by B. B. Hamel
He grins at me. “But an asshole with great ideas.”
“For now.” I smile back a little bit, unable to help myself.
We pass through a few twists and turns and end up outside of two enormous wooden doors. The goons push them open and I swear, they open with a groan, just like out of some fantasy movie. Justin raises his eyebrows a little bit, clearly excited for this.
We step into an enormous, almost cavernous room. Pillars line either side of an avenue that leads directly up to what I can only describe as a throne.
It’s a huge chair, all made of black iron, sitting on a raised platform accessible by four steps. Sitting on the throne is Blair, staring down at us with bored and lazy-looking eyes, like she was just asleep.
It’s barely after six in the morning, after all.
“Holy shit,” Justin whispers.
“I know.” We follow the goons closer to the throne before they stop abruptly and drop to one knee. They put their right hand on their heart and their left on the floor, heads bowed.
I stand there and stare before laughing out loud. “What the heck?” I say, addressing Blair. “Is this some new game?”
“Silence.” Her voice cuts through the room, echoing and booming. She must be using some kind of microphone system to get it so loud. “You are in the presence of the Queen of this place.”
I glance at Justin and he looks amused, like he’s trying hard not to laugh. He suddenly drops down to one knee and mimics the gesture the goons are making.
I hesitate a second as Blair stares at me before sighing.
“This is so stupid,” I say, getting into position.
“Just play along,” Justin whispers. “Escapism, games, remember?”
“Rise,” she calls, and the goons rise instantly. We slowly get back up to our feet.
The two goons walk off to the side, leaving Justin and I standing alone in front of the Queen. She gestures for us to approach. We get as close as the first step before she holds one hand up, palm out, and we stop.
“You have been summoned before me this morning to answer for your crimes.” Her voice is crystal clear and smooth, lacking any of the strange lilting and halting tones from every other time we’ve met her. She’s sitting straighter, looking down her nose at us, almost haughty on her throne. It’s totally unlike the Blair we’ve seen previously.
Acting. She’s acting, playing a part.
“What crimes did we commit, Great Resplendent One?” Justin says, and winks at me.
“The crime of running away.” Blair’s eyes move to mine. “Specifically, the crime of trying to leave before your job is finished.”
I bite my lip, watching her silently. Justin nudges me. “Play along,” he whispers.
“Oh, Great Queen, I apologize,” I say to her. “I was… uh… tricked. Yeah, I was tricked.”
She frowns slightly. “Tricked? What charlatan tricked you, pray tell?”
“This man’s father,” I say, gesturing at Justin. “He is a wicked, wicked man, a warlock of considerable power and… uh… he’s a big asshole. So yeah.”
“Smooth,” Justin whispers, grinning huge.
Blair strokes her chin. “A wicked Warlock, you say…” She trails off and shakes her head. “Very well. That means you had no control over your own actions.”
“That is correct,” I say. “Justin came after me and broke the spell, allowing me to return, and we banished the evil man from your… court.”
Justin nods approvingly, and Blair seems like she’s buying it.
“So you have done me a favor, then,” she says.
“We only live to serve,” Justin adds with a flourish.
I keep myself from rolling my eyes again.
“Very well,” Blair says. “Serve me now. You have been here for a few days, and I have seen nothing of your work. I wish to see something this instant.”
I bite my lip and look at Justin, a little panic in my eyes. He takes a sharp breath and looks back at me, equally uncertain.
We stand there together, and we both know that we don’t have jack shit.
We haven’t been working. We’ve been spending our time here either having sex or fighting or just exploring this weird space. We haven’t come up with any slogans, any branding ideas, anything at all. So far, it’s been a total waste.
Justin’s face slowly falls. I can tell he’s about to apologize and admit that we don’t have anything for her…
When I reach out and put a hand on his arm. He stops, cocks his head, looks at me.
“Oh, Queen Blair,” I say. “We don’t have drawings or words for you, but just an idea that we wish to build our work around.”
She strokes her chin. “Very well, proceed.”
I clear my throat. I have this half-baked plan in my mind… but I have to stall for time while I work it out.
“You extended your hospitality,” I say loudly, gesturing around me. “You showed us many wondrous things. Your palace is as grand as it is varied.”
Blair nods. “Yes, that is true.”
“We believe that variation is key to your brand. All these worlds, existing in a single place. It’s… magical.”
She looks thoughtful. “We worry about fragmentation.”
“Forget fragmentation. People aren’t stupid. They can put it all together and let it all live in the same space. People pretend to want boxes when they really crave action.”
Blair frowns at that. “Action,” she says.
“But your world isn’t just action. It’s memory and it’s worship and it’s life. Our idea isn’t based on you and your beliefs and your life, but on games, on escape, on play.” I take a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“Spine,” I say loudly. “Find Your Better World.”
I gesture like I’m panting the words in the air before dropping my arms. Justin gives me a surprised look but nods his head slowly, turning to Blair.
“We’ll base it on the idea that people get into VR to escape their lives,” he says, picking up where I left off. “That’s what you offer, with all these different places. Nobody plugs in to be exactly who they are. They plug in to be a better version of themselves in a more exciting version of our world. That’s what you have to offer. That’s what we’re selling.”
