Arena

by Holly Jennings

  Hey, I was supposed to be focusing, after all.

  Everyone in the club stared. The bartenders, the patrons. Even the other gamers. Some straight-out gawked while others flitted glances with as much heat in their eyes as there was between us. I smiled my practiced warrior smile and gave them what they were silently begging for. I reached up and wrapped my arms around Rooke’s neck, threading my fingers through his hair. Then I jerked his head down, pressing his lips against my neck. He chuckled, and his hot breaths flashed across my skin. I let my eyes roll back, let everyone watch, as his hands devoured my form, as he wrapped himself around me until his body practically swallowed mine.

  He pressed his lips to my ear.

  “Wanna leave?”

  For what?

  I shook my head, and my brain cleared.

  Training. Yes, training.

  I led the way back to the VIP lounge, where our teammates sat watching whatever VGL event was on that night.

  “See you guys later,” I said, grabbing my purse from the booth.

  “Where are they going?” Derek asked, as we walked away.

  “To ‘practice,’” Hannah told him, making quotation marks with her fingers.

  Derek watched us leave through thin slits of his eyes. But Lily—stone-faced Lily—winked at me.

  Even the girls were buying it.

  The second we stepped outside, the cameras flashed. All the paparazzi were still there, as some of the other gamer celebrities were just arriving to the club. We stole the spotlight every time as we left, fondling each other, acting like no one else could see us until we’d disappear into the car.

  As soon as we arrived back at the facility, we’d rush to change into our training gear and meet on the mats. At some point in the night, I’d slump against the mat, trembling with nausea and weakness. Tonight was no different. Down on my knees, I braced my hands against the mat, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Rooke sat beside me.

  “You wanna call it quits for tonight?”

  “No,” I said, just as a gagging fit seized me. Rooke steadied me, bracing his hands on either side of my abdomen. When my coughing fit subsided, I slumped against him, breathing careful, deliberate breaths through my mouth to calm my raging stomach. He paused for a second before wrapping his arms around me completely. I didn’t protest. His closeness, his arms around me, knowing he’d been through this, too, all gave a sense of comfort. So I stayed against him and listened to his heart beating soundly in his chest.

  “You said it gets better.”

  “It does. You’re doing well,” he insisted. “You’re not as nauseous as often, or for as long. And you never did anything harder than HP. You’re recovering quicker than I did.”

  “You didn’t have help.”

  It hit me then. He went through this alone. I’d be a miserable asshole, too, if I had to deal with all this by myself.

  “Look,” I began. “Sorry if I was rude to you when you first joined the team. I didn’t realize what was going on with you, but that shouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

  He shook his head. “I should have told you. As team captain, you should have known what was wrong. But I was worried I’d get kicked off the team, and I needed this.”

  I looked up to his face, and he tilted his down at the same time. For a minute, we just sat there, looking at each other. This wasn’t like in the clubs, where it was all for show. Something passed between us, like a moment of understanding. His jaw slacked, and his features went soft. I could have kissed him then—IF my stomach hadn’t been a looping roller coaster. When I met his eyes, they were staring at my lips, as if he was thinking the same thing.

  He cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. “Are you going to be okay for Saturday?”

  Saturday. Another matchup. Another time where I’d have to go virtual.

  “I have to be. For the team.” I looked up at him again. “Do you think they know?”

  “No. Training has been going well all week. As far as I can tell, they don’t know you’re sick.”

  “Because you’ve been helping cover it up.”

  “You could tell them. I think they’d understand.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not ready for them to know.”

  “That’s fair. What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” he asked. “Classic video games? It’s your turn to pick.”

  “Mortal Kombat.”

  He laughed. “Nice choice.” He got to his feet and helped me up. My stomach behaved itself and even retreated a little.

  In the rec room, we each snatched up a controller, and the room filled with the sounds of me kicking his ass. Digitally, of course.

  “You better not be letting me win,” I warned.

  He glanced at me, scowling. “I’m not.”

  I laughed, and soon he was laughing with me.

  The rest of the week went like this. Some nights after training and studying, we’d just talk. About everything. Video games. Taoist philosophy. Our lives before pro gaming. Others, I’d be too weak for even that, so he’d help me to bed or rub my back whenever my stomach wasn’t behaving itself. On Saturday night, right before we stepped into our pods for the next match, our eyes met. Despite the busyness of the pod room, a sort of silence settled between us. We had a bond, now. We’d gone through battle together, and not just in the arena.

  Inside the tower, I took a breath and tightened my grip on my sword. I felt strong. Stronger than I ever had.

  When the other team burst through the entrance, Rooke and I fought side by side while Lily took the rear. Our blades swirled through the air, in and around each other, making figure eights and S shapes in our foes. Like our nightly matchups, we were becoming synchronous.

  When we left the pods, our eyes met again. This time, we were both smiling. We weren’t the only ones. Above the pod doors, Howie and Marcus beamed at the camera.

  “Another amazing match. Defiance, welcome to the losing-bracket semifinals.”

  We had two teams left to beat. The last team left in the losers’ bracket, and the team InvictUS had defeated in their finals.

