by Kitty Cox
"Chance, I'm a time bomb."
"And I'm an unfaithful bigoted bastard. What's your point?"
She shrugged, then dared to reach out and trace the pattern of the comforter over his chest. "You were supposed to just let me fix your game."
"You were supposed to be like every other woman in the world, but you're not. Dez, you break all the rules. You don't care about the stupid shit. You aren't hung up on what everyone else thinks, except for when it comes to you. You're so sure that you can't be loved, but you're fucking wrong, ok?"
"There's not much left to love."
He turned his head, looking away. His chest rose as he pulled in a deep breath, then crashed when it rushed out. "Dez," he tried, but his voice broke. He swallowed and tried again. "There's plenty, Dez. I can't promise I'll be a good man, I can't promise you much, but I think the one thing makes up for it."
"What's that?"
"I'll never judge you. I thought my obsession with you would pass, but it's only gotten worse. I've never felt about someone like this for this long. Oh, I love every woman I bring home, right up until they succumb, then I'm done. It's not like that with you. I can't bend you to my will, and I can't predict your next move. God, Sugar, you're so fucking perfect, even with all your flaws." He looked back at her face in the darkness. "It scares me, you know? But I really want this fucked up thing we have. Screw all the rules. Screw everything that makes sense. Dez, I want to be flawed with you."
"I've never had a boyfriend."
His voice was barely a whisper. "Do you now?"
She nodded. "Chance, I'm trying to get sober."
"Dez, I'm trying to fall in love."
Chapter 16
She woke up pressed against something hard. Music played in the background, distorted by distance and walls. It smelled different from her memories, but she strained to hear the song, wishing for something to distract her just before the cutting started. The lump beside her, it was a man. Her body tensed as her mind clicked into gear.
"I'm not moving," Chance said softly. "You're fine, kid. No need to bolt, just roll over and I'll get out of bed."
"Oh fuck me," she breathed, dropping her head back into the pillow. She pulled her arms against her but didn't flee. "I'm sorry, the music triggered me, but I'm totally awake now."
He sighed and slowly turned to face her. "Don't apologize. We'll work through it, one thing at a time. All I ask is that you don't tell me it's fine when it's not, deal?"
"I can agree to that." Dez pulled herself to sitting and glanced at the clock. "Eight hours."
"You really getting sober? Like, completely?"
"Gonna try it once." She shrugged. "Braden told me he'd cry if I died. I hadn't really thought about it, you know? I'm just kinda used to being on my own, with the world wishing I'd get out of the way. It's hard to imagine anyone being upset about me leaving."
He pointed at the stuffed gargoyle on the bedside table. "I swore he'd go with you. I thought I'd done something sweet, then you asked me that? Fuckin balls crawled into my damned spleen, and I had to play it all cool."
She glanced at him and chuckled. "Tough guy."
"Tough girl," he countered. "Wanna try just one? I mean, you don't steal the light drugs, Dez."
She let out a deep breath. "I feel like I got run over by something and my head is pounding."
"Wanna puke?"
"Usually. It's why I don't eat."
Chance nodded. "Ok. Willing to try something for one hour?"
Dez lifted her hands. "Sure."
"One Vicodin, two Tylenol, and let's smoke a bowl with coffee?"
"Isn't that just trading the Vicodin for pot?"
He winked at her. "Pot isn't addictive like that. You want to stay stoned on pot, I'll keep it in stock. Let's get tattoos today?"
"Sure, but we have to use my artist."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Sugar, that's a given. I mean, I have so much art on me, right?"
She stuck her tongue out at him and headed to the bathroom. If he was going to act like that, he could wait. Chance laughed, stretching back into the bed. She really did feel like crap, but she was used to it. The strangest part was that even though she wasn't high, she didn't feel the despair that had always clung to her before.
She pulled on her jeans from the day before but kept the shirt. It made her feel like a part of something and Chance didn't seem to mind at all. She didn't bother with makeup, not with the way her head was pounding, but she was going to try to actually live her life. One Vicodin, two Tylenol, and her boyfriend loaded a pipe full of pot before they headed downstairs.
