Dewey Belong Together

by Smartypants Romance

  Quick as lightning, she thrust, and just as quickly, I dodged. I returned her thrust with one of my own, which she didn’t parry. I tapped her arm with the sword, and she didn't fail to sell a look of pained annoyance.

  "That's one point for Sir Wrath!" Zeke called, still holding his cell aloft. “First to three wins!”

  We walked around in a semicircle until I saw my opening and took it. With two fast slashes, I scored two hits on Max's breastplate before she even began to block. And just like that, it was over. I had lost the tournament, but I had regained my pride. Zeke whooped and the ladies clapped heartily while I extended a hand to Max.

  She took it, then simply said, "Dude. You've been holding out on me. I expect a lesson before you leave Tennessee."

  “Sure thing. And consider that retribution for all the times you’ve kicked my butt in-game in duels.”

  “Well, I don’t know if that makes up for all the times,” she said playfully, smiling. "But we can say with certainty that keyboard warrior skills don’t easily translate into real warrior skills, like you seem to have. What was that, kendo?"

  I nodded. “Yup, I have a thing for Japanese swords. It may have started because of Rurouni Kenshin, but it became real damn fast. I needed a way to both exercise and become more mindful. Kendo offered both.”

  “I cannot believe I’m in the woods, covered in foam armor, holding fake swords and discussing mindfulness with you, of all people.” She laughed. “Just when you think, after ten years, you know someone. What kept you from bragging about doing real sword fighting in the guild chat?”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t an omission by design. It felt … private. Like how I wouldn’t share stuff about my mom, or my sisters, or what I do for a living.”

  “But you’ve shared all those things with me,” she interjected, cocking her head to one side.

  “You know you’re different,” I said softly, and reached out to tuck a bunch of errant strands of hair behind her ear.

  “That crush you had on me,” she started, then seemed to change her mind. “Never mind. Topic for another time. Let’s get stuff cleaned up so we can head home. I don’t know about you, but I’m still tired and sore from chasing Zeke all over the Appalachian mountain chain.”

  “Right?” I said, snickering. “That man can run.”

  “It wasn’t even running at times, I swear he was galloping.”

  We both laughed. Sharing a laugh with Max was quickly becoming one of my favorite things in the entire universe, along with building things, my family, and Grey’s Anatomy.

  Chapter 13

  Maxine

  “I hate sounding like a drill sergeant, but you call that a line? Beelzebub will eat us for breakfast if you don’t get in formation, stat.”

  ― Maximus_Damage

  After flipping a coin to see who went first, Wrath and I had showered and were about to dig into amazing smelling fried chicken that Naomi had graciously picked up from Genie’s. We ate in relative silence, but this time it was comfortable, both of us so tired, and the food too good. It was after we’d loaded up the dishwasher and I put on the coffee pot that we started making more than errant small talk.

  “So, I have a theory,” I began. “Everyone who games as much as we do—the hardcore gamers—is running away or hiding from something. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be living in the game, they’d be out living.” I poured the coffee, loaded the cups on a tray, and headed toward the sofa. It wasn’t cold enough to start up the fireplace, but I did have the electric heat up, and it was warm and cozy in my little cottage.

  Wrath grabbed a seat and replied, “Hey, I take offense to that. I think that memories and relationships we forge in-game can be as important and real as those we make offline. Remember that time I was trailing you in the Misty Forest and we found the Wild Hunt? We joined forces to prove that we were worthy of leading it, and we won! We flew through the night sky on horses made of blood and stardust and it was amazing.” His eyes were lit up like a kid’s, and I couldn’t help but be caught up in his enthusiasm.

  “It really was an epic night,” I agreed, grinning.

  “And we didn't argue once. You kept raving about how much fun you were having. That was a good memory, and there are dozens more. When we defeated Meglathor and you won the Helmet of Healing? What about when we had the last guild party and I gave away all the armor dyes from my special reserve? People were stoked to get those, like they got a genuine gift. Remember the fun? Why does it have to be all bad with us, Max?"