He finishes and I nod at him. I can feel a sense of pride welling up in my chest. His words slowly echo through the large space and as they die down, Blair claps twice.
“Very good,” she says. “I am pleased.”
Relief floods through me. That was as last minute as it gets and partially bullshit, but I can feel there’s a kernel of something real in there. Blair can clearly see it too.
“We’re happy we’ve pleased you, Queen Blair,” Justin says, bowing his head.
“Go now. Go back whence you came and create for me.”
Justin frowns, looking up. “You’re banishing us?”
“Not banishing.” A rare smile from her as she peers down from under her black bangs. “I’m just sending you home. Hope you have a good flight.”
With that, she stands and leaves, walking behind the throne and disappearing. I don’t know where she goes, but I guess there’s some kind of door or something. I crane my neck to see it, but there’s nothing.
“Huh,” Justin says softly. “That’s disappointing.”
“What is?”
“We have to leave,” he says. “I mean, we haven’t even seen half this place yet.”
“We’ve seen enough. Don’t you want to get back to reality?”
I turn to him and he looks at me, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “I think I do,” he says. “Reality can be just as good as fantasy, especially when you’re involved.”
I smile at that. He grabs my hand and leads me away from the throne. The two goons appear again and lead us wordlessly back to our rooms.
Justin nods at me, letting my hand go as we part ways. I go inside and pack, tossing clothes back into my bag. When I’m done, I let out a
sigh.
I’m going to miss this insane place, but as with any game, eventually you have to log out.
22
Justin
Coming into the office after getting home from Hawaii is like taking off the Spine helmet and finding yourself alone in your room.
Everything seems darker, damper, colder. Nothing is as interesting, exciting. At Blair’s compound, there was the promise of some new weird room around every corner. It was dangerous, exciting. It was a new way of living.
It was exactly what our ad campaign is going to be.
This though, this is the hangover. This is the cold dark night of the gamer. I sigh and kick my feet up on my desk, trying to decide what I’m going to do now that we’re back and I have to be the boss again.
The trip home was uneventful. We got the flight that had been delayed and fortunately found seats together. Remi slept a lot of it, and we did get some work done, heads bowed together over our tray tables, pens and pencils scribbling away. We built a framework on that flight, a damn good one, too.
Now though, the glow of that vacation, or whatever the hell it was, feels like it’s seeping out of my skin. I feel antsy, like I want to get the hell out of here.
Like I want to taste Remi again.
I know that’s at the core of this feeling. When we were in Hawaii, that thing between us, that passion, that intensity, it was real and alive and neither of us were completely denying it. But as soon as we got up into the air, the touching stopped. She didn’t reach for my hand, and I didn’t reach for hers.
The real world inserted itself again. We left the game world, and stepped back into reality.
Now I have to figure out how to bring that paradise into this office.
I sit there, staring at the window, and I let that thought play through my mind again.
I have to bring that paradise into this office.
I have to let the fake world leak into the real world.
I grab my phone and call Remi’s office. She picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Remi, it’s me. Come to my office, I had an idea.”
She hesitates. “Right now? I’m swamped. Catching up on what I missed.”
“Right now.” I hang up so she can’t argue anymore. I am her boss, after all.
She shows up a few minutes later. “Yes, Mr. Hayes?”
I smirk at her. “Please sit, Miss Brooks.”
She takes a seat in front of my desk.
“I had an idea,” I say to her, getting up and coming around. I sit in the chair next to her, half turned in her direction. “I think the key to this whole thing is going to be having the virtual and the real leaking into each other. So we can have like, a person walking down a sidewalk still wearing their character’s avatar. Or little monsters running around a kitchen while a housewife makes dinner. That sort of thing.”
She frowns a little then nods. “I like it. I can see that.”
“Awesome.” I grin at her, and decide to drag a little of that magic back. I reach out and put my hand on top of hers.
She looks surprised. It sits there for half a beat before she pulls her hand back and quickly stands.
“I’ll start drafting some ideas for that,” she says.
I grit my teeth. Back to this.
“Remi,” I say.
“I’ll get right on it.” She heads for the door.
“Remi, stop.”
I must sound commanding enough, because she listens.
“Close the door,” I order.
She hesitates, but she does it. My blinds are drawn shut, so nobody can see what I do next.
I walk up to her. She turns toward me and backs against the wall as I approach.
I grab her wrists and pin them up above her shoulders.
“Why do you want to pretend like nothing happened?” I whisper in her ear.
I know I need to be aggressive. I need to show her what I want, show her that what happened wasn’t fake. We have our issues, and trust isn’t exactly our strong point at this moment, but I’m not backing down.
I want her. And I’ll have her.
“We were on vacation,” she says softly.
“And now we’re back, but that doesn’t change a thing.” My lips find her neck and she wriggles slightly. I keep her pinned.
“I keep thinking,” she whispers. “About what happened. About your father. Why do you hate him so much?”
