Flawed

by Kitty Cox

Dez reached over and rested the tips of her fingers on his sleeve. "Trust me, I get it."

  "It's not like that with you." He dropped the exhausted butt of his smoke on the ground and smothered it with his foot. "I love the smell of you clinging to me."

  She dropped hers by his foot, since hers were bare. Obediently, he crushed it. When he looked up, her cheeks were bright, nearly pink. Dez saw him looking and rubbed her hand over her face, but didn't say anything.

  Chance smiled. It was a good look on her. "The only reason I'll let one in my bed is if you want it. Otherwise, that's for you."

  She laughed once. "We're pretty fucked up, you know that, right?"

  "Yeah. I'm good with it."

  Dez pushed herself to her feet. "Me too. Let's fix our game."

  "Mm." He followed. "Say that again?"

  "Our." She turned, walking backward. "Mine and yours. The creation I taunted you into making."

  His feet faltered. "You knew?"

  "Why do you think I promoted it? The day I got abducted I was going to do more. The post is still waiting to be published."

  His eyes went wide. "No shit?"

  "No shit. You willing to log into my blog?" She swallowed, slowing, her smile fading. "I can't."

  "The comments. I gotcha." He stepped past her. "C'mon. Let's see what you had to say about Silk three years ago. Give me your info and I'll copy it for you."

  He headed to her desk, the closest computer to the door, set back from the rest of the workstations. Pointing to the side, he claimed the chair, opening a browser while she leaned against the desk at the beck of his finger. Dez couldn't see the screen from where she stood, but she gave him the address from memory, as well as the username and password. He recognized her old character name – she'd mentioned it enough on the blog.

  The dashboard for the page was crowded with messages that had accumulated over the years, both from the program and the readers. He closed those out, then saw what she was talking about. There, at the top of the list, marked as a draft: 'Silk – The Wave of the Future.'

  "Nice title." He glanced over at her. "Ever think about blogging again? With a bit more protection, I mean?"

  Her face paled, and she shook her head. "No. I can't."

  "That's cool. I just didn't know if you liked it. I mean, create a male persona and you wouldn't get the same shit."

  Dez shook her head. "Chance, I can't."

  "I swear to god, I won't make you." He clicked the button to print her work, then copied all of it. Pasting it in another window, with the images attached, he saved everything and closed it down. "You don't even have to manage the Silk community if you don't want to. I can keep you busy enough, but you'll have to hire the person to do it."

  "No, that I want to do." She took a deep breath. "It's just the blog. When they seek me out like that, you know? Plus you always put information out there, not even realizing it. Screenshots, comments about gaming all day because of the weather, things like that."

  "Ok, I'm gonna ask something, and I want you to be brutally honest. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  Chance looked at her face, trying to guess what was going on in her mind. "Can we let the team know that people stalked you online and it resulted in a physical attack?"

  "Why?"

  He leaned over his knees. "Because the guys can't wrap their minds around the idea that it happens. They see comments like that and laugh. They wouldn't do it, so can't imagine that someone else would." He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. "So they understand why we have to protect you."

  All emotion had vanished, leaving only a cold, stony mask. Dez blinked, paused, then nodded once. "You can tell them I was stabbed. The court records aren't that hard to find."

  "You were a minor?" She nodded, forcing him to ask the next question. "So there were two trials?"

  Slowly, that pink tongue flicked over her lips, her eyes holding his. "Yes. The second is sealed and my name isn't listed."

  "Did they catch them all?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. I was blindfolded. I could identify five voices. The internet provided the proof."

  "You ok?"

  Those large doe eyes blinked. "I'm going to grab Pop Tarts."

  He nodded and watched her meander back toward his apartment. He liked that she headed there to retreat instead of her own place just behind him. He hated that he'd even had to bring up the subject, but like a true fighter, she tackled it head-on. He only wished he knew how to help her heal.

  Turning back to the computer, he typed in the words, "Be ready, player one." What he found was a poem by Shane Koyczan called Instructions for a Bad Day. The last paragraph made him read it twice.

