Dewey Belong Together

by Smartypants Romance

  The haunting music of the desolate zone filled my headset as crackling flames burst randomly from the ground. Our mounts whinnied and growled as we picked our way across the rocky ground, gently leading them. Mine was my trusty zebreh, Lilith, and Wrath was leading a maned lion he called Goldie.

  “Let’s mount up, Max,” came Wrath’s voice over the in-game voice chat feature. “We need to get out of here. I don’t like the firestorm headed this way.”

  “Agreed,” I replied, clicking the button to make my avatar leap atop Lilith.

  “The treasure under the lava waterfall is going to have to wait for another day if you want to make it to the raid on time, oh mighty leader,” he teased. “The next jump point is right around the corner from here.”

  It was so bizarre—yet also familiar—playing with Wrath as an ally. If I gave it real thought, I realized we had played together plenty over the years, but there was always an undercurrent of tension even when we were both on our best behavior. Even that epic night with the Wild Hunt, I had been sending pointed glares at his avatar now and then.

  After a quick run to the jump point, we portaled back to the guild hall. I was set to get ready for whatever was coming my way with my guildies. Then, right on time:

  Iskander: Maximus, Burninator and I need you to go over the tweaks you made to the strategy.

  I nodded, even though no one could see me, and said into the private voice chat, “Jonathan, I need to ungroup with you and join up with the bigwigs. Have fun tonight in the raid and message me if you have any problems. But please don’t feel the need to leap to my defense, okay? I can handle whatever comes.”

  “Sure thing.” His voice came through my headset, full of confidence. “You’ve got this. Screw any noise you get.”

  “Thanks, pookie bear,” I teased.

  “You’re welcome, schnookums. Now go tell them what’s what, and lead your raid,” he said and then disconnected from our private chat. I smiled as I clicked on Iskander’s icon and joined him and Burninator, the usual raid leader, on voice chat.

  I took a long sip of the sweet tea that always accompanied my raid nights, and said confidently, “Evening, boys. What can I do for you? Everything not clear about fighting I’shaka? Phase two can get tricky so …”

  Three hours later, I tossed my headset onto my desk in frustration. I had expected that some people might be butthurt over my “lying” to them, but I didn’t expect people to act so juvenile. You had to be at least eighteen to join our guild, so I thought I was dealing with a community of adults that would act like, well, adults.

  Maybe it wasn’t as terrible as I was making it out to be. Of the assembled players who heard my voice for the first time tonight—a grand total of forty—three were vocally upset with me. Three others who weren’t there messaged me saying that I was a lying bitch. Two asked if I had a boyfriend. But I had also received about a dozen private messages of support, as well as public support in the guild chat from the leaders, and from many whom I considered friends.

  I grabbed my glass and headed to the kitchen to get a refill, reminding myself that it went well. I was out. No more hiding online, and gradually, no more hiding offline either. I hope Jonathan didn’t mind that I left without saying goodnight, but after the third “bitch” came through the chat messages, I’d had it. The raid boss was dead, the loot was distributed; there was no need to stick around and get the brunt of people’s emotions. I decided to let things chill for a day and then log in on Friday to join that night’s raid.

  I paused mid-pour. Friday was always raid night, but Friday was also the jam night at the community center. I felt myself being tugged in different directions. Did I want to spend my time gaming as usual—only now, enjoying my time with Jonathan rather than wanting to throttle him—or did I want to join in the fun with the town? Last week’s session had been amazing, and I remembered how folks commented on how lovely it was to see me out and about. Most folks probably thought I was on my way to becoming another town recluse. I finished pouring, took my sweet tea, and headed to the sofa, unsure where my priorities should lie.

  No, that wasn’t it. I knew what I wanted to do, it’s just, change would be hard. I wanted to go to the community center, having baked my own cupcakes for the dessert table for once, enjoy Julianne MacIntyre’s coleslaw, and listen to some toe-tapping music while talking to folks I haven’t connected with in a long damn time. I could feel it, I was ready to try that much.

