Page 14 of Something So Strong

Resting my phone on the sill, I reach for my cigarettes. Flicking open the pack, I pause to look at the warning: Smoking kills. That may be so, but it’s sure taking its sweet time with me. Undeterred, I slide one out, light it, and feel sadistically content that each puff brings me closer and closer to not having to think about any of them ever again.

My stomach grumbles so loudly of its unappreciated emptiness that Kazooie’s shriek, as he and Banjo ultimately die from being struck by one too many whiplash tentacles, is completely drowned out. Which is ironic, because that’s how they died; underwater, swimming in the stomach of a cyborg shark in Clanker’s Cavern.

Did you understand a word of that?

Trust me, it makes complete sense and is exactly what I needed. Classic, old-school, offline gaming. Whilst I would have loved to make my way through the Japanese controlled Pacific wielding a World War Two era MP40 submachine gun, mowing down players in an attempt at killing my own speculations in the process, the mere thought of being called a fag by fourteen-year-olds for missing a shot is something I just couldn’t handle. And once the idea was in my head, I needed to make a full 180 back to my roots.

Before my abandonment at Lancaster showed me life’s truths, I was reared by my cousin’s old Nintendo 64. The paradox of a child spending their summers on a West Country estate surrounded by animals and woods, staying in a manor house with more bedrooms than extended family members combined, that instead chose to spend every day at the foot of their bed with a transparent purple controller in their hands may have been a sight to behold if anyone bothered to come looking for me. James Bond, Mario and his go-karting frenemies, and a talking bear carrying a bird in a backpack were my friends, my escape, until five o’clock when Grandad would knock on my door and it didn’t matter anymore that Mum and Dad had left me behind again.

Just as it had all those years ago, time passed in the blink of an eye.

Skipping lunch and bolting back to my room had seemed like the right idea at the time.

After spotting Kai from his open bedroom window, I was sure he’d be waiting in the hall for me, but when it was empty, I took my chances and locked myself in. No food. Nothing but tap water and toothpaste if the situation became dire enough. Yet, no matter how far I try to push him from my thoughts, he’s still there.

Despite trying to avoid him, the darkest recesses of my mind wish he’d knocked on my door and invited himself in. So I could be around him. So I could see if the way my dick reacted last night was just a fluke…

A door opens and slams shut.

I try to convince myself it’s not Kai’s, but I know it is.

It would seem that even in the confines of my new—albeit low in supplies—sanctuary, I’m never going to be separated from him.

I close my eyes.

What is he wearing?

Has he brushed that faded blue hair?

Are his eyes still holding onto those heavy dark circles?

Fuck, he’s got some serious young Norman Reedus vibes. Grime and eighties punk rock seeping from his pores.

Kai’s door opens again and my body moves on its own. In no time flat, my chest is against the backside of my door as I squint through the peephole in the hopes of glimpsing him.

Pulling away, I scrunch my face in confusion before leaning back in to watch Alma rock back and forth as she runs her hands through her long black hair. Shoulders rounded and shaking, I’m almost compelled to ask her if she’s alright, but a crying woman is not something I know how to deal with.

At least… it looks like she’s crying.

Finally deciding to leave, Alma appears to reconsider and hovers in the outer perimeter of my fisheye view of the hallway. I hope she does try knocking again, but only for my own selfish reasons. Only so that I might see the man I’ve spent all afternoon avoiding, as though picturing his ass in our work khakis isn’t enough of a mind fuck already…

My obnoxious messenger alert rips me out of stalker mode. Backtracking, I smile as I slump onto my bed.

MAVIS: OMFG I just got through the most boring induction ever!!! Kill me now!!!

JESS: That good, ha? Sounds a lot like mine, but I’ve been finished since lunch. Do you know what your job is yet?

MAVIS: Cocktail waitress…

JESS: That’s cause you’re so fucking hot. But I have a feeling you aren’t psyched.

MAVIS: Cause I start tonight!

JESS: Same with Saxon. But I think you’ll handle it better.

MAVIS: You should see what they have me wearing. It’s… It’s… a glorified French maid outfit. It’s practically lingerie!

JESS: Would it be too forward to ask for a pic?

---