by C. M. Owens
I want to point out how very irrational that entire statement sounds, but I turn and walk away instead, because I know what he’s trying to do.
I can see it in the devilish way he grins when he tries to purposely antagonize me.
Just as I get outside, I hear someone jogging to catch up with me.
“Britt!” Base calls.
Taking a fortifying breath, I turn around to—
I have no idea what I was about to do, because my mind goes blank when his lips crash to mine. I stagger a little, and then I react without thinking. My hands go to his hair, pulling at him to come so much closer, as he kisses me into that stupor I remember all too well.
He groans into my mouth as he pushes me against the wall, kissing me harder as he slides his hand down my back and pulls me to him.
My mind keeps telling me to push him away, yet I keep surrendering and silently begging for something else to intervene on my behalf when I can’t stop myself.
He’s the one to break the kiss. I should feel relieved instead of slightly devastated. I hear our heavy breaths as my eyes flutter open to find him already staring at me. He softly pushes a piece of hair out of my face, eyes still holding mine in that way that always made me wonder what he was thinking.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Britt,” he murmurs before his lips brush mine again.
He turns to go before I can tell him I won’t be in town tomorrow, but I decide it’s probably better to keep my mouth shut because it was just kissing him. I don’t entirely trust it to say the right things.
I try to move, but I feel rooted to my spot, yet another unrealistic saying that now makes perfect sense. Every time I feel that simple connection with everyone else—a genuine sense of understanding—it usually seems to stem from him.
He makes me feel too much.
My eyes brim with tears as I exhale harshly.
A glass of champagne is suddenly being handed to me, and I look over, seeing Rain as she leans against the wall next to me.
I take the champagne, but I don’t drink it. Drinking impairs judgment, and I need all the clarity I can find in this moment.
“You and I are drastically different. I’m not even going to pretend to know how this feels for you right now,” Rain tells me. “I see your struggle, though. You’ve probably never truly wanted anything more than everything Base Masters seems to want to serve on a silver platter.” At my shaky breath, she pats my hand. “Don’t panic. Just tell me what’s going on. I’m sure this is scary territory for you.”
I nod a little too hard, and it knocks a tear free.
I clear my throat and shake my head when I try to talk, but know I’ll just blubber. She doesn’t say anything for a minute, even though I hear her try to start a sentence two times.
“Speaking from personal experience,” she says on the third attempt, “first loves can be intense. Even when you’re not ready for them. But someone very, very brilliant says all relationship problems can usually be rectified with simple, concise communication skills,” she finally says before patting my arm and walking away.
That Britt was as naïve as everyone dutifully tried to inform her she was.
All those endless streams of advice, and not one person accurately described how vulnerable the truth really leaves you when you realize how easily someone can simply just walk away now. In this life. Where the proverbial bubble shrouded me until it burst.
Things make more sense when you experience them for yourself. Then you realize why people try so hard to warn you.
Chapter 39
BASE
“No,” I say in disbelief as I pick up what was once my expensive leather tunic. “No, no, no, no,” I add on a groan when I see the fucking leggings have been shredded too.
There’s a bulldog puppy scratching itself right across from me, and I pull back a wet hand, gagging at the drool I didn’t even notice all over my damn ruined outfit.
“Randy!” I shout.
No one else would be this fucking stupid.
“What’s u—oh, whoa.” His eyes go wide as he stumbles into my room, and he holds his hands up. “You said I could get a puppy when we were surrounded by rock legends. That day has come.”
I look at him like he’s lost his damn mind, just before I sneeze. “Damn it, Randy,” I say as I sneeze again, cursing as I shove by him and go to the bathroom.
“That was supposed to be fucking impossible, and I said that like five years ago. I’m allergic to animal hair,” I shout as I sneeze again and again while washing my hands.
“But we were surrounded by rock legends,” he calls through the door. “Just last night.”
“He ate my fucking squire shit, so now what the hell am I supposed to do? I have to be there in four hours, and it’s a fucking three hour drive.”
“I have needle and thread!” Taylor calls.
“Do you fucking know how to use it?” I ask him.
“I can sew a fucking button back on like a champ. But that’s all I got,” he yells back.
Covering my nose and mouth with my shirt, I walk back toward my room, looking at the leather chew toy that fucking dog turned it into.
“Fuck. I can’t wear that. Any holes or tears have to be mended before arrival, and that would take even a master several hours to fix. I don’t even know if it is fixable.”
“Then obviously I can’t help you out,” Taylor says.
“Oh! I know where we can go. I saw an elf costume, and it’s basically the same thing,” Randy says as he runs and grabs his keys before sprinting out the front door.
“It’d better not be a Christmas elf,” I shout.
“There are more elves than Christmas elves?” Taylor asks as he comes around the corner.
I run a hand through my hair, drinking the coffee as I step over the mess of cords lying all over our living room on my way to the table where I left the rulebook. I sit down to do one quick re-read on some of the trickier things about this particular cosplay session.