  I’d settled into the sofa and thought about putting on something soapy and light on Netflix to de-stress when I felt a buzzing in my pants pocket. Smiling, I pulled it out to see a new message from Jonathan.

  Jonathan: Do you want to know what was said after you left? People don’t know we are whatever we are, so they were openly talking in front of me.

  Me: That’s sweet, you going all undercover for me, but sorry 007, your recon was for naught. I would rather not know. To quote the fabulous RuPaul, “What other people think of you is none of your business.” I know that’s a departure from what my anxiety told me, but after getting called a bitch a few times in a row, I’m quickly realizing that I don’t need extra toxicity.

  Jonathan: I can respect that. I’ll keep it to myself, then. Now, I know you don’t want me to go all knight-in-shining-armor on you, even though that’s exactly what Wrath is (lol) but may I at least defend you if I see something I don’t like?

  Me: You are free to say whatever you want, I won’t stop you. I didn’t want a fight tonight in the raid. The last thing the guild needs is people arguing over something stupid like this.

  Jonathan: It wasn’t all bad. Many were happy for you that you weren’t really a mute.

  Me: I saw some of that!

  I had no sooner hit send when the phone vibrated in my hand, indicating a call was coming through. Grinning at the caller ID, I answered with a “You can’t resist me, can you?”

  Jonathan chuckled, his voice deep and rich and giving me goose bumps. “My fingers were getting sore from texting after gaming all evening and working in the shop today,” he explained.

  “Ah, yes. When I deal damage instead of tank, my fingers get so sore from typing all day at work and then gaming too. So, um … what should we talk about?”

  I bit my lower lip, hoping I didn’t sound as awkward as I felt.

  “Well how about how awesome that raid went? Your tweaks to the fight with the

  healers and the mages really made a huge difference. I don’t know anyone who knows this game like you do. It’s like you have some weird sixth sense for what needs to be done to take down each new fight.” He sounded like an excited puppy, and I had to laugh. “You were on freakin’ point, Max. I was so proud of you. I can’t wait until Friday’s raid when we can kick Me’kthala’s ass.”

  Oh.

  “Um, yeah, about Friday. I’m not going to be there. I want to go back to the community center, Jonathan.” I sighed, unsure of how to best break this news except to simply say it. “I’m thinking of stepping back from the game for a while. There’s going to be online fallout about Maximus_Damage that I honestly would rather not deal with, despite how prepared I felt for it. I felt so good spending time in town with you on the weekend. Maybe I do need to unplug more and reconnect with the folks here in Green Valley, including my mom, rather than hang out online with the people in Magecraft so often.”

  There was a short pause on his end, and I knew I had surprised him.

  “I can’t say I was expecting this, but watching you open up last weekend was a beautiful thing to see. What are you going to do about your spot on the council?”

  “I was going to offer it to you, if you wanted it. You know as much about tactics as I do. And I can hook you up with all the mods I use, share my data with you. The other officers like you, even if you’ve been a jerk sometimes. I mean, let’s face it, I’m not always a peach myself. I’m sure it will fly with them, even as a temporary solution.” I swallowed the rest of my sweet tea and waited f
or his response.

  “I would be honored, Max. Really,” he said, but something sounded off in his voice. Was he … insecure? Or had I hurt him by deciding to stay away from the game? My heart ached at the thought that he was upset, and I had to say something more.

  “You know, me wanting to leave the game behind for now doesn't mean I want to leave you behind too,” I said quietly but firmly.

  “Well good, because I don't plan on going anywhere,” he replied.

  Ping! Ping! My cell phone had turned notifications back on for the morning after being muted overnight, and the pings indicating I had new email just kept coming. I lay in bed and continued to stretch, undecided if I wanted to look or not. Considering that I had a public guild email, my private email, and a work email, in theory the pings could be for any of them. I groaned and reached across to the bedside table, checking my notifications. Forty-two emails for Maximus_Damage, none of which were from the guild leaders, and zero for Maxine Peters. Okay, so it was nothing I needed to dive into right away, but my curiosity got the better of me. I checked that my virus protection was up to date and then opened the first one, from someone whose name I didn’t recognize.

