and depth pop.

  “Wow,” I say, not looking up at the guy behind the counter.

  “Did you draw these?” he asks.

  My stylised signature appears at the bottom right on each picture and I touch it. “I did.”

  “Huh. I thought they were stills from some new style of manga or something.”

  I look up at the guy in his store uniform. He looks uncomfortable in the logo-emblazoned white shirt and black pants, around my age and similar in appearance to Tyler.

  “No. Mine.” I can’t hide the pride when I look back into his impressed face. “I’ve started selling them.”

  “Cool. At the Con?”

  Definitely a Tyler.

  “No, I only started selling recently.”

  “I meant are you going to the anime one? Next month. You should hire a stall there.”

  Despite my own art being partially inspired by the Japanese manga, I’m not as passionate about anime movies as some of my friends. “Oh. Uh. I’m not a big fan. Well, I’m not sure this style would be popular—”

  “Yeah but people sell things like this.” He taps the pictures. “A lot of the same people go. Same atmosphere, y’know? We get a lot of work here from artists in the weeks before.”

  “Really? You think mine are good enough?” Trepidation mixes with excitement at the idea.

  “Dude! I’d buy one. In fact…” He sorts through the pile and turns an image to face me. The larger-than-life Elf Priest in her white and gold robe, flowing backwards, smites a familiar game enemy with crackling magic from her staff. “I’ll take this one. She’s hot.”

  I bite my lip, half-amused. “Somebody already bought this. We can print another?”

  The guy nods. “Reckon you should print a few. Book a stall. Easy money if you already created the artwork.”

  I pull out my card to pay. This stranger tells me my work is good? People online want to buy what I create? Maybe I’ve found something else I love in life worth pursuing.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  “Don’t wait too long—the Con’s next month. The stalls will book out.”

  Shame, my inner fear mocks, as if you’re really good enough. “Thanks for the compliments about my work.”

  As he places the covered prints into a bag, the one featuring Sinestre and Thorsday pushes to the top; the picture I printed to send to Aaron’s offices in Sydney. Why?

  Because I said I would.

  And because Aaron isn’t allowed to wash his hands of me without a reminder what he did.

  25

  I check the time on my phone as I step from the store and into the early autumn sunshine. Following a hotter than usual summer, cooler weather is a relief for this sun-hating, vitamin D deficient girl. In fact, the heat’s almost at a passable level for sitting outside a cafe.

  I visited a counsellor a couple of times shortly after I left school, but my anxiety at the time ironically put a stop to appointments with somebody who could help me. One exercise she assigned was to take myself for a coffee. Alone.

  I freaked at the idea. People would look at me and wonder why I had no friends.

  Today, my bravery in considering putting my artwork in public and face to face with people leads me towards a nearby cafe. I balk at the prices, but if I divide that by the minuscule number of coffees I’ve bought over the last few months, it’s hardly a big spend.

  Double chocolate mocha with extra chocolate sprinkles in hand, I slink into a corner table and pull out my phone. If I can’t see people, they can’t catch my eye. My attempt to stay away from the game app fails, and I’m soon engrossed in trading ore.

  Next, I click over to the site ranking players and guilds on our server and across the game as a whole. A small thrill runs through as I notice my name moved up from 28th to 22nd amongst the thousands on the server. Considering the players who’re my competition, this is bloody good. I shouldn’t give up on the game after all. I’m determined to find balance.

  I check Aaron too and fight my childish glee he’s slipped to 30th since his absence.

  Scraping the glass’s bottom with my spoon, I suck the remaining milky chocolate and brave a glance around the cafe. The majority in here wear business suits, many with laptops open, or focused on their phones too. A few others match me, dressed down and separate, probably as happy as I am not to be city workers. My work shift starts in an hour, so I gather my things, ready to head back into my area of the city.

  A couple in the corner catch my eye, because the man’s bulk and muscle draws attention from other girls too. I can’t see his face, just his broad back and the blond hair. The woman opposite has a hand over his, hers childlike against the size, squeezing as she speaks in a low voice, not taking her eyes from him.

  If you lose somebody close to you, and they stay in your mind, the brain plays tricks and is drawn to people who remind you of them. I swallow, not wanting this particular reminder of the man I think about every day. A touch of insanity creeps in, as a stupid voice tells me to take a look in case this is Aaron. That if he is, then I can finally let go of any idea he’ll come back to me.

  Said insanity propels me from my seat in the direction of the bathrooms behind their table. Clutching my plastic-covered pictures, I edge by the couple who are in deep conversation.

  How long is the correct amount of time to spend in the bathroom when pretending not to stalk strange men? All stalls are empty and I rest against a sink, bags at my feet, staring at the pale girl with flushed cheeks in the mirror.

  No, this is anxiety playing tricks. I need to get a grip, leave, and back into my comfort zone.

  A girl walks in and heads into a stall without a glance. I turn on a tap to wash my hands then become frustrated with the length of time it takes to dry them. Wiping fingers along my shirt, I grab my bags and step back into cafe.