  "I don't remember you doing that at the party," I said quietly, picking up my coffee mug. "I think I might have a bit of a blind spot when it comes to you, Wrath."

  He threw his arms up in the air. "As I've been trying to tell you! You know, I was having a tough time when I first met you, and I think you're still holding a lot of that against me."

  "And what about more recent transgressions? Five years ago, when I went up for officer. You said you weren't yourself when you tried to sabotage me and then refused to explain further. Why? Who were you?" I turned to face him on the couch, as though he would have trouble speaking loud enough to be heard.

  "Let's say this crazy theory of yours is correct, and we're all running from something. Then, at the time, I was running from myself, hiding in the game. Hiding from my diagnosis. I'm … fuck, Max. I can't—"

  He started gulping for air. I was alarmed until I saw him close his eyes and slow down his breathing.

  I reached out and clasped his arm. "Hey, I'm here. It's okay."

  "No, it's not okay, because it's you, and I don't want to look weak in front of you!" he almost shouted.

  I shook my head. "Wrath, I don't care about things like that. You're not weak for being sick. Please, tell me what's going on. I'm freaking out here. Is it cancer?"

  He laughed rather morbidly. "No, it's not cancer. I have bipolar disorder, Max."

  I chewed on that for a minute and then squeezed his arm. "You thought I would see you as weak because of a disorder in your brain that you have absolutely no control over? What kind of person would that make me?"

  "It's not something I'm exactly proud of. I don't like being out of control, saying and doing things that I later on regret. Before I was diagnosed, it got bad. And then, over the years as I've had to try new medications, there've been times I've felt plain crazy."

  I thought about what this must feel like, to not be in full control of one’s thoughts or actions, and to be burdened with the knowledge that this was a lifelong condition. I remembered things Wrath had done in-game that had hurt or irritated me and felt I had to view them in a different light.

  "You don't need to use that word,” I said. “Crazy, I mean. You have a complex disorder, you're not the—”

  "Complex disorder? What do you know about it? I mean, how are you cool with this and not freaking out?" His hands moved erratically as he spoke, and he put one hand in his hair, giving it a pull.

  I paused and pursed my lips, then rubbed my temple with my free hand. "My father. He died in a car accident when I was a teenager. He was a sheriff’s deputy out on patrol in bad weather and his car went off the road. My mother, she never got over it, convinced it was her fault that she let him go out in the storm. Never mind that it was his job. She’s become agoraphobic, you know, a shut-in?” He nodded. “I do her chores for her outside the house, like running to the grocery once a week, and I spend time with her when I’m not working or gaming. I’ve suggested she play Magecraft as a way to meet new people. My point is, she’s suffering with this condition, but it is in no way her fault. I see how she tries, and I’m so proud of her for that. Though most times, I miss the woman she was, the family we were. But listen to me, making this about me when we ought to be focusing on you."

  I shook my head as if I could shake off the feelings bubbling up about my parents. I couldn’t quite believe I was sharing all this with Wrath. I supposed fair was fair. He’d been open with me, so I could be open with him and let him int
o the small circle of people I talked about this with.

  “No, no. It’s fine, trust me,” Wrath said. “It helps to know you have a bit of knowledge or history with this stuff, but I wish it weren’t so … sad. I’m sorry, Max. It sounds like we both have some difficulties when it comes to our parents.” He picked up his coffee mug and took a long drink before placing it down on the table again. “My mom always relied on Jesus, but after Dad was gone, she filled the gap he left with hypochondria. She’s tried therapy, and swears she’ll go back to it one day, but for the past few years her anxiety about illness just drives her up the wall and into finding relief out of pill bottles. Not that I’m one to talk. I live out of enough of them myself.” He looked down and fiddled with a throw pillow seemingly unable to keep his hands still while we were having a heavy conversation.

