Page 2 of Sinner's Salvation

Hours blur as we play. My life is a pattern of games: the ones I play and the ones I create.

VioletV has what I can’t have. A life. Virtual friends instead of friends, virtual success instead of reaching typical milestones in real life. But they are very real to me, and no one can take them away.

I wish my parents would understand. I wish they wouldn’t keep pressuring me into the type of life I could never set foot in again.

Hours pass as the game swallows all my attention, but who needs sleep? I can function with only a few hours just fine. Even when the first sign of drowsiness appears, my focus declining by the second, and a yawn parting my lips, I push through.

In my sleep, there are dreams I can’t control: colors, sounds, and wishes. A shiver skitters down my spine, chilling my skin. The desire is there, along with curiosity. A flicker I try to stomp, but I can’t be selfish and give in to that.

When we’re the last squad alive, pocketing our team’s win, I move to developing my game, creating a bridge to separate the real world from the fantasy. When I finish that, I create a few more imaginary characters, adding them to the catalog of avatars.

There are two types of gamers: pro gamers and those who do it as a hobby. In my case, it started as escapism and slowly turned into the only thing I saw myself doing. During the first three years, no one took me seriously. In a domain ruled by men, to succeed as a female was unheard of.

Five years later, everyone knows my name. All my wins, perseverance, and hard work have paid off.

No one knows who I am, and no one knows what I look like. I wear so many wigs that if it wasn’t for the need to shower, I would have forgotten the color of my hair. And big sunglasses. What started as a way of hiding turned into my brand.

***

Rolling out of bed, I head into my walk-in closet. Picking up my black boyfriend jeans and a simple black blouse, I put on my wig of the day—shoulder-length and blond with black tips. It’s my power wig. If our team, The Head Hunters, wins the three-day championship, I will rank as the tenth best player in the world. It’s impressive as it is. It’s even more so as a woman. And I don’t have to go outside to achieve that.

I step outside my room and take the curved staircase down. Ambling into the kitchen, Serena swings her legs under the table while Amanda, the housekeeper, prepares her a snack box for school.

My sister’s eyes go round, and she smiles, pointing at my wig. “I love this one. It’s the cool you.”

My mother steps inside, and she halts, taking me in. “Championship?”

“Yes.”

She kisses the top of my sister’s head and says to me, “Don’t forget to eat and hydrate.”

“I won’t.”

“How long?”

“Three days.”

She takes the green glass from the counter and drinks her smoothie. Her eyes find me, eyes the same color as mine—pale greenish, even though I hide them behind oversized sunglasses most of the time.

“We’re going on a trip.”

“Have fun.”

“Will you come with us next time? Please, pretty please?”

My throat clamps up, and sweat gathers at my nape. It’s my sister’s innocent voice brimming with a plea that’s strangling me. My pulse kicks up, and my vision dots. I wish. Sorry for being a disappointment ever since you were born.

“Serena.”

It’s my mother who notices my panic attack.

Her lips thrust out in a huff. “But why, Mommy? My friends think I made her up. But I have a sister.”

“Enjoy the trip.”

I rush up the stairs, ignoring that I have taken nothing with me.

I log into the game at my desk, sighing in relief. Here, I know who I am, and the pressure of winning doesn’t affect me; it motivates me. Among my peers, I feel at ease—my safe place, where no one judges, where no one accuses me of not being normal. I can simply just be.

---