Page 4 of Love to Stay

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 toBe 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.”

Chapter Four

JOSIE

Iclose my eyes at the sound of Mick’s voice. The sudden urge to cry rushes over me. I almost miss the part where he admits to having made a mistake. I crumble up the eviction notice and toss it into the trash.

“Please tell me you’re not in jail.” I thought Mick was past that stage of his life. That he grew up and, well, moved on.

He no longer had to struggle to find a way to make ends meet. His sister’s husband is loaded, and Mick isn’t doing too bad himself. He may not have had any blockbuster fights yet, but from what I’ve heard, the smaller ones pay well too. Plus, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he gets a title shot.

“No, I don’t do that shit anymore, Josie.” I can tell my question bothered him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. You know I never judged.” I actually thought it was sweet; he tried to do whatever he had to so that he and his sister had a roof over their heads.

He might have gone about it the wrong way, but Mick’s heart was always in the right place. He was always so different from other boys, but I suppose Mick isn’t a boy any longer.

“I know,” he says, and the silence stretches. I have so many questions I want to ask him about his life now, but I stick tothe reason he’s calling. “Are you going to tell me about this mistake?”

I wish he’d called because he wanted to check in or, heck, to hear my voice, but I’d told him it was for the best that we have limited contact. He needs to stay focused. More than anything, I didn’t want him finding out about my life falling apart because then he’d be back here. He made it out of this place, and he doesn’t need me and my problems dragging him back down.

I also hoped that the feelings I had for him would fade away given some space. That line of thinking backfired on me big time. If anything, they’ve gotten worse. I know people can be homesick, but I didn’t know you could be someone sick because that’s what this is starting to feel like. And the more my life falls apart, the worse it gets.

“Tell me about your day first.” Is he stalling? I wish he would just rip the Band-Aid off and tell me about this mistake he made. As much as I want to talk to him, I know when the call ends, I’ll be miserable.

“Why?” I force a laugh just to keep things light.

"I just want to hear you talk for a minute. It reminds me of home.”

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