  My heart was beating faster in my chest. To avoid panicking, I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth—a technique my old therapist had taught me. The depth of this exchange was unexpected on the heels of what had been an amazing day. I did have more questions though, so I steamed ahead.

  “Are you ashamed of that? You know that if you were diabetic, you’d take your insulin as prescribed with no shame. No fear of telling others. So what’s the difference with taking medication for bipolar disorder? It’s a mental illness, yes, but it’s still an illness. It’s still something wrong with your physiology. And medications can help that, right?”

  Wrath leaned back, his hands folded on his lap, and let out a huge puff of air, tension radiating from him. “You sound like my therapist, Tom. And yes, they can and do help. Some days they seem to help more than others. I still experience symptoms, they just aren’t as strong. Some days I’m completely ‘normal,’ whatever that means. And some days I’m not myself at all, and that’s when my meds might be failing, I might need a new dose or a new drug altogether. Those times are always a bit chaotic and my behavior reflects that. I say tons of shit I don’t mean during those flare-ups.”

  I considered that. I know I easily got emotional when I played Magecraft, and there were times I said tons of things I didn’t mean without having the reason of an illness driving me to it. Wrath turned toward me and leaned forward, reaching out and touching my arm. “Look, I’m not blaming being an asshole on my condition, but I am saying that there are times when I’ve regretted so hard what I did, but haven’t had the guts to say why I did it to begin with, so I’ve said nothing. Going behind your back when you were up for guild officer and trash-talking you was one of those times. I'm sorry I did that.”

  "I accept your apology. Though, given the explanation, the apology is unnecessary. I know I come off as tough in the game, Wrath, but I'm not actually heartless."

  “I see that,” he answered softly. The air felt thick between us. I wasn't sure what was going on, just that I needed to stop it. We were having a pretty intense moment, sharing all of that, and I had reached my peak. Anything more, and it would be too much.

  "So, who's ready for movie night?" I asked, forcing myself to sound upbeat as I got up off the couch. "I need more coffee before we start. Do you?"

  I was babbling, and I knew it. Why was I so nervous? It's because Wrath was acting like he was going to kiss you, a voice in my head murmured.

  “You know, when you said movie night, I kind of pictured a theatre, not your cottage,” Wrath teased.

  “A theatre?” I mock-gasped. “Where do you think you are, Nashville? One-horse town, remember,” I teased back.

  I had arranged a viewing of the just-released Blu-ray of League of Magecraft: The Movie. By arranging a viewing, I meant that I bought the movie from Amazon and picked up some microwavable popcorn, but it was the thought that counted, not the glamour.

  "Drink your coffee, I'm going to make popcorn. Be back in two minutes, thirty seconds."

  I controlled my speed as I made my way to the kitchen, not wanting to appear too eager to get away from Wrath. As I made the popcorn, I kept my back to the living room and thought about the moment that could have been a kiss. Did I want Wrath to kiss me now that I was sober? I'd certainly wanted it badly enough on a tequila binge. Wrath was gorgeous, yes, and that would have been good enough for me while I was a teenager or in my early twenties. But that wasn't really a factor in my decision-making now. It was his mind and heart I had to be attracted to, to want that kind of contact.

  I thought about Wrath’s heart and mind. What did I really know about him? I knew he liked me romantically. I also knew his chivalrous streak wasn’t entirely put-on for the game. He had a good sense of fun, and I could appreciate his humor, when I wasn’t bearing the brunt of it. Okay, even sometimes when I was.

  As an entrepreneur, he had to be a self-starter and hard worker, which I respected. And Wrath had a point about us having good memories together in Magecraft; it wasn’t all squabbling and snarky comments. Kindness to my cats had also endeared him to me, and to top it all off, he trusted me with his medical condition even though there is so much stigma attached to mental illness. Explanations for his erratic behavior made sense in light of what he had been going through, and though Wrath had said he wasn’t going to blame being an asshole entirely on bipolar disorder, I knew that a lot of his more dickish actions were probably the illness at work. And he made me feel beautiful, like I never wanted to put on an ankle-length skirt and cardigan two sizes too big again. All in all, there was a lot of good in there. Was it enough to reform someone who had been akin to a Sith in my eyes?