They opened the door to find the warehouse jumping with activity. Most of them didn't look up, but it was obvious that every person in the room noticed she was walking out of his apartment again. Dez sighed and continued down the stairs.
"Isn't it Sunday?" she asked.
"Flawed day," Jeff replied without looking up.
Braden caught her eye. "Mornin', sunshine. Have a good night?"
She shook her head and reached into her pocket. "No." Pulling out the bottle of pills, she quickly tossed them over before she could change her mind. "Trying to quit."
Every voice in the room fell silent. Braden looked at the bottle, his eyes scanning the label, then back to her. "You can't just quit, Dez."
"I know. So make sure I don't swallow a handful because I get desperate? Dole them out to me a little at a time?"
Chance passed her the pipe. "Take this and go smoke it. Whole thing. You'll feel better, and then you can eat. We can't both be stoned if the whole gang is here."
"Yes, Dad." She resisted the urge to snatch it from his hands but took it nonetheless.
Braden pulled himself to his feet. "Hey, boss? You mind if I join her?"
Chance just lifted his hands. "Still don't drug test any of you. Get the work done, don't drive fucked up, and I don't give a shit. Mark? Flawed room?"
Dez headed out back, amused at how her life had changed. She used to try to hide her drugs from her boss, now he gave them to her. She used to work so she could play games, now her work was playing games. She used to want nothing more than to be alone, now she actually liked the people she worked with, as much as she'd ever liked anyone.
"You really want me to hold onto these?" Braden asked her.
She claimed the bench, moving over for him to sit beside her. Just like Chance had that first day, he looked at the space and shook his head. She lit the pipe and pointed at the spot while she inhaled, making it clear that she didn't care. He took the spot, holding himself as far from her as he could.
"Is ok," she mumbled around the smoke in her lungs, then passed him the pipe. Exhaling, she leaned back. "I know you're sitting there, and it's easier when I expect it. It's also my good leg."
"Good leg?"
She nodded. "They didn't cut up that one."
He took his turn on the pipe, letting the line of conversation die. Coughing, he handed it back. "Fuck. I'm gonna be useless, but you just suck that shit back like it's water."
She shrugged. "Keeps the terror at bay. Chance said I giggled last time."
"You spend the night up there?"
Sucking at the pipe, she lifted an eyebrow, a devious look on her face. When she offered it, he waved it away, so she just shrugged. "Yeah. I think it's getting to be a habit."
"So, he didn't bring home some girl?"
"He did."
Braden looked at her. "Um, and you still spent the night with him?"
She took a breath of real air and leaned back, enjoying the euphoria. "Yeah. I'm pretty fucked up, Brae. I don't mean now, I mean always. I'm the fuckin' queen of the damned flawed."
"Then I'm the damned jester."
"I'm getting a new tattoo." She tapped her chest. "Putting the logo there, and gonna try to keep going until it's released. Then I'll try to find something else to keep me going. Chance is getting one, too. On his scar."
Braden's brow wrinkled. "K, pretty sure I'm n
ot that high off one hit. His carpal tunnel scar?"
"He tell you that?"
"Heard him tell a girl he picked up. We used to hit the bar on Saturdays as a team, to catch up on Silk. Had a little office over in town. Well, Chance was always getting some hottie, and one was really curious."
"Then you should ask him about it." She took another hit.
"Just fuckin' tell me."
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No. We're all flawed, Brae. I can't hide mine, but the rest of you do a pretty good job of it."
"Can I go? To get the tattoo, I mean? Put it on the back of my hand. Not like I'm gonna get a good job with my record, but the whole idea of that game? I'm totally into it."
"I'm cool with it." She turned her head slowly. "He's fuckin' hot naked."
"Spying on him with his bitches?"
She blinked slowly, her mind processing that in its drugged state. "Among other things. Can't tell you if he's got a big dick, though."
He laughed, turning to see her better. When his knee brushed her thigh, he froze. Dez pulled her foot onto the bench, making room, and they huddled together, tangled without touching, somehow making it work.
