Arena

by Holly Jennings

  I smiled down at the men at my feet. “I also answer to the Goddess of Gaming.”

  They laughed.

  I turned to the cliff, letting my toes hang off the edge. I lifted my face to the sky, closed my eyes, and outstretched my arms, like I was ready to sacrifice myself to the gods of the virtual world. Except, I wasn’t. I wasn’t giving myself to anything.

  Rooke grasped my arm.

  “Hey.”

  I turned to him. A look of concern masked his face as his eyes searched my own. I smiled.

  “I’m okay.”

  His concern didn’t falter. I rested a hand on his arm.

  “I’m not lost.”

  “Really?”

  I drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. “No. Not anymore.”

  I wasn’t naïve. I knew I had a ways to go before I’d kick my addiction. Maybe it was something I’d have to be wary of my entire life. But I wasn’t a prisoner of the virtual world now. It didn’t rule me.

  I ruled it.

  The next morning, Hannah slapped her breakfast tray down on the table across from mine. I jumped, dropped my spoon, and peered up at her.

  “What?”

  “Derek says last night you guys fought zombies and giants on a mountain with bo staffs.”

  Lily stood beside her, arms crossed. I glanced between them and grinned.

  “What?” I asked, feigning innocence. “Did you wanna play?”

  They answered in unison.

  “Hell yes.”

  —

  Fourteen hours a day. That was our minimum. Now, even the rest of the team was ducking out of the clubs. Outside of the media events, 110 percent went into training. Code practically bent around us. Whether in the cool starchiness of the training room or under the pink-purple sky and golden rays of the virtual battlefield, we fought with staffs in hand. We mastered our opponents. We mastered each other.

  We mastered ourselves.

  No one was drained. We were in the cafeteria earlier and earlier, scarfing down our breakfasts so we could rush to the training rooms. Eight to ten hours of physical training. The rest went to the digital world.

  We took turns fighting each other, all of us. Both in the real world and the digital. We noted our strengths and weaknesses, both in ourselves and each other. We worked. We worked harder than we ever had in our entire lives.

  And then we worked even harder.

  When the staffs transformed to blades in the virtual arena, the blood spilled was never our own. One-on-three, two-on-four. Not a scratch. Nothing the programmers formulated could touch us. InvictUS was still the invincible team in the tournament, patiently waiting for the losing bracket to play out.

  We were gaining.

  That Saturday, we huddled together in the pod room, moments before the semifinal round.

  “Are you sure we’re ready?” Hannah asked.

  I smiled. Not the fake one.

  “We’re more than ready.”

  I felt it. In every nerve, in every fiber, we were more prepared than ever. Not just because we’d practiced more or had fun while we were doing it. Because I’d begun to appreciate the virtual world in response to the real, and vice versa. Inside the facility, I noticed the grooves in the walls, the inconsistencies. The dust along the tabletops. Even the whooshing sound the doors made when they opened and closed around us. Reality and virtual were becoming one. They were two halves of a whole. Before, I’d only treasured the virtual side, and even then, I’d never really gotten everything I could out of it. Because I’d never gotten everything I could out of reality.

  Now I was beginning to understand it all.

  Inside the game, Hannah and Derek flew through the fields while the rest of us guarded the tower. Three men burst through the entrance door and charged.

  I smiled.

  They bolted for us, screaming, swords raised over their heads. We waited, bringing them to us. At the last second, just as they brought their weapons down, we ducked and stepped aside. One rolled over Rooke’s shoulder and landed hard on the ground. The other two went soaring past. In unison, we whirled around, plunging swords into backs, throats, and chests.

  The match was over in seconds.

  “That was incredible,” Marcus practically shouted, bouncing in his chair. “Wait a minute.” He placed a finger against his headphones, as if listening to something. Howie glanced offscreen and made a waving motion with his hand, as if to say, Come on, tell me.

  New record. It had to be. We gathered in front of the screen. My breath snagged in my throat as the announcers waited for the signal. Say something, damn it.

  Say it.

  “New record.”

  We screamed and tackled each other in the center of the pod room until we became a pig pile of gamers and pod suits.

  “Defiance, welcome to the finals.”

  We were in the finals.

  Was this real? It had to be. I’d never felt so alive.

  The next week was an onslaught of interviews and television appearances. We quit going to the clubs, so we could train every spare moment. Bo staffs. Endless opponents. Real and virtual. In the moments in between, I’d thumb my necklace and reflect, a moment of quiet in a swirling vortex of chaos and action. Now, in the virtual world, I looked forward to the real one. To the mats and staffs, and training with my teammates.

  The week soared past, moving as if time were stuck on fast forward. In a good way. Before, it felt like life was slipping me by. Now, I was living every minute, breathing every breath to its fullest.

  On Friday, while the rest of our teammates had retired for the night, I slinked across the mats, attempting to bring Rooke to his knees with nothing but a bo. Maybe I really was a ninja. Tonight in particular, I was kicking his ass.

  I swept the staff under his foot. Rooke went down on his back hard, catching my bo between his ankles. Both staffs scattered. I rolled on the mat, retrieved the closest one, and raised it high over my head, ready to slam it down on his head. His eyes went wide.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, holding up a hand.