  Everyone knows pain. We are not meant to carry it forever. We were never meant to hold it so closely, so be certain in the belief that what pain belongs to now will belong soon to then.

  That when someone asks you how was your day, realize that for some of us – it's the only way we know how to say, "Be calm. Loosen your grip, opening each palm, slowly now – let go."

  Chance looked down at the pale scar on his arm. For most of his life, only two people had known what happened - himself and his father. They told the doctor and his mother that he'd been climbing on the roof of the garage and slipped, cutting his arm on the metal edge. Everyone had accepted it. The women who asked, he told them he'd had surgery for carpal tunnel. When Dez had asked, he hadn't even hesitated.

  Every night, he picked up a different woman, wanting nothing but the use of her body for a time. He didn't have to hide it. His co-workers thought he was impressive. They considered his list of past lovers an achievement. They thought nothing at all of a man using women to satisfy his needs. They balanced their morals against the rules society taught them as children.

  That's why he and Dez were different. They knew the rules were a lie. He was scared to be alone; she was scared to be with people. He felt like he'd fade away if he wasn't touched; she felt like she'd be smothered to death if she was. He'd wanted so badly to die and make all the pain end; she still did. Everyone knew pain, but some lived closer to it than others.

  Backing through the pages of the browser, he returned to her blog and opened the comments. The threats of rape, the promises that she would pay, and the very detailed descriptions of how they would shut her up were all there, awaiting moderation. His eyes flicked to the stairs between each one, wanting to make sure she never had to see this again. When he got to the tenth, his stomach turned.

  In long, gory description, the author spelled out what she'd only hinted at. Hung in a room, used as a punching bag, her skin carved away so that she'd be marked for the rest of her life, too ugly to ever be loved, her attacker had admitted it, and no one had done a thing to protect her. Chance wanted to puke. He wanted to kill someone. Most of all, he wanted to tell Dez that she was loved. That she was worth being loved! He wanted her to know that they'd failed, but he knew she wasn't ready for that.

  Not yet.

  Chapter 11

  Dez leaned over Braden's computer, looking through the history. She found the remote connection and was tracing the data he'd uploaded. Now she just had to figure out what he'd done to crash the entire game again. With her forearms resting against the back of his chair – she wouldn't sit there, not in his chair – she tapped furiously at the keys.

  Chance and Mark were discussing how to handle the problem. If Braden made an honest mistake, that was one thing. If he was trying to intentionally overwrite her code, that was unacceptable. It had already been proven that his didn't work. He wanted infantry to be treated special, but he couldn't grasp that the code didn't care and the game mechanics had to be balanced. He listed off a litany of shooters on his resume, but not a single MMO. His lack of experience was a vulnerability for the synergy between the styles.

  Her job was to let the data tell her what had happened. Line by line, she read through it all, fluent in the language of massive games. It read like a love story. First a tweak here,
then a pat there, and finally a tiny little caress. She found the first problem. Marking it, she moved on, wondering if it could really be that simple. She found the next problem and leaned closer to the monitor, looking at each character.

  Cold hands closed on her hips. Tugging her to the side, fingers slid against skin bared by her posture, eating at her back, burrowing into her bones. Dez screamed. They'd found her! They had her again! She flung herself back, trying to break free, desperate to get away from the torture she knew was coming. She braced for pain, throwing her arms up before her.

  He grabbed them, pulling them away, forcing her tiny body to submit. Next would be the pain. She had to get away before they started cutting. She had to run before they could do worse. Her throat burned and her heart crashed, giving her the strength for flight. Blind, panicked, primal flight – Dez found it, hitting the ground as she backed on her hands and feet, her rump sliding along the rubber tile floor until she hit the wall, trapped.

  From the break room, Chance heard the scream. He raced around the corner in time to see Dez try to shove Braden away, throwing her arms up. Instinctually, the man wanted to calm her, his hands holding her arms so she wouldn't flail, but that only made it worse. Dez threw herself down, crawling for cover, her eyes blinded by fear.

  Chance hit Braden hard, one hand on each shoulder, shoving the idiot back. "Don't fucking touch her!"