  Rooke and I kept up the same routine into the next week, sneaking out of the clubs early to return to the facility and practice together. My nausea became less, my sleep got deeper and more restful. I hadn’t lost time or phased out in days, and I was lasting longer and longer during our nightly training. It was going smoothly until halfway through the week when my tablet pinged in the middle of practice. I dropped my staff, jogged over to the bench where I’d left it, and tapped the screen.

  Kali,

  Report to my office immediately.

  Clarence

  I frowned, and my shoulders fell.

  “Oh shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Rooke asked.

  I held up the tablet to him.

  “We’re caught.”

  —

  I scrambled to change back into my clubbing clothes, and stumbled into Clarence’s office like I’d had one too many.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “You’ve been ducking out of the clubs early.”

  Great. He’d figured out our little ruse. I couldn’t give up training and staying away from the clubs. Not with how much better I was feeling by the day. How was I going to salvage this?

  “Uh, yeah,” I began. “The scene has kind of sucked lately. You know, midtournament lag. It’s bound to pick up again—”

  “I don’t care what your excuse is. It’s brilliant.”

  I blinked. “. . . what?”

  “By leaving early, you’re catching maximum exposure to the paparazzi. You’ve made the cover of every tabloid so far this week. Good job.”

  Uhhh, was this actually going in my favor? I went with it.

  “You mean I have to keep it up?” I whined. “This blows.”r />
  “Of course you have to keep it up.”

  “But—”

  He slammed a hand on the desk. “Enough. You will continue to leave those clubs early every night. Is that clear?”

  I sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Can I go?”

  He nodded and waved like he was shooing me, and turned his attention to his desk. I pressed my lips together to hide my smile. I left, changed back into my training gear, and returned to the training room. Rooke met me with a serious expression. “What’s the damage?”

  I smiled.

  “Absolutely none.”

  Before we returned to sparring, I sat on the mats and crossed my legs. Rooke looked down at me with narrowed eyes and a tilted head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Centering myself.” I tapped the ground in front of me. He reluctantly sat and mirrored my pose.

  “Have you ever tried meditating?” I asked.

  “Once in a while.”

  That didn’t surprise me, given his appreciation of Chinese philosophy.

  “How about before a fight?”

  He considered it and shook his head. “Never.”

  “You know, in feudal Japan, samurais would meditate before battle. In certain martial art schools, they’ll have you meditate in a position that’s uncomfortable, sometimes even painful. You’ll sit on your knees, or your knuckles, or even hang upside down. And you’ll stay like that for minutes, maybe hours on end. The point is not to learn to ignore the pain or even find a way to alleviate it. The point is to accept it. Training your mind to be calm while the body is suffering makes you a stronger fighter. That way, when you’re hurting or even dying, you won’t panic. You’ll focus on the battle, not yourself.”

  He smiled. “Sounds like the School of Kali Ling.”

  “Well, I’m not going to hurt you if you behave. Now, focus on connecting your mind to your body.”

  “How?”

  “You find your chi.” I pressed my hand against his stomach, just below his navel. He glanced down.

  “I think mine is a few inches lower.”

  I punched his gut. He grunted, then grinned. “Hey, you said—”

  “You’re not behaving.”

  He nodded, but his grin didn’t fade. “Fine.”

  “Rest your hands on your knees and straighten your spine,” I told him. He did. “Your body should be aligned, but relaxed at the same time. Deep breaths help. Close your eyes.”

  He did that, too, and I closed my own.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Focus on your body. Feel your muscles relax. Sense your heartbeat, your pulse. Just be still and listen.”

  He went quiet then, and didn’t ask any more questions. I took a breath, eyes still closed, and focused. Energy teemed inside me. Robust yet passive. Solid yet fluid. A perfectly balanced moment. Life was starting to fill more and more with these moments. I was at peace. I was myself. Even with the soft breaths caressing my face.

  Soft breaths?

  I opened my eyes. Rooke’s face was an inch from mine.

  “Bah!”

  I recoiled as he exploded with laughter. I punched his shoulder. “This is serious.”

  “I know. Your concentration is good if you sensed me that close.”

  “Maybe I smelled you.” I frowned at him. “The point was to focus.”

  “I did. Honestly.” He smiled. “Thanks for sharing that with me.”

  He stood and offered a hand to pull me to my feet.

  We took our positions on the mat, staffs in hand, and attacked. The staffs became a blur. The sharp chopping of wood echoed through the room in a pace so fast, woodpeckers would have fainted. Circling each other on the mats, we both feigned, swung, and snapped. Neither landed a shot. There were no weaknesses left between us.

  We broke apart, panting, both leaning on our staffs. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and the smile wouldn’t leave my face. God, it was like a drug. No, better than a drug. This was bo-staff-training sex.

  “Hey. Am I interrupting?”

  I glanced to the side. Derek stood at the edge of the mats. I nodded at him.

  “Not at all. What’s up?”

  He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck and shifted his weight. “Um, can I join?”

  I glanced at Rooke, who nodded eagerly. I grinned.