  “You forfeit?” I teased, grinning.

  “It’s nearly three A.M.”

  He motioned toward the clock, nestled high in the wall where it met the ceiling. The time flashed across it—02:49. Even when I’d partied this late, I never felt half this good.

  I bounced on the edge of my toes. “I could go all night.”

  He grinned. “Really?”

  Shock coursed through me as I realized the sexual connotation behind my words. As my eyes widened, so did Rooke’s grin. I slammed the staff down. He rolled just in time, and the staff hit the mat with a thud. Rooke turned back and clamped down on the staff, keeping it pinned against the mat. Then he jerked it toward himself, pulling me with it. I tumbled forward and nearly landed in his lap. Catching myself on my hands and knees, I looked up at him, our faces now parallel and only inches apart.

  “I think we should call it quits for tonight,” he said. “With training, at least.”

  He inched the staff back, pulling me even closer. His gaze surveyed my lips, as if trying to memorize the color. Gradually, his eyes drifted up to mine. A chill shot through me under the intensity of his stare. Goose bumps peppered my skin despite the heat curling low in my belly. Memories flashed across my mind of the time we’d kissed, when I’d thrown myself at him in my bunk to distract him over the pills. That night had been a low point for me, filled with darkness and misery. But now, all I could think was how soft his lips had felt.

  I looked down to the curves of his mouth, and the stubble along his jaw, grown since his early-morning shave. I closed in, wondering what he’d taste like. His hand grazed against my hip and I snapped back to reality. What was I doing? We weren’t in the clubs now. No one was watching.

  Since when wasn’t this jus
t for show?

  I pulled away.

  “Call it quits,” I repeated with a shaky breath. “You’re right.”

  Inside the women’s locker room, I wrenched the shower tap on. After washing my hair, I stood directly under the cascade. The steady stream pelted my back. Comforting, even when it hit a fresh bruise.

  I pressed my hand against the cool, tiled wall of the shower. Was Rooke on the other side of this very wall, in the shower, water slipping down his skin. Maybe I could sneak into the men’s locker room for a peek. You know, just one warrior admiring another, all those ripples and planes.

  I took a breath and closed my eyes. Calm, Kali. Remember calm? Okay, I couldn’t deny it any longer. The attraction I’d felt toward him had grown. Twofold. No, times ten. I’d gotten involved with a teammate once already, and it had ended in the worst way imaginable. While I doubted either Rooke or I would have any difficulties now with our grip on reality, mixing love with work wasn’t always the best idea. What if it didn’t work out? What if we broke up and were stuck on the team together, hating each other?

  What if it was worth it?

  When I left the changing room, Rooke was leaning outside the door.

  “Were you waiting for me?” I asked.

  “I was about to give up. What took you so long?”

  Picturing you naked took so long.

  “Nothing,” I quipped, pushing past him.

  We walked down the hallway together toward my bunk. Our feet tapped along the floor, emphasized by the echo down the empty corridor. There was something magical about this time of night. Like you’re the only person in the world. As much as I looked forward to my nightly fights with Rooke, this part of the evening never quite felt normal to me, almost like we were in high school again, and he was walking me to class or back to my door after a date.

  “You ready for tomorrow?” he asked.

  The finals. My chest tightened, and I forced a breath through my lungs.

  “I think so.”

  “You think so?” He laughed. “Three matches ago, it would have been an automatic ‘yes.’ I thought all this training would have bolstered your confidence, not lowered it.”

  “It has, but three matches ago we weren’t in the finals.” I paused, shuffling my feet against the floor. “It’s not so much us as the other team that I’m worried about. I need to study them more. We’re down to the top ones in the country.”

  “Kali, you’ve studied them all week. You know what you’re doing.”

  We reached my bunk, and I tapped my lock code into the keypad. When the door opened and I stepped in, Rooke’s footsteps followed. I whirled around, blocking his path in the doorframe.

  “I think this is where you are a gentleman and say good night.”

  His gaze flicked down to my arm.

  “Are you sure you don’t need help tending to that?” His hand grazed my elbow, where a fresh bruise had begun to blossom. “It looks rough.”

  His fingers lingered, triggering goose bumps. I shook him off and folded my arms. “Then maybe you shouldn’t hit me so hard.”

  His grin widened. “Would the warrior have it any other way?”

  The warrior. I had to give Rooke credit: He knew me, understood me inside out and backwards now. I was bold, and he was about to find out just how much.

  I closed the gap between us, splaying my hands against his chest. My hands glided across the hard ridges of his stomach, palms leading the way, fingertips feeling every inch. The soft, cotton fabric of his shirt strained under my grip and blocked my eyes from the same delightful journey of my hands. I pictured him the way I had earlier. Bare skin. Water slipping down. Oh yes, the shower would have been better. Why hadn’t I broken into the locker room?

  My gaze drifted up to his eyes, expecting to find them overflowing with shock. But they were calm and unwavering like an open lake, as if he’d expected this all along. His breaths were steady. Comfortable. Way too comfortable. That’s not how I liked my men.