  "She freaked! Bitch is crazy!" Braden snapped.

  He'd kill him. The bastard hurt Dez, and Chance would make him suffer. How dare he touch her! His fist clenched, bracing for the pain that would come when it found Braden's face.

  Mark pressed between them before Chance could swing. "Chance, stop. Just stop and deal with her!"

  Chance's arm thrust toward the other room. "Get the fuck out of my sight." Taking a deep breath, he turned to Dez, letting everything else go. "Hey, kid, you're ok. It's just Braden." He moved toward her slowly, talking softly, until he could kneel just outside her reach. "C'mon, Dez, look at me, Sugar."

  She took a long, deep breath and turned her eyes to him. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn't even cover her face. Her only response was to shake her head, denying something. Curled into a tight ball, she shielded as much of herself from the world as she could. He wanted to pull her against him, but he knew just how much damage that would do.

  "It's ok," he crooned. "I'm not going to let them hurt you. I swear, Dez. Look at me, kid. You're at work. It's just us here, now. Everyone else left the room, ok?"

  She nodded, then blinked, her eyes locking on his face. "I thought they found me again."

  "I'd chase them down and bring you back. I'd kill them. You're safe here, Dez. I swear you're going to be ok. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." He ducked his head, looking at her through his lashes. "Where's your pills, Sugar? We're gonna get you high and let you pass out, ok?"

  "Would..." She pushed her leg straight and reached into her pocket, pulling out the bottle, but she clung to it tightly. "I want Bubba."

  "The gargoyle? Is he on your bed?"

  She nodded. "And I can't open the bottle."

  "Hand it here."

  She shook her head. "I need to hold it."

  Chance looked at her hand locked on the orange plastic and thought quickly. "Hold it tight. I'm gonna twist off the lid, ok? I'm not going to touch you."

  While she held, he pushed down the top and turned, feeling it slip a bit in her grip, but together they made it work. As soon as the cap was free, she poured pills into her hand, looking like she'd swallow them all.

  "Two, Dez. You already had some a bit ago. You're not quitting yet, so just two."

  "Four?"

  "Three." God, he hoped she'd listen. She didn't exactly rip off the low dose prescriptions.

  Pill by pill, she slipped them over her lips. After the third, he made her put the rest back in the bottle, then screwed down the cap, knowing she wouldn't be able to get it off without his help until she was too high to do it. Only then did he leave her, and only long enough to get her stuffed gargoyle. It took seconds, her apartment being the closest to the workstations. When he handed her the plushie, she finally began to relax, her fingers clinging to it desperately, taking strength from its soft fur.

  "You ready to go to bed, kid?" he asked, motioning for her to stand.

  "Upstairs?"

  It was awful and sick, but he loved that her place of refuge was his apartment. He'd never seen her this afraid before, but she wanted to hide away in his home, not her own. He couldn't hold her to comfort her fears. He couldn't kiss away the pain. The only thing he could do was offer his bed and his patience.

  "What's mine is yours, Dez. Forever and almost always, ok? But you gotta stand up. I can't help you without touching you, and there's no way in hell I'm gonna do that."

  "I'm ok."

  Her bravery made his heart sing. She wasn't, but she meant that she would be. He understood and respected her more for it.

  "You're not alone anymore. We're gonna take care of this together, but you gotta stand. Two feet, Dez, before you're too stoned to make it up the stairs. I got your back, kid."

  She closed her eyes and took a breath, then pushed herself up, still huddling against the wall. Chance held out an arm, directing her to lead the way, his other ready to catch her should she fall or guard her back if the monsters appeared again. It was all she needed. Hugging her gargoyle, Dez lifted her chin and headed home. She walked across the warehouse with pride, climbed the stairs on pure willpower, and didn't stop until she made it to his bed.

  Then she broke. The tears came hard and fast, her sobs ruining any ability he had to understand her words, but he knew her voice. She'd been scared. She thought her attackers were back. Braden had not only surprised her, but he'd touched her, and very likely he'd touched her bare skin. This, right now, was their two steps back, or so he thought.