"So." Braden lowered his voice. "Back view? I mean, that's a pretty nice angle, too."
"All the way around." She flicked her lighter.
"And you don't know if he's hung? C'mon."
"Nothing to compare to."
He held up his hands a few inches apart. Dez motioned for him to increase the gap. He laughed and obeyed, and she did it again, flicking her finger until he had about the right spacing.
"How big around?"
She made a circle with her fingers. "Dunno, about like that."
"And that red stripe all the way down?"
"Oh yeah."
He nodded slowly. "So, gonna tell me how you got this lovely view?"
She sucked at the pipe again, finishing the last bit. "Shower," she croaked.
"No, you're gonna have to give me more than that."
She couldn't help but giggle, the smoke bursting from her lungs to cause a fit of coughing. Flapping her hand between them, she waved it from his face and caught her breath. "Shared a shower."
Braden sighed. "Dez, you’re playing with fire, no pun intended."
Tapping out the pipe on the metal arm, she nodded. "I know. Look, I don't really do friends, ok? I'm not really used to people even caring about my shit, but Chance? I dunno, we've got an understanding."
"You think he's going to give up being a god to all women?"
She looked up at his face, trying to make her eyes focus. "Nope. I wouldn't want him to, either. I can barely touch him."
Braden caught that. "Barely?"
"I grabbed his arm last night. I slept beside him. I mean, there was a pillow between us, but I woke up with my arm over his chest. Over the blankets over his chest."
"Damn. How'd that go?"
She licked her lips. "Mm. Thirsty. And it wasn't bad. He always can tell when I'm about to freak and reminds me that it's him, and he's not moving. He lets me set the distance. So like, this morning, I woke up, and he talked me down, holding very still until I could relax. I pulled my arm back and all, but still." She smiled at the memory. "It's like almost touching."
"Damn, so you can't even, like, kiss him?"
She pried herself from the chair. Her mouth was demanding something to drink. "Nope, not like normal people. But he found a way around that."
"Oh?"
"Ever notice how many suckers are scattered around the office?"
"Fuck." Braden laughed, standing up. "Damn, ok, that's cute. That's real fuckin' cute. I'm not gonna be able to look at him the same. Always thought he was kinda a dick."
"He is, just not to me. That's the weird part. Girl he had last night, oh damn. She should have slapped him." Dez realized what she'd said and clamped her mouth shut. "Damn, I'm high."
"Voyeur," Braden teased, then held the door. "And we're gonna have to figure out this spacing thing, ok?"
"Yeah. If I can't see you, just let me know you're there. Like if you walk up behind me. I'm kinda used to it, but if you catch me off guard?" She did an imitation of her performance the day before.
He laughed and nodded. "Dez, I like you stoned like this. You're much nicer on pot than Vicodin." He shoved his hands into his pockets and followed her back into the warehouse.
The team was all clustered around one of the massive tables with all the computers. Andy sat on top, his feet propped on a chair, with a tablet in his hands, taking notes. Tim was staring at his screen, but Flynn had a pen, making notes on the whiteboard behind them. Mark and Chance were nowhere to be seen.
"Dez!" Flynn said, sounding pleased. "Gimme a list of your issues? We're trying to think of how to code a flaw into a success."
Braden grabbed a wheeled chair and pulled it to the side, just at the edge of the group, then gestured for her to take it. She did while he disappeared into the break room, returning a moment later with two bottles of water. Passing her one, he hopped on the desk beside her and crossed his arms, his body language stating clearly that he was being overly protective. Probably because she'd taken the first step to trust him by giving him the pills.
She curled into the chair, crushing her knees to her chest. "I'm addicted to Vicodin. I'm technically anorexic because the drugs keep me from eating. I might be an alcoholic, but hard to tell with the opiates." She scratched at her forelock then smoothed the short dark hair back. "I can't sleep normally. Get night terrors and wake up screaming. Low self-esteem, inability to relate to others, chronic depression, um, and the touching thing."
"What's it like?" This from Jeff.