I barely finish reading the last two pages when three sneezes hit me so hard and fast that I drop the book and…the dog barks right next to me.
“Taylor!”
He runs in and snatches up the puppy, laughing under his breath as he goes to shut it up in Randy’s room.
“I said, ‘I’m going for a run, Taylor. No one goes in my room.’ I come back, and a dog has eaten the outfit I spent a lot of money on so that I didn’t have to look like an idiot. Now Randy is off to buy me a fucking elf costume.”
The dick actually struggles to keep a straight face.
“This isn’t funny. It’s an invitation-only sort of event designed mostly for the hardcore loyal fans, or the future prospects Harley likes to wow before she recruits them. It’s a big deal that she did this favor for me, especially since it could piss Britt off.”
“Britt doesn’t get pissed,” he says like he knows her so well.
“Well, Harley does, and I’m going to embarrass the shit out of her, and she’s going to kick me out.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad. Randy’s going to try to make this right,” he says, not sounding one bit convincing.
He even chokes back some laughter and turns away when he can’t stop himself.
“This is why bands break up. The bandmates are all giant dicks,” I point out, only causing his laughter to double as he leans over the counter.
“What’s so funny?” Sticks asks as he walks out.
Taylor is too busy laughing to answer, but Randy comes busting back in with a bag in his hand.
“The fucking dirty store? You bought my ‘serious’ replacement outfit from the motherfucking dirty store?” I ask the dick I’m going to murder.
Taylor’s laughter reaches hysterics, and he makes a donkey braying noise.
“It’s the only place that sells shit like that around here that I know of,” Randy says as he pulls out the…sexy elf costume.
Sexy. Elf. Costume.
“It’s for wo
men,” Sticks says, his grin slowly growing as I silently wish I could rewind this day and skip my run.
“They don’t make them for dudes. I checked,” Randy says as though that changes everything, and Taylor’s laughter turns into an outright riot.
I snag the bag out of his hand, out of time and options, and curse as I go to Taylor’s room—because…no dog hair—to change, but pause.
“Randy, this is a fucking skirt. Not leggings,” I groan.
“It’s the only elf costume they had.”
“You keep saying that like it solves all my problems!” I say while consciously making an effort not to shove his head in the toilet at this point.
The door swings open, and I see Taylor in the floor, heaving for air as he turns a shade of purple. Just as he sucks in a long breath, he bursts out laughing all over again.
Sticks stumbles into the messy room, laughing as well, as he goes to the closet and pulls out Taylor’s girl box that is full of things left behind by overnight guests who wear his boxers out.
“What color do you need?”
“Any color of brown is in the dress code.”
“Got nude ones here that look about your size,” he says as he starts laughing a little harder, pulling the leggings from the box.
“I’m going to go try to win back a girl, who you pointed out has abandonment issues, after I gave her a really stupid ultimatum. And now I’m going to have to do it wearing a sexy elf costume and some random chick’s leggings. How is any of this fucking funny?” I ask him very damn seriously.
I hear the ridiculousness, and I know why they’re laughing. It’s still not fucking funny right now. Not to me.
The relentless dog has apparently gotten free, because I spot it barking up and down the hall as I rip open the bag and start pulling on the tight, stupid, motherfucking top that stops two inches above my navel.
This is a nightmare. A real, present, and horrifying nightmare.
Sticks chokes back a laugh and turns around, putting his back to me as I mutter curses and work on tying the damn laces.
“This will be remembered as the day I started hating all of you,” I tell him as I shuffle out of my jeans and start pulling on the leggings. “Please tell me these have been washed,” I add…and then replay the stupidity of that hopeful statement.
“I want to pretend they’ve been washed, because I need the win at this point,” I go on as all three of them laugh all throughout the house.
Taylor’s laughter hits the high notes, right along with Randy’s, as Sticks drops to Taylor’s bed, covering his face with his arm as his laughter shakes his damn body.
“Get my fucking boots, Randy, you dick,” I call out. “I can’t go in my room because it has dog hair all over it by this point.”
There’s some stumbling heard through the endless laughter before Randy comes through with my boots that I rip out of his hand. His eyes widen on me when he finally sees the proof about how terrible he’s made my life this day.
He doubles over, because yes, I look the most ridiculous I’ve ever looked in all my life.
“Do you need the hat?” Randy asks through a laugh as I stare incredulously at my reflection.
I look like a crossdressing Peter Pan.
Angrily, I start pulling on the first boot. “I was supposed to wind down with a run, shower, and put on my nicely made outfit that I spent a month’s worth of bill money on.”
I stab my foot into the other boot, and start doing the complicated buckles on both.
“I got the fucking run. I got the fucking shower. Now I’m wearing women’s clothing because you got a fucking dog!”
This is pointless. The more I yell at them, the harder they laugh.
I yank Randy’s keys out of his hand as I pass, because his new car has excellent gas mileage, and I’m sure as fuck not stopping for gas.
