Page 87 of The Game

Hands shoved in his pockets, a coy smirk plays at his lips as I saunter forward. Backing away with a jerk of his pointed chin, darkness consumes his frame, and I follow his path. Shivering in the lower temperatures of the building, our footsteps and the dripping of water echoes off all the metal and abandoned machinery. Despite blocking the images away, tucking them into the furthest recesses of my mind, I cannot help but to picture Ellie the night we found her, and it stalls my breath for a moment before a question bubbles up.

“Did they ever hurt her like they did Ellie?” I say, voice gravelly and low. Teddy’s shoulders tense, and he glances at me before facing forward as we stalk the empty building together.

“No. Don’t try to equate the two, though.”

His admonishment should piss me off, but I only sigh.

“I would never. I just want to ensure you’re making those fuckers regret everything they ever did.”

His soft snort is my only answer before his tattooed hand splays over a doorway and he gives a gentle shove.

“I think Tristan’s almost killed Danny Boy about five times already. I’m planning to make Dick rip his stitches out tonight if you want to watch.”

As he turns and raises his eyebrow at me, a smile forms on my lips at the tantalizing thought, but I shake my head.

“Alice…”

He nods.

“Rough day,” he says, and I follow him through the door and into an office type setting. “Don’t let her get too stuck in her own thoughts. I have a gift for her as well, if you don’t mind.”

Again, I want to be angry, but he knows her as well as we do, and so I nod, shoving my own hands in my pockets, completely at ease. “She does have a habit of that. And I am sure she’ll fucking cry over whatever you have to give her.”

He chuckles. “I think you’re right.”

Another door awaits us at the other end of the office, and Teddy turns, pressing his shoulders to the glass, leveling me with a dark look. The way his eyes are deep-set in his face yet still so round gives him such a sinister look, his black brows betraying his emotions with every twitch—until he goes blank as a canvas and hides in plain sight. It is eerie when he does this, but I respect it.

It is a skill I, too, have honed.

But the moment my eyes settle on the woman seated on a torn couch, there is no masking my utter shock and fervent rage.

CHAPTER 44

Alice

The sun has set, and all I can do is fidget. Normally, bedtime is to be resisted, for with my sleep comes the nightmares. Today has dredged up a lot of shit, and so I cannot sit still, focus on the documentary about plant life I chose to make me feel somewhat sleepy. Throwing down the remote with a frustrated sigh, I stand and stretch, feeling the tug and pull of my sore muscles. Maybe I just need a spa night, something Ellie and I used to do in high school.

Padding to the kitchen, I fill a glass with ice and water before rooting around in the fridge for lemons and cucumbers. Jameson always has some for his vodka. Slicing them and rinsing them, I find myself smiling, feeling some semblance of normalcy. It feels odd that after all this time, I am able to slip back into such a domesticated role, but maybe I can chalk that up to a good therapy session.

Putting my supplies away and tidying up, I take my water to the gym, sights set on the sauna. I have no clue where Jameson went or if Tristan is up; he sleeps at such odd hours, I learned to give up a long time ago pushing him to get on a schedule.

Tapping my phone into the bluetooth speakers, I find one of my favorite indie playlists and strip until I’m nude. The music winds softly through the desolate and dim gym, the floor to ceiling windows on the furthest end of the space letting in soft light from the setting sun. Carrying my water into the sauna, I adjust the temp a little lower; for whatever reason, those boys can handle an insane amount of heat as well as the steam. After teasing them about it, they’d shared that it was really quite normal for Russian people to have saunas for all the benefits, another link to how they grew up in Moscow.

Laying a gym towel on the cedar bench, I settle myself down and relax with a long sigh. Corey recommended deep breathing for my anxiety, or setting a timer and getting up and doing something physical. Right now just feels like a time to be peaceful, to find a new routine to soothe my nerves.

I let my mind wander wherever it pleases, feeling it scamper like a rabbit, but it is honestly refreshing. I think of happy times with my mother, Vasily, and my aunt. I remember all the little moments with Tristan and Jameson, like the day they tried and failed to teach me to ride a dirt bike. I still have a scar on my shin, and had to cover the gash for prom. I think of Teddy and all our late nights and early mornings, watching Anime and eating shitty take out food, that hole in my chest where he belongs festering despite all the healing I’ve been striding towards.

But most of all, I think of how muchIhave changed, and a few tears leak from the corners of my eyes to slide down my cheeks and mingle with my sweat. My fingers trace the deepness of my scars, the numbness over the silky skin strange to me. My heart aches for that joy I felt when I discovered I was pregnant, for as terrified as I was, I’d known in my very soul the father of that child would have done everything in his power to be the best man he could be for them. I’m sorrowful that I couldn't give him that.

But I’m thankful for all that morphed together to change me, to shape me into who I am now. I think back to sixteen year old me, so frightened of the world and all its monsters. I think she’d be proud of me, would be amazed at the strength and grace I’ve found through it all. And I want to help others, I want to use all I’ve been through to show people they can do it, that the world still needs them, too. Perhaps that is the greatest gift born of these ashes.

It feels so good to release all of my thoughts that I don’t sense the shift in the air, the change in the atmosphere as something sinister stalks closer. My eyes spring open as I scream, my body jolting, the familiar slate gray hue to Tristan’s wide eyes and his palm over my lips making me sag with relief.

“Sorry,babochka,” he mumbles, fingers slipping away, eyes surreptitiously glancing down at my bare breasts. Feeling ashamed of my nudity, I shake my head and pull the towel around to cover up.

“I just…didn’t know you were home,” I say.

When my eyes find his again, they are guarded with a tinge of sadness, and it hurts me why he looks at me that way; I never used to be nervous or abashed around them before. Now I just feel awkward, as though they see me and only think of what I did with Teddy, what Daniel did to me.

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