  In my attempt to focus on the man’s face, I lose my direction through the narrow space and bump into his partner’s chair. When Aaron looks up, I lose awareness of everything.

  His eyes meet mine, the surprise identical to when we first met: I’m not what he expected to see. Apart from this time, I’m not who he expected. There’s a weariness to his features, the smile I often saw missing. But I wouldn’t be smiling if I’d come face to face the person I made my ex by ignoring them, instead of having the balls to end the relationship.

  “Aaron?”

  His eyes switch to the woman opposite him, who turns in her chair to look at me. I size her up: tall, his age, pretty, long dark hair. Surprised to see me.

  “Evie.” His returned greeting is flat and confused.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Same.”

  I glance between the two of them, but no introduction comes. A myriad of words and sentences cascade through my head, but each one sounds desperate or trite: I called you, why didn’t you call me, who’s she, what the fuck is going on.

  Instead I settle for, “I haven’t seen you online for a while.”

  “I’ve been away.”

  “In Perth?”

  “Yes.”

  My sweating palms stick to the plastic sleeves in my hands. “Off the grid? I know Perth isn’t Sydney, but I wouldn’t say we were backwater.”

  “Something like that.”

  His attempts to hide discomfort don’t work; Aaron’s stiff figure and confused look replace the relaxed guy chatting earlier.

  Still no introduction to his companion, but what would be the point? His reluctance makes who she is obvious.r />
  “Do you know Aaron from online too?” I ask the woman.

  “Online?” She looks back to Aaron.

  “She doesn’t,” he puts in. “Evie, maybe this isn’t the best time to talk.”

  The small room constricts around me, air sucked out into the city as I attempt to hide my struggle to remain calm. Repressed anger bubbles through, and my glare widens Aaron’s eyes further.

  “Sure. Well, you have my number.”

  He nods.

  No ‘I’ll call you’. Unbelievable.

  Unable to summon any words that sound sane, I walk away without saying goodbye.

  Then pause.

  Turning back to Aaron, I pull an A3 image from the plastic sleeve and set the artwork on the table in front of him.

  “Here. I was going to post your commission to your workplace, but now I can save myself the cost.”

  As he reaches out to pick up the image, he knocks his half-empty cup with an elbow. A brown stain pools across the picture; the image of Thorsday and Sinestre, ruined.

  “That’s ironic,” I retort.

  The Perth autumn sunshine no longer cheers my day the way it did when I walk outside. Shaking and fighting tears, I head to the bus stop.

  Evie. Heart. Wrekt.

  26

  Someone yanks open my curtains and I squint as the daylight, struggling through a gap, now floods my room.

  “Erin!” I pull my headphones off my ears and around my neck.

  She stands in the window, hands on hips, as if a mother about to admonish a child.

  Which is pretty much what happens.

  “Evie, you need to get a grip. Look at the state of this room.”

  “What? You can see the carpet.”

  “Only because the burger wrappers and pizza boxes are in the bin.” She picks up a discarded plastic drink cup and wrinkles her nose. “Mostly.”

  Empty chips bags and a pyramid of empty energy drink cans cover my desk, taking over the Wacom drawing pad. I bought the item when I began creating computer-generated artwork, with my secret savings for a non-existent trip to Sydney. I’d borrowed one in the early days to see if I could switch from pen and paper to computer-drawn graphics. Since I became serious, I managed to pick up a mid-range one second hand. Candy wrappers cover the table’s surface, screwed up in balls or trailing towards the keyboard.

  “If you don’t like my room, don’t come in here,” I retort.

  “I have to! You’ve kidnapped half the plates and cups from the kitchen.” Erin grabs two plates. “Come on, Evie, this is getting ridiculous.”

  The screen catches the corner of my eye, flashing red, and I hastily tap keys to prevent my character dying.

  “Evie! Are you listening?”

  “I told you I have the week off work to play the new game expansion. Don’t be upset, I’m just doing my thing.”

  “Doing your thing?” She crosses her arms and glowers. “Are you still upset about that douchebag?”

  I can’t say his name. “No.”

  “Good. Because I knew that’d end in disaster. Guys who look like him aren’t capable of long-distance relationships. Or long-term anything, probably.”

  I can’t help a dig back at her. “Speaks the relationship expert.”

  “At least I’m realistic and don’t end up broken-hearted.”

  “Can we not talk about him, please?”

  “Plus it’s bad enough you’re pining over him, but locked away from the world again? Evie, come on…”

  “I told you, I took a week off for the new game expansion. I have a new character to level. I’m starting a new race.”

  “What kind of race? To see who can level fastest by having no life or sleep?”

  “No. Character race. I’m a Dark One.”

  “You’re a mess, that’s what you are. When did you last shower?”

  I untangle my hair with fingers. Yeah, could do with washing this. “I’m comfy in these clothes.”

  Erin walks into my wardrobe and pulls out a dress before dropping it on my unmade bed. “You’re coming out tonight. No argument.”

  “No, I promised Tyler I’d help him level—”

  “He’s coming,” she interrupts.

  I blink. “What?”

  “And Spencer. You’re a bunch of antisocial losers.”