  * * *

  From: Kaylee

  To: Maximus_Damage

  Subject: thanks!

  * * *

  Hi! My name is Kaylee and I’m eighteen and newer to the guild. I started playing the game last year, and I follow your posts on the game forums because you always have something useful to say about strategy, or knowing your class inside out, or even sexism in the game. I saw tonight that the forums were aflutter that you “fooled” everyone for like a decade, and I gotta say, props to you! You’ve played this game and kicked its ass on your own terms, and now everyone knows, if they didn’t before, that a top player can definitely be of any gender. Keep on being awesome.

  * * *

  Hugs,

  Kaylee

  * * *

  Well that wasn’t so bad! That was freaking fabulous. I couldn’t wait to dive into the rest of the email pile. But first, I opened the game’s general forums to see if there was anything there in the wider community about last night. I didn’t flatter myself to think there would be, but I scrolled down, and my mouth hung open in surprise to find a dozen posts with a few hundred responses between them all. Holy shit! I clicked on a few of the posts, despite knowing that reading the comments on the internet was like wading through piranha-infested waters.

  My gut was spot on. There were quite a few comments calling me names, a liar, an underskilled and overhyped player. All crap I’d heard before but now with overtly misogynistic tones. The good part? These comments were loudly shouted down by the swarm of people who had my back and shared messages of support or their own stories of in-game harassment for being a girl gamer. I decided to stay out of things for now, and let people work their feelings out without me tossing gasoline on any fires.

  I put the phone down and did a few more arm stretches before sitting up and running through the day in my mind. Work, then going to the Piggly Wiggly for Mom, home, and then what? On any other day I’d say hop into Magecraft. Now, I wasn’t so sure. I did know I’d have to at least glance at the rest of those emails to see if there were more like Kaylee’s which were worthy of a reply. I could tackle that tonight. And of course, I wanted to talk to Jonathan. How weird was it that we’d only shared this bed for one night, but it felt so vast and empty now without him in it? Maybe I’d sleep in the gaming room for a while.

  Feeling ridiculous for mooning over Jonathan when he was several states away and not a viable option for a relationship, I got up and hopped in the shower. While I washed my thick, long hair, I remembered some of what he’d said to me. This isn’t exactly how I pictured our first time, and whispered when he must have thought I was asleep, God, you are so damn beautiful and perfect.

  Despite every instinct I had going into last weekend, I missed Jonathan, whether that made me ridiculous or not. I missed the way he didn’t let me get away with things, and the way his eyes lit up when he was excited about something. And that tender look on his face when we made love turned my insides to goo. That look like I was something precious.

  I paused with my hands in midair, my hair in a mohawk, and the thought hit me like a ton of bricks: Why wasn’t Jonathan a viable option for a relationship? Because of the distance? I wasn’t exactly hot stuff in the Green Valley dating scene. It’s not like I would be missing out on something if I did have a long-distance relationship with him, but how would that feel, to be together and yet apart? Could I handle not seeing him often while I was still trying to get to know who he was offline? Would we meet every few months for bouts of crazy monkey sex? Closing my eyes and sticking my head back under the showerhead, I decided that the next time I spoke with him—which was in all likelihood this evening—I would put out some feelers about where he was at with the whole “us” concept. As for me, I wouldn’t say I was all in yet, but I definitely was interested in what might be there. We had some kind of connection, that was undeniable.

  Satisfied, I rinsed off, then as I dried my hair, I methodically ran through my workday, mentally grouping tasks and assigning labels to each group. Lois calls my daily mental gymnastics my “librarian brain.” I have to admit, being able to organize information in my head in such strict patterns did come in handy with cataloging. Hair finished and waiting to be braided, I selected an outfit that I would call geeky business casual from my newly mixed wardrobe of college era clothes and the last decade’s work garb. Just as I was getting ready to leave my cottage, I had a light bulb moment. I needed to talk to my boss, stat.