  The answer was as clear as it was disturbing. Yes. Absolutely. Wrath was right. Fake It Till You Make It: Friendship Edition had clearly worked because I would call Wrath my friend now. The microwave beeped, and I poured the popcorn into two bowls, bringing the saltshaker with me into the living room and popping both bowls down on the coffee table. I went back to get some Cokes and turned down the lights.

  “I don’t mean to be a downer here, Max, but don’t you generally need a television to watch a movie?” Wrath asked, swiveling his head around the room.

  I grinned and picked up one of the remote controls from the basket on the coffee table. A push of a button later, a ceiling panel retracted, and down came a projection screen. With another remote, I pointed up at the projector, and we were in business.

  “I splurged last year on Black Friday,” I offered by way of explanation. “Librarians aren’t exactly rolling in it, but getting a local handyman to do the install in exchange for a few home-cooked meals, and having a super deal on the parts meant it wasn’t as expensive as I thought it would be. And I love movies so much, I figured why not have my own cozy home theatre right here?”

  “It’s cool, Max, honest. And I’m so excited to finally see this movie. It only took them an age to get it made. The trailers looked awesome. I’m gonna love it, I know it.”

  “Holy shit, this is the worst movie I have ever seen.” Wrath’s voice came muffled from behind a cushion where he was currently hiding his eyes after hitting himself on the head with it a few times. “Who is this guy talking again?”

  “I think we agreed to call him white dude number four with longish brown hair and a beard. He’s talking to incredibly poorly rendered CGI troll number two.” I crammed some more popcorn down my mouth and tried to follow the obtuse dialogue and plot with holes you could drive a monster truck through.

  “Nope, that’s troll number three. Remember, two doesn’t have the ears hanging around his neck.”

  “Hey, you’re right. Wait, so where are generic white dudes one through three again?” I asked, confused.

  “I don’t know! Argh, this movie is awful, Max. Do you have anything else we could put on?”

  I did, but I was a little bit nervous about bringing it out. It had been out for quite a while now, but I only ordered it along with my new coaster-slash-Magecraft movie, and I wanted to see it so freakin’ bad. Okay, time to put on my big girl panties, take charge, and show him what I wanted. I turned off the film, wh
ich we had only seen all of thirty minutes of, and then opened a drawer on my bookcase where I stored my Blu-rays. I pulled out the one I wanted and turned, holding it out to face the judgment of Wrath.

  “Detective Pikachu?! Are you serious? Why aren’t we watching this right the hell now? You honestly made me suffer through a half hour of that rubbish when you had this probable masterpiece sitting in a drawer?” he exclaimed.

  “Oh, come on, Wrath. I know you’ve made fun of Pokémon in guild chat in the past. Why would I think you’d want to watch this with me?” I asked.

  “I only made fun of it to throw people off the scent. The scent of my love for Pokémon.”

  “Well, lucky for us, it is a passion we share. And now it’s a secret we share because no one is going to know about how much I love it either, right? Now shush, I’m going to start the movie.” I grinned as I popped the disc into the player and settled back into the sofa, sitting a touch closer to Wrath than I had been before.

  Chapter 14

  Maxine

  “Being a team means we pull together, not apart.”

  ― Maximus_Damage

  By the time the credits rolled, my feet were in Wrath’s lap, and he had begun firmly rubbing the right, after finishing the left. I had been wincing and trying to rub my own feet while sitting through the last half of the movie, and Wrath had just leaned over, picked up my feet, and started rubbing away. I’d never had a foot massage, so nothing could have prepared me for how good it felt. And how strangely erotic. Strange because I wouldn’t have thought my swollen, sore feet from yesterday’s hike and today’s run could be sexy in any capacity.