She picked at her lip. "You know how it feels awkward when someone hovers in your personal space? Well, like that but worse. Take the feeling of having someone mug you, and mix it. Touching usually feels like I'm about to die. Every so often I can do it, but," she shrugged. "Kinda have to psych myself up for it."
Gavin looked over at her. "Try therapy?"
"Yep. Basically said to keep trying. Problem is, it's not easy unless I have someone I can trust. Being a freak? Yeah, kinda makes people run from me. Kinda easier to just stay high enough that I stop caring."
Flynn was making notes on the board, half words that somehow kept the idea without making the concept into a copy of her. He turned to Braden. "And you have aggression issues, right?"
"Protective issues," Braden clarified. "Dad used to beat up mom. When I was like nine, I started standing between them. When I was fourteen, I started making a difference. Now? Yeah, can't handle someone bullying the little guy. I kinda got the frame for it, so I step up. Thing is, I get so pissed, and I dunno, like scared? I just don't know how to stop. Once I get into the red zone, it's like I have to keep going until the threat is neutralized."
Flynn nodded at that. "Tim?"
The guy patted his gut. "Always been fat. Diet, exercise, none of it matters. Thought about doing gastric surgery, but I dunno. Kinda just ok with it now."
"Jeff?" Flynn was moving around the room.
The kid chuckled, sounding almost embarrassed. He stood, took a deep breath, then pulled his shirt over his head and turned, exposing his back. A thick, wide scar followed the line of his spine.
"Scoliosis surgery. I was almost tied into a knot for most of my life. Got called all sorts of names. They straightened me up when I turned eighteen, said I was done growing so it would work." He turned so they all could see. "Been on just about every treatment you can imagine. If it wasn't one thing, it was another, but hey, I can give shots and know almost any medication in the world by heart since I probably was on it."
They all chuckled, understanding. Flynn kept going. One by one, they all exposed their flaws. Some were embarrassed, some tried to cover the shame with bravado, but none of them refused to answer. The entire team, they were all flawed, and somehow, knowing it made them feel closer. While Flynn took notes, Dez was thinking, planning, seeing exactl
y how this game would turn into something meaningful.
"What about you, Mark?" Flynn called, seeing him and Chance returning from their impromptu meeting.
The operations manager scratched at his jaw. "Recovering alcoholic. Ten months without a drink. Went three years before that, but slipped up." He lifted his hands, accepting the mistake easily.
Flynn flapped his hands at Chance. "And the leader of the oppression." He turned to the board and wrote,"Successful."
Mark dropped into the chair beside Jeff, stretching his legs out to look at the board. Chance, though, hung at the back, strangely silent. He looked at Dez, and she tilted her head slightly toward the board. He took a breath and shook his head, but she smiled and nodded, then tapped her chest, right where she planned to put the tattoo. Around them, the developers were all talking about potential stats to represent the problems, and how they could manage it on the back side of the game.
Chance slowly rubbed his hand over his scar. "I'm flawed," he said, loud enough to halt all conversation. His eyes were locked on Dez.
Braden leaned forward, looking at Dez, then followed her eyes back to Chance. "What's the scar from?"
"I'm flawed," Chance said, softer this time. "As a kid, I was locked in a cellar for two months, ignored, left to live or die. My parents thought I was doing great while they were on vacation, but my uncle couldn't be bothered." He looked to Dez like she was the key to his safety. "I was the 'red-headed stepchild.' The bullies at school made sure I knew that meant I was unwanted, could never be in the cool crowd, nothing. I was extra. I was just in the way. After that summer, I couldn't get over it."
"Damn," Jeff whispered.
Chance looked at them, his posture self-assured, but his eyes were terrified. "When I was twelve, I tried to help the world. Only had the balls for one good cut, but I tried to make it count. Doctor said I missed the major artery by one and a half millimeters." He pressed his lips together. "At fourteen I tried a noose. Blacked out, but didn't get it right. Came to a few hours later with a headache. At seventeen, I drove my car off a bridge. Broke my ankle in the crash, totaled the car, but was fine."