  I weaved my fingers through the drawstring of his training shorts, and pulled. As if the strings were actually attached to his eyebrows, they raised in response. My own marionette. How cute.

  “Maybe you should help me,” I said softly, leaning into him until our stomachs touched. Even through the fabrics of our shirts, heat from him brushed against my navel. His breaths weren’t so calm now. “I’m sure there are a few spots I can’t reach on my own.”

  His eyebrows rose even farther. “Really?”

  I pushed up slowly on my tiptoes, sliding my curves up his form. His breath hitched. Better. Then, hot fingers seared against the small of my back and pressed me tighter against him. Now, my breath hitched. Damn him.

  Warmth coiled inside, ignited everywhere our bodies touched. The smell of fresh skin from his recent shower and that soft scent of cedar that never left him filled my lungs. Whether it was from all those books of his or his cologne, I didn’t know. Or care. I inhaled again and trembled against him. He smirked. A soft chuckle resounded in his chest.

  No. I win this fight.

  My fingers curled through his hair, pulling the strands taut. Desperate. He brought his head down as I tilted my own. His quickened breaths ghosted against my skin as his stubbled chin swept against mine, ticklish and rough at the same time. Our noses brushed. Our lips grazed. Almost. So close.

  Everything else disappeared in that moment. No facility. No tournament. Just us, our bodies pressed together, lips touching but still not kissing. Just the overwhelming scent and taste and feel of Rooke until I was drowning in him.

  I closed my eyes and murmured against his mouth. “Just one thing.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Good night.”

  Reaching around the doorframe, I tapped the control button, and the door slid shut in his face.

  CHAPTER 17

  The next day, that’s when the shit hit the fan.

  All because I went ape-shit crazy.

  It started that morning as I scanned through my tablet, reviewing play-by-plays on the VGL’s Web site in prep for the night’s final matchup. In the top left-hand corner of the screen, a search bar blinked. In fading lettering, it said: Type Team/Player’s Name. Out of curiosity, I typed in Nathan’s. What excuse would they have put in as his cause of death? Heart failure, like in the tabloids? Or something even more bullshit-tastic. But the search engine spit back an answer that twisted my stomach, and not in the way I had expected.

  Results not found.

  No. That wasn’t right. I must have spelled his name wrong. I reentered his information, trying various forms of his name, and received the same results. Several times. Finally, I gave up and typed in Team Defiance. Under the Former Members section was . . . nothing.

  Nothing.

  No former teammates. None.

  My chest tightened. My breaths trembled as a rolling, turbulent rage flooded every cell in my body. I punched the screen. It bowed in with the force and popped back out. Fuck the person who invented flexible LED screens.

  I stormed down the hallway, letting my anger carry me to the doc’s office. The facility’s staff dove out of my path, some suctioning themselves against the walls, others ducking into doorways or closets. Yes, the warrior exists in real life. Luckily for everyone else, I wasn’t armed.

  At the doc’s office, I slammed the door open. It ricocheted off the wall with the crack of thunder. Dr. Renner, who was standing at the window, dropped the tablet in her hands and nearly jumped on her desk.

  “Kali?”

  “They erased him.”

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  I slammed the door shut and whirled back. “Nathan. He’s gone out of the VGL database. They’re trying to wipe him off the record. It’s like he never even existed.”

  Dr. Renner slowly lowered herself into her chair. She main
tained eye contact, but an odd look still masked her face, as if a bear had just burst into her office. “I’m sure it’s a mistake. Maybe you typed something wrong—”

  I smashed my fist on her desk. “I’m not wrong.”

  She held up her hands, pleading innocence. “Kali, I had nothing to do with any of this. I can assure you.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “Then why are you screaming at me?”

  “Because I’m pissed. You’re the shrink. Aren’t you supposed to handle this?”

  She chuckled softly to herself. “That’s not really how this works.”

  I plopped down in the chair across from her, steam still spewing from my pores. “I’m not used to being this angry anymore.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” she pointed out.

  “But now I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “It’s best if you just let yourself feel that anger, all of it, in its full force. You know, just get it out,” she said. “What is it about the situation that upsets you?”

  “Everything,” I exploded, jumping up from the chair. “Everything about this fucking industry. Appeasing the sponsors just so they don’t drop us the second we’re not popular anymore. Owners treating us like used gum. Spitting us out and tossing us away. All while they make more and more money. Meanwhile, we’re the ones sacrificing our bodies and minds for ratings. RATINGS.”

  The doc opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

  “And you know what? We’re supposed to do it with a fucking smile on our faces. We’re supposed to appreciate all this because how many people get to play video games for a living? Yeah, it’s real fun when you get hacked to bits every week, or when your teammate dies, and no one cares. Nathan was a person. A FUCKING HUMAN BEING. People don’t even remember his name. No, no. As long as there’s another match on Saturday, guess who gives a shit? Nobody.”

  I plunked down in the chair again with a huff. It grunted in protest under my weight. Though my breaths came out in soft pants, the adrenaline pumping through my veins felt refreshing. Life-giving. I’d never felt like this anywhere outside the arena.