  “Here. Take my spot.”

  I passed him my staff and took a seat on the edge of the mats. Derek rotated the staff in his hand a few times, staring at it like it was a stripper pole. I could practically read his mind. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

  Rooke stood tall, staff in hand like it was part of his body. His chest barely moved with his breaths. There was my gladiator again.

  My gladiator?

  Rooke attacked slowly, letting Derek get a feel for the rhythm. Then he snapped the staff down and caught his shin. Derek hopped around on one leg, hissing.

  “Holy shit, that stings.”

  I chuckled to myself, realizing this is what I must have looked like the first night.

  “You had enough?” Rooke asked.

  “Hell no.”

  The boys spun around each other, snapping staffs and breaking apart. Derek never got a hit in, but he never gave up either. At least, until he held up his hand and took a knee on the mats, panting. When he caught his breath, he looked between us.

  “You guys ever try this virtually?”

  Rooke looked at me. Since my little meltdown at the club, I hadn’t plugged in at all except to run virtual simulations with the team, and even that was kept at a minimum. But if I was going to overcome the virtual world, I needed to start facing it head-on. I took a breath and nodded at him.

  It was time.

  —

  It wasn’t real. That’s what I kept telling myself.

  The three of us stood on the edge of a cliff that plummeted a hundred feet and ended in a desert garden of rocky shards and spikes. A purple-pink sky swirled overhead as the dying sun crested the horizon. It was stunning but engineered. The sky was too impeccable. The wind was too perfect. Imperfections were far more beautiful. A blemish on the skin. An extra five pounds. That was real life.

  That was true beauty.

  “Ready?” Derek asked, swirling the staff in his hand.

  Rooke and I nodded.

  Three warriors materialized on the sands and bolted for us. As my opponent reached me, I ducked and maneuvered around his sword as it chopped through the air. One too many steps back and my foot slipped half off the edge. I pushed forward and dove low, knocking my opponent off balance. He tumbled over me, and off the edge. His scream descended down the cliff and cut off abruptly when a spike punctured his stomach. A single warrior among a forest of miniature mountains and corkscrews of rock.

  He wasn’t alone for long. My teammates’ opponents ended up impaled beside him.

  Derek motioned at the sky, and shouted, “Too easy. Send us something different.”

  Oh, the programmers would love this.

  Six new opponents phased into view. Rotting flesh peeled away from their faces, revealing gray muscle and stringy innards beneath. Zombies. Wonderful.

  They came for us.

  Two grabbed my staff and pushed in, snapping teeth in my face. My back bowed against the onslaught. Strong little fuckers. I shifted my weight to the side and they slid off the staff. One hard whack against their backs, and they joined the growing collection of opponents at the bottom of the mountain. I leaned over the edge and surveyed the potluck mix of gladiators and zombies on spikes. Hunters had antlers on their walls. Pffft. I had this. So. Much. Cooler.

  Derek jousted his staff at the heavens.

  “Come on,” he baited. “I could program better than that.”

  I laughed at him. “Don
’t be too full of yourself or anything.”

  “I tell no lies,” he said with a grin. “I can program anything.”

  Just then, three giants materialized on the sands and bolted for us. I nodded at them.

  “Could you program a way to beat that?”

  Derek closed his mouth and backed up to the edge.

  The sands pounded as the titans closed in, one heading straight for me. He swung his sword. I danced, ducking and swirling around the blade. He cut through the air with such strength and precision, he could have sliced molecules in half.

  The sword came down on top of me, aiming to split my cranium in two. I dropped to one knee, and a sickening crack echoed above me.

  Shit.

  I stilled, listening to my body. But there was no pain. No sudden jolt to reality. I glanced up. My staff had been split in two, not my head. Grinning, I drove one jagged end into the giant’s throat and twisted in. He gasped. A pinwheel of blood gushed out around the staff.

  Bull’s-eye.

  I ripped the staff out of his neck and stepped aside. The giant fell to his knees and tumbled over the edge. A hop, a skip, and a jump down the cliff, and he face-planted into the shards below. Sweet victory. Turning to Rooke, I held up my now dual short staffs, dripping with blood.

  “How come we haven’t trained like this?”

  Rooke held a hand up toward the sky. “Cancel the opponents for a while.”

  The boys flanked me. I positioned myself evenly between them, back to the cliff.

  They attacked.

  Staff met staff and clacking wood echoed through the rocky basin. The same basin I grew closer and closer to with each hit. Smack. An inch. Smack. Another inch. The strength behind their blows left me teetering on the edge.

  I closed my eyes, and focused. Yes, with the boys smacking me with sticks, on the edge of a cliff, I dropped into a meditative state. Every muscle relaxed. All the tension evaporated. With a deep breath, I moved with the wind.

  I tucked, rolled, and sprang to my feet, spinning out with my staffs, snapping kneecaps and thighs. I was a flash. A bolt of lightning. Both men landed on their backs, groaning, gripping their legs. As he recovered and pushed himself up to sitting, Derek grinned and looked around my legs at Rooke. “That’s why they call her the warrior.”