  Chance sank to the edge of the bed, wishing he could rub his hand over her head and down her back. He wished he could show her true compassion, but he couldn't touch her and didn't know any other way. All he could give her was patience and understanding. His job was to be there for her until she could find peace in her dreams. As soon as he settled his back against the headboard, she sat up, shifting her body into the crook of his shoulder, the gargoyle the only thing separating them.

  "Dez, can I hold you?"

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  He carefully moved his hand to her back, his touch light, and she pressed into him. Like he had the night before, Chance wrapped his arms around her, sheltering her from the world. For just a moment, she let him take care of her, and his heart swelled, knowing how much trust it took for her to give in. She trembled, her shoulders shaking, but she fought it valiantly, trying so hard to maintain control.

  It took almost an hour before she was high enough to not care. Unable to see her face, he wasn't sure when it happened, exactly. Dez just got quieter and softer, until eventually she was sleeping, tucked close against him.

  "You picked the shittiest place to pass out," he whispered.

  When she still didn't stir, he knew she was truly out. Her side of the bed was still rumpled, the blankets peeled back to expose the sheets. He carefully lifted her like a child, moving slowly so as not to wake her. Placing her head on the pillow, he tucked Bubba under her neck and somehow pried the bottle of pills from her hand. Then he pulled the blanket up, tucking her in. The pills he set beside the bed, along with a fresh glass of water.

  "Dez?" She barely stirred. "Go to sleep, Sugar. I'm downstairs, ok? No one's going to get up here but you and me. I swear. I'm gonna take care of you, Sugar."

  She made a single soft noise, but that was it. He watched her chest rise and fall, his eyes on the pulse in her throat. It beat fast and fluttery, but it was stable. Chance breathed a silent prayer that the drugs wouldn't kill her today and pulled himself away. He had a problem to fix.

  Marching down the stairs, he had every intention of ripping Brade
n apart and pummeling his face into next week. Clenching a fist at his side, he stormed toward the break room, then paused, hearing voices from the conference room instead. A lot of them. Confused, he stepped through the door.

  Braden looked up. "Is she going to be ok? I didn't even think. I didn't fucking think, Chance. I just was going to move her over so I could show her what I did." Lines of worry etched his face, his fingers pale around the cup of coffee in his hands.

  The anger fled. "She's asleep. She's also so fucking high I'm pretty sure she can't walk." He looked around the room, seeing all of his developers. Mark sat on the desk in the corner. It looked like they'd been talking about something serious. "What's going on?"

  Mark pointed at Jeff. "Grab him a coffee?" The kid nodded and left, so Mark looked back to Chance. "Pretty sure none of us believed you about Dez and her issues. I think I've talked to all of the guys at least once about her. We thought you were trying to impress a piece of ass or something. When it came out yesterday who she was, well, we still didn't get it, you know?"

  "Didn't think you would. You see now why I'll give her the leeway?"

  Every head in the room nodded. Mark shrugged. "She didn't impact the shooter scene as hard as the MMOs, so a few of these guys, like Braden, had no idea what the big deal was."

  "I read her blog," Braden said. "Last night. I Googled her name and read the whole damned thing. She's a fucking genius."

  Jeff stepped back into the room and pressed a cup into Chance's hands. He thanked the kid before dropping the real bomb drop on all of them. "Silk was her idea. I don't think any of you get that. She spelled it out. The blog post is called 'A Dream for all Gamers' and I ran with it."

  Mark nodded and held up a slim stack of papers. "So what's this?"

  Chance knew. His operations manager had found it on the printer. It was the blog he'd printed that morning, her unpublished thoughts about Silk. "That's the post she never got the chance to make. She had me pull the draft so the team could see what the original idea was." He took a sip of the coffee, telling his heart to be calm. "Guys, the reason she never posted it? She was abducted that day, held for two weeks, and brutally assaulted. Those tattoos cover the scars. She was attacked because she dared to speak her mind and wasn't pretty enough, male enough, or whatever else they decided to measure her against."