  “Gee, Erin, you’re really encouraging me to spend time with you with all this friendly talk.”

  “If you’re not ready by eight, I’m throwing the modem into the trash.”

  “Ha ha.” I watch her warily. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Try me.”

  My diminutive, whirlwind friend sweeps out of the room and I groan as I pull my earphones back on.

  “Your girlfriend’s hassling me,” I say to Cole.

  “Erin?” The lacking denial she’s his girlfriend doesn’t miss my radar.

  “Are you going out tonight, Tyler?”

  “Huh? No. I’m two levels off max. I want to unlock the final zone.”

  “Yeah, that’s my plan,” I mutter. “She threatened to trash the modem.”

  Spencer chuckles.

  “Don’t leave me behind, guys. If I have to go out, you come too.”

  There’s a huffed silence, and words appear at the bottom of my screen.

  Thorsday has come online

  Every dampened emotion surges and hits me like a sword to the chest. The chat server falls silent, and I hold my breath, waiting for the familiar sound to indicate Aaron’s connecting to voice chat too.

  Nothing.

  Thorsday: Hey

  One word, directed at nobody and everybody.

  Aaron had words for me that he texted, the day I spotted him with another girl. I couldn’t bear to speak to him and waited another twenty-four hours before responding. My rawness had no room for rationality; I couldn’t respond straightaway. Aaron couldn’t know how fast I fell.

  We had a brief text conversation, in which Aaron behaved exactly how he always does—vague and no real answers. He offered to catch up and explain ‘some time’ and understood why I didn’t want to speak to him. Aaron denied the girl was his girlfriend/partner/lover/random pick-up but, by that point, who she is no longer mattered.

  If he cared, Aaron wouldn’t have ignored my messages over previous days. If he was in Perth, he definitely received them. As a man who declared he misses me when we’re apart, not telling me or arranging to meet, if only for a couple of hours, negates that. The guy enjoys toying with people, turning life into a game. Hiding. What’s the point trying to continue with somebody only half-able or half-interested in a relationship?

  I’ve heard stories about couples who meet online, and within months move cities—or even countries—to be together or even marry. Two people from our guild three years ago did. They don’t play anymore, but are happily married and last I heard, expecting a baby.

  But I’ve also seen my fair share of Catfish episodes to know people who start online relationships are often not who they say.

  Four weeks.

  Four bloody weeks since he contacted me. And how much of that time was he in Perth?

  Is he still?

  Deleet: Hey, man

  Tyler and a couple of others greet him, but I remain silent. I type nothing, and say no more, until I’m done with the quest I can no longer concentrate on.

  “See you tonight, guys,” I say over the voice chat and log off.

  My hands tremble as I reach for my caffeine-loaded drink and knock back the whole lot.

  Quest unlocked: leave the house and defeat self-imposed exile.

  27

  People mill around in the narrow space between the movie theatres, and we edge past as we work our way along the carpeted hallway and back to the foyer. The large Cineplex, with the highest tech screens and most comfortable seats, is our go-to for movies. We book the same seats each time, a ritual once a month unless the only movies released are appalling.

  Cole, Erin, Tyler, me. Spencer bai
led, and occasionally friends of Tyler’s from uni come, but tonight the four of us sat devouring popcorn and slushies as we switched off. Tonight’s movie features too many space battles for my taste, and I drift into other thoughts when the plot line pauses for explosion after explosion.

  Despite the fact an alcohol-fuelled evening seemed preferable, sitting in the dark without conversation helps. To be honest, movie nights rock when you don’t want to discuss personal lives. Erin has instilled an absolute game talk ban this evening, and Tyler already fell foul of her punishment: $5 fine per transgression.

  I hang with Cole outside the neon-lit candy bar area, while Tyler buys more junk to eat, and Erin visits the bathrooms. His tall figure draws glances from girls passing by; as always, he’s oblivious. Sure, he’s a gamer nerd with his t-shirt emblazoned with Gamers Don’t Die They Respawn, a nod to those in the know. One girl, Star Wars tee plus maroon woollen hat smiles as she passes, as if he’s part of her secret society.

  Erin isn’t around to police us, but we forego game talk anyway.

  “Erin’s worried about you,” Cole says, not looking at me.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’ve been quiet online. Taking offence easily again.”

  “I have not!”

  He arches a brow at my demonstration of exactly that behaviour. “Uh huh.”

  “No game talk,” I warn.

  “Can I talk about Thorsday?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. Well, Erin’s worried. You’ve withdrawn again and she doesn’t want your health heading downhill again.”

  In the past, my gaming became the focus, an escape, and is again but not as badly as three years ago when I switched off from the world. Everybody around moved on from school to jobs and uni. I didn’t know what to do, anxiety peaking as the eighteen years in the organised academia suddenly stopped. I needed timetables and routine and my friends around, hanging out by the tables outside the canteen the way we had since Year 8.

  That life ended as Year 12 exams and graduation hit. The only familiar thing in my life that hadn’t changed was the game. I plunged in and grabbed onto the part of life keeping me afloat. I moved on as Sinestre, but ground to a halt as Evie.