  Chapter 21

  Jonathan

  “Do you ever think we play this game too much? No? Same!”

  ― Wrath

  Thursday morning, I woke to a persistent shaking of my right shoulder, annoying me into consciousness. Through bleary eyes I could see that it was Norman, and if the smartwatch he was flashing in my face was to be believed, it was almost … ten o’clock?! What the hell was I still doing in bed? I gave him a shove to get off my mattress and I sat up, running one hand over my face and yawning while the other ran through my tangled hair.

  “Rise and shine, sunshine!” Norman said with an irritating amount of cheer. “You’ve already missed your mom’s French toast, and damn, it was good. Bacon too. Why the smell alone didn’t wake you, I’ll never know.”

  I did. I had slept horribly last night, haunted by nightmares of running away from a never-ceasing firestorm, unable to save Max and me from the oncoming flames. Not our avatars in the game, but actually us. That had me wondering through the night if there even was an “us” to worry over. She had been kind and friendly in her emails and texts, but nothing overly flirty that conveyed the affection I held for her. I mean, I loved her, for God’s sake. We’d had an incredible weekend together, and that was something that didn’t happen to me, ever. I’d had relationships with women, sure, but they always fizzled out as quickly as they started because the girl never understood me. But Max did. Would she and I fizzle out like all the rest?

  By the time Norman gave me another tap to the shoulder, I muttered, “Buzz off,” and got up to get ready and get my ass into the shop. I’d lost two hours of work this morning, and my mood was tanking as I realized we were still backed up. The bird’s wing desk was coming along very well, and I wondered if Norman had done anything this morning besides eat my breakfast.

  “Norman,” I called from the mini bathroom attached to my bedroom. I was brushing my teeth, and his name came out slurred. “Why’d you let me sleep so long? We’ve gotta book it to get the Myers order back on schedule.”

  I spat into the sink. Now, clothes. I pointed vaguely in the direction of my chair that held a stack of clothing.

  Norman lifted a shirt from the pile, smelled it, and then tossed it to me, hitting me in the chest. I confirmed that his sniff test was spot-on, and it woul
d do. I slipped the shirt over my head and waited for his explanation as I tried to run a brush through my tangled hair.

  “I was surprised you weren’t in the shop already, so I came in. Your mom told me to let you sleep because you were ‘plagued by nightmares,’ and she told me I was too skinny and to sit down at the table. I’m only human, man. I can’t go against the orders of your mom, she’s known me since I was in kindergarten.”

  “Fair points,” I said, picking up yesterday’s jeans and slipping them on.

  I still wasn’t feeling any less grouchy, but at least I was ready to toss on some socks, shoes, and face the day.

  “Meet you out there in five?” I asked, intending to at least grab a piece of fruit to have with my morning meds.

  I was about three hours late taking those, and while such a small time frame might not impact my mood, I still felt like shit this morning. The last thing I wanted to do was varnish a desk in the hot driveway while Norman got to work inside the air-conditioned space we’d made in the garage for our computer parts and builds.

  “See ya in a few,” he called, heading down the hall.

  I got my pill case out of the bedside table where I kept it and sat down on the bed, puzzled. The Thursday through Sunday boxes were empty. I hadn’t poured my meds for the full week. Why hadn’t I done that? I always remembered to pre-pour my meds at the beginning of the week, with the exception of last weekend when I wanted to have the original bottles with me while traveling. And except when I was having memory issues, of course.

  I closed my eyes and made a concentrated effort to control my breathing, in through my nose nice and slow, then out through my mouth, like blowing out a candle. In, and out, with one hand resting on my belly so I could feel the rise and fall grounding me, calming me. Because I forgot to count out my pills for the whole week didn’t mean my memory was getting spotty. It didn’t mean that my mood was going out of balance, dipping down into depression or swinging up into hypomania or full-on mania. Not necessarily, a wicked little voice in the back of my mind chimed in. Remember last time? Remember how it all started with crap sleep and forgetfulness?