Chapter 3: Mick

Chapter Three

MICK

A sharp pain shoots down my side as I twist the knob to my apartment door. Even though training had gotten cut short and I spent the last two hours at a walk-in clinic, I’m tired. It’s not a physical thing. Most of that time was spent in the waiting room, and only about five minutes with the physician’s assistant who said I had bruised ribs. I could’ve given myself that diagnosis. Despite my condition, I could go a few more rounds in the ring. Mentally I’m not all there, which is why I lost concentration and took the hard punch to my side.

The toe of my boot hits a cardboard box that I don’t remember being there when I left this morning. It was four in the morning and I barely had my eyes open, so it’s possible I missed it. I don’t remember ordering anything. Another sign of my declining mental state. I’m barely twenty, but I’m acting like a geriatric at the end stages.

The box is surprisingly heavy. I carry it over to the small dining room table and take a look at the labeling. Fragile. This side up.

The sender is ModHouse, which I’ve never heard of. With the sharp side of my car key, I score the tape and rip it open to find a computer-generated note inside.

Pedro said that you got injured and would be out of commission for a few days. I don’t think you’ve done much with your apartment. The last time we zoomed it looked pretty bare, more like an institutional cell than a living space. Maybe the lights from this will at least brighten your space.

I lift the computer and all the extras out of the box. It’s not a snake that’s going to bite me, but hell if it doesn’t feel that way. I leave it and head for the shower. I use cold water to try to blast the thoughts out of my head, maybe numb my cock that is throbbing at the thought of what the computer could bring, but nothing works. Her face is all I see even when the needle points of the water strike my face. Her profile lit by the blue screen, her fingers flying across the keyboard, the rise of her tits when she holds her breath. I never touched her, not even once despite all the fantasies I’d dreamt up in my head. I didn’t want to ruin the one decent thing in my shitty life. The time spent in her apartment was a refuge. I drop my hand to my balls and squeeze until my cock deflates like a popped balloon.

“Sorry, friend, just isn’t the right time,” I tell my meat. God, I’m pathetic. I turn off the water and shake myself like a dog before toweling off.

Back in the kitchen with the towel hanging around my hips because I’m too lazy and sore to dress, I pop a chicken breast into the microwave with some potatoes and then stare at the computer like it’s a snake about to bite me.

If I turn it on, I’m going to want to log in and see what she’s doing. I’m going to want to message her. If she responds, I’ll pack my bags and go back home, disappointing everyone, including her. Or worse, she doesn’t respond. She leaves me unread.

I manage to ignore the computer for three days, but after getting pounded at the gym and yelled at by Pedro for having shit concentration, my defenses are low.

I hook it up. I log in. I hover my mouse over her profile. She’s offline, or at least her status says she’s offline. She could be in ghost mode.

Fuck me. There was never a time in the past where I had any hesitation reaching out to her. Why am I dithering like a schoolboy trying to ask the prom queen out? We’re friends at the very least. Lived next door to each other in rat-infested apartments for eight years. I’ve watched her play—and win—every computer game in existence. I’ve also fought with some assholes online who harassed her for just being a girl.

She changed her name then, kept her identity on the downlow. It pissed me off to see other gamers out there making millions, getting actual endorsements while she had to pretend she had a dick and balls so guys weren’t in her DMs every day saying how they were going to rape her.

It wouldn’t be a lie to say that I started beefing up so that if I ever ran into one of those assholes in real life, they’d end up eating through a straw for the rest of their lives.

I create an alternate account. I’ll just check in and see what randos are following her, see if I need to do some cleanup duty. That’s all. I join her Discord server and scan the welcoming messages which basically amount to Be nice, don’t do crimes . There’s a schedule for streaming. I set an alarm for those dates. I search her username to see what she’s been saying. It’s all pretty neutral. I see a request for a face reveal get deleted in real time. She has an auto bot working to clean the server, but there are so many of them that the bot can’t keep up. I shake my head. What does it matter what she looks like? She’s an amazing gamer and fun to watch. That’s why she got famous in the first place.

I send a few of the biggest offenders a couple of DMs to fuck off or find out. One of them responds.

You and what army?

Don’t need an army. I could take you down easy

LOL fuck off loser

Give me a date, time and place

I figured Aloy had a vag but you white-knighting for her confirms it. Thanks buddy

I stare at the screen. I screwed up. I grab my phone and dial without thinking.

“Hello? Mick, is that you?”

“Josie, I made a mistake.”