Desire burns through me. I can feel her heart beating against my chest. She’s wearing a short skirt, almost inappropriate for the workplace, just a hint of too much leg. Her blouse is loose and unbuttoned just enough to show some cleavage, but not enough to draw comments.
It’s like she dressed like this just to tease me.
“You know why,” I whisper in her ear, grabbing her wrists tighter. “You remember.”
I feel her hesitation. I kiss her neck, moving down to her collarbone.
“I don’t know if I do,” she whispers back, but I can hear the urgency and the pain in her voice. “I think… I think I remember something.”
“Bruises,” I say softly. “I was afraid to go home.”
She bites her lip and stares at me. I feel the tension in her body, and I should be upset. I should be angry or sad or something, reliving these memories like this. Instead…
I’m just fucking hard.
“You’re going to make me say it?” I ask, my lips running down her exposed throat. Her heart’s beating so fast and her whole body’s tense under mine. I could crush her, I could destroy her.
I just want her so badly I can barely hold myself back.
“I remember,” she whispers. “Big bruises. You said you fell while playing soccer.”
“Over and over?” I ask.
“Lots of brises,” she says. “All over your skin, your body. Hidden though, under your clothes. We’d go swimming at the creek and…”
“You’d ask how, and I’d lie.”
“You said you found him asleep on the floor. You said you were afraid.”
“He was a drunk.” My left hand strays from her wrist, but it doesn’t drop down. I move it over to her throat, wrapping it around her neck, my lips against her ear. I don’t squeeze though. I don’t press.
“He was hitting you,” she says, barely managing to say the words.
“For years, whenever he drank and got too mad, he’d put a ball in a pillowcase and beat me with it.”
“But your mother,” she says.
“He hit her too if she tried to stop me, and she was just as afraid.” I shake my head sadly. “I don’t blame her.”
“How?” she asks, tears in her eyes. “How, after all these years, didn’t I realize?”
I cock my head, lips inches from hers. “Who wants to remember their best friend getting abused as a child?”
I kiss her then, unable to stop myself. It’s bruising, intense, and something inside of me snaps. I feel it break, a dam falling apart, a wall crumbling to ashes.
I kiss her hard and she kisses me back. I drop my hands from her wrists and her throat, putting them on her hips as I pull her close.
I hike her skirt up. I find her panties and pull them down. We don’t have time and I can’t stop myself.
She’s dripping wet. It’s so fucked up but no more fucked up than anything else that has happened to me. I need it, every inch of my body burns for her.
I need her back. I have to have her back.
I kiss her again and my fingers find her clit. I massage her, rubbing in circles, drawing out her moans. It’s like a symphony, playing her body, teasing out every little sound, every little moan. I can read her skin, her muscles, her eyes. I know when she’s had enough and when she needs more. I know her so well, even after all these years. Nothing’s changed.
She gasps as I slide my fingers inside of her. I grab her hair with my free hand, pulling it back, kissing her full lips. I love her moans escaping into my mouth. I love the taste of it, the vibration of it. I press
my fingers deeper, fucking her pussy, making her moan as I kiss her.
I release her hair, still kissing her, and reach down to unbuckle my belt. I get it off with one hand, pull down my fly, and slide my cock from my boxer briefs. I’m stroking myself as I stroke her, making her moan, making myself even harder.
I pull back and slide my fingers from her pussy. I put them to her lips and she licks them clean for me, slowly, sensually, sucking them like she’d suck my cock.
I can’t take it anymore.
I take her hips and turn her. She groans as I bend her over, pinning her to the wall, her plump little ass ready for me as I lift her skirt up. I slide my cock along her slick spot and slowly sink myself inside. She gasps as I fill her and push deeper, not waiting for her to get used to my size this time.
I’m impatient, I’m needy. I fuck her faster, deeper. She groans and moves her hips, pushing back against me. I put my hand over her mouth and she bites my fingers, making me groan as I thrust harder.
I want to slap her ass, I want to make her scream, but my secretary is nearby and I can’t risk getting caught.
Of course, the risk is part of the reward.
I fuck her harder, cock slamming into her pussy. I’m taking her rough, taking her the way I need it. I reach around her hip with my free hand and rub her clit while I keep her mouth covered. Her hands are flat against the wall and she’s panting into my cupped palm. I feel her breath, hot against my skin.
I feel her pussy, tight around my cock. I fuck her harder, deeper, faster. I can feel sweat on my skin and taste it on hers. I want to spank her, make her red. There are still finger bruises on her perfect white skin from the last time we fucked. I want them there permanently, a reminder of who owns her. Anytime they fade, I’ll give her a new set.
I can feel it building faster, faster. Her moans get louder, lower, deeper. She’s panting and begging, saying my name in a muffled whisper, mouth covered by my palm. I can feel her tensing just as I’m tensing, just as I’m building. I can feel her, so fucking close.
I keep stroking her, fucking her rough, rubbing her clit. She stiffens and bites me again, this time on reflex. I know she’s coming and I don’t stop. I feel myself explode into her pussy, filling her with hot cum, and she keeps moving, gasping and groaning as we come together. I leave my hand over her mouth, muffling her cries of pleasure as we finish together, our bodies intertwined.