I grab my duffel bags, sneezing as that dog comes barking through the house. Ignoring my itchy eyes, I go back and quickly take a picture of the ruined outfit the dog is now growling at as he tries to drag it out of the room.
Then I leave the madhouse full of dicks with another sneeze.
***
“You’re on the list, but you don’t meet dress code,” the prick with a clipboard says as he eyes my clothing with a look of disdain. “Are you sure you signed up for the right thing?”
“I’m positive. Just find the queen, and she’ll let me in. Please,” I tell him, uttering words I never thought I’d say outside a fairytale book.
He stares at me for a second before he laughs a little, then starts laughing harder. “Are you some sort of prank on the queen? A…stripper?” he asks through his chuckles.
Pulling up my phone, I quickly text Harley, realizing getting in is harder than just handing over an invitation and being on a list when you’re dressed like a slutty-elf-male-stripper in women’s clothing.
“Just find the queen,” I say again.
“Me? Find the queen? You really don’t belong here, because you don’t know how these things even work,” he tells me as his laughter tapers off. “Be gone, pedestrian. We don’t need—”
“Base!” Harley shouts from across the way as she quickly rides toward us on an actual, real horse, wearing some outfit that makes her look like a Grecian goddess.
Thank. Fuck.
The dude beside me quickly drops to a knee, eyes widening as he stares at the ground.
“All hail the queen!” he shouts.
Harley’s eyes widen in slight horror as she approaches, and I run a hand through my hair as her lips thin.
“I told you to take this seriously,” she snaps as her horse comes to a stop right in front of me, leaving me staring way up at her.
“A dog ate my costume,” I inform her as I quickly flip through the pictures on my phone.
She glares at me. “At least try to come up with a better excuse than—”
Her words cut out as I hold my phone up, and she snatches it out of my hand to get a better look, as her horse side-steps toward me a little.
“Wow. A dog really ate your costume,” she says like she’s impressed by this.
Her gaze flicks back to me, and her lips start twitching as she glances over my outfit with a more amused look now.
“Is that the slutty elf top from the kinky store?” she asks like she hopes I’m going to answer yes. “And where in the world did you find those…very tight leggings?”
“It’s been a reeeeaaaaallllly rough day, Harley, and now I have a full three days to get through dressed like this.”
I gesture at my clothes, and she just grins harder.
“Right. Well, I happened to bring one of Dale’s old outfits just in case you screwed this up. It’ll be a little big, but—”
“Being a little big is better than it being a lot little.”
She nods like she sort of agrees, eyes flicking over my bare middle as she works twice as hard not to laugh.
“Keep up. We have orientation to do in ten minutes, so you’ll need to change quickly.”
I don’t even say anything, because that horse takes off the second she gives it the go ahead like it has just been waiting to get moving again. I sprint behind it, drawing numerous gazes as we head across an open field surrounded by woods.
I barely glimpse the elaborate things set up all around that make this place look ready for battle. Harley rides down a trail, and I struggle to keep up, because the horse is clearly faster and in way better shape than I am. My bags are also weighing me down.
We’re spit out at a campground, and I stumble over my own feet as Harley rides on. I’m too busy taking in the new scenery.
“Whoa,” I say as I marvel at how just insanely elaborate this all really is.
Harley stops in front of one ornate, massive canopy tent that is surrounded by numerous other tents—all of them looking regal and made out of beige or white material.
“Was I also supposed to bring a special sort of tent too?” I ask as dread cre
eps up my spine.
“We actually assign tents. This is mine, but you can use it to change. The spare clothes are on the table next to the stack of five—”
“They need you, my queen,” a man, who seemingly appears from nowhere, says as he breathes heavily, doubling over and putting his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.
“Hurry,” Harley tells me as she gestures to the big one and then rides back off.
I quickly dart in, and stumble over my own feet as I glance around at the inside. The tent looks silk on the underside, and more silk is hanging down like dividers.
Large, unique, quilted pillows have been designed to look like mattresses, sometimes stacked on top of each other—ranging in size from twin to king, and scattered all around colorful rugs that are layered to cover the tent’s base.
Between the décor and other things, it really does look like a royal tent.
Snapping out of my trance, I hurriedly change into the leggings I once mocked Dale for wearing, and the tunic that was made for broader shoulders than mine. It takes a second to get the boots buckled again, since they’re just as elaborate as everything else I was told to wear.
Then I hurry outside and back down the trail to where everyone is now congregating. I was expecting a lot less people.
At least a hundred or more people are huddled together, clearing a path for Harley as she makes a grand entrance, slowly trotting her horse toward the center.
“Welcome to Azraya!” she shouts.
Everyone makes some random noise in unison like they’ve rehearsed it. I stand in sort of a stupor, propping up against a shed that hosts a lot of unique wooden weaponry designed to look metal.
“Most of you are here because you’ve put in the time, effort, and sacrifice to earn your way here. These three days have been something you’ve looked forward to, and I hope it’s everything you want it to be. Some of you are here because you want to find the virtual world you belong in,” she says, looking over at a group of what is likely prospective future hires.