“Diana—”
Diana hangs up and stares at the ceiling. Her pulse has rocketed, and she feels worse. But now, she feels angry.
Defiantly, she logs into Twitch. She tabs to a different window and sends a quick tweet: Hey everyone! Streaming in ten minutes. Join me at https://www.twitch.tv/realmoondi!
Tae won’t take this from her. She won’t let him.
* * *
A week later, Diana talks herself into leaving her apartment for a game dev meetup. It’s at a bar in West LA, and some of the other streamers from her group are going. It’ll be fun. It’ll be low-key. She plans to get there late, so the others will already be there when she arrives.
When she walks into the bar, it feels like everyone is looking at her. She shivers, trying not to pull in on herself. No one’s looking at you, she tells herself sternly, and lifts her chin. The others are nowhere in sight, and she swallows down her panic and heads straight for the bar. “I’ll have the Wicked Weed Black Angel,” she says.
The bartender slides it over to her without a glance. She pays in cash. When she looks up, she almost drops the beer; Tae is on the other side of the room, his dark eyes trained on her. He’s surrounded by his colleagues. None of them seem to have noticed her yet.
I have to leave.
“I thought you were going to drink that,” says the bartender, and Diana realizes she’s said it aloud. The bartender follows her gaze, and when he sees Tae, he straightens up, his mouth hardening into a line. “Oh, that asshole. He giving you trouble?”
“I—” Diana stumbles over the words. West LA. Of course. She should have known, but she hadn’t seen his name on the Facebook group RSVP.
But Tae is already heading toward her, pushing through the crowd, intent.
Diana whirls, gripping the bottle tight and dashing for the door. She thinks she hears him call her name, but then she’s out on the sidewalk. She runs across the street and keeps running. A car honks and swerves, but she barely sees it. She runs and runs, the straps of her heels biting into her feet, the beer sloshing over her hand. Her lungs burn.
By the time she’s able to stop, she’s several blocks away. Tae is nowhere in sight. Maybe he went back to the meetup, or realized he’d look like a lunatic chasing a fleeing woman down the street.
To her surprise, there’s still over half of the beer left in the bottle, much more than she expected.
Diana begins to laugh and then she can’t stop; she’s still laughing by the time her Lyft pulls up, and she drinks what’s left in the bottle on the way home.
* * *
She doesn’t tell Temmie about seeing Tae at the bar. Even though they’ve made up by now, things still feel fragile.
Diana gets the first text while she’s out buying groceries. It’s from a number she doesn’t recognize, and it reads: hey I want to apologize
She frowns at that, and the next texts appear on the screen in rapid succession.
I didn’t leak the pic I stg
a friend did
he was being stupid I don’t know why he did it
Diana’s blood runs cold. How did you get my number? she texts back.
from work, we were looking for streamers for an event
I recognized your name
can we talk about this, I don’t want to take it to the police
Her phone buzzes harshly in her hand. The strange number lights up on the screen. Diana already knows who it is.
Fuck you, she texts back. Never text me again.
Her phone won’t stop buzzing, and eventually she turns it off just to make it stop. Diana ends up driving back home without help from her GPS. She misses a call from Temmie, and doesn’t end up calling her back.
* * *
When Diana streams, it helps her focus. She feels calm, centered. It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of the games, and the concentration takes her out of her own head. Here, she can be MoonDi, not Diana. She can be herself.
Temmie doesn’t understand streaming, or gaming, or any of it. In some ways, Diana is secretly glad; this is a world apart from Temmie and the connections to back home. She can leave her old self behind and build something new.
But her something new has warped into an awful reality. When she streams, the viewer chat box fills with abuse and filth, and she can’t report fast enough. There are so many of them. None of them know her, she realizes. But it doesn’t matter; she stands for something they hate, and that’s enough.
Someone has gifed the photo, and thank god the site hosting the image took it down. But Diana wonders how many people have it saved in a folder somewhere.
And then Tae starts appearing, watching her stream. He rarely comments, but when he does, the rest of the chat lights up and the messages fly thick and fast. Tae never says anything rude or disgusting. Just:
@RealMoonDi, let’s talk. you owe it to me.
Diana ignores him, even when her hands shake. She ignores his texts, blocks his number, and then ignores the texts from whatever burner phone he’s bought. It’s hard, and terrifying, but one day, somebody reaches out via DM. It’s one of the other streamers she met at an event, and she wants her to know that Diana has her support. I understand, reads her message, and even though she doesn’t know this woman, Diana believes her.
She’s not the only one. Other streamers and devs reach out, too. Soon, she’s talking with them online, and then they meet, face-to-face, for the first time. And then again, and again, and again, until she stops feeling anxious every time they invite her to hang out.
Diana spends more time with them, and just being with people who know what she’s going through helps. The nightmares slow, then ease. She thinks less about Temmie, too.
Slowly, she gains confidence. At the next meetup, Tae tries to talk to her, but her new friends close ranks and keep him away until Diana can escape. They leave in a pack and spend the rest of the night talking over late-night tacos.
Everyone has their own horror stories. “It gets better eventually,” says one woman. She has a kind smile and the eyes of a veteran. “It’s hard to believe, I know, but it’s true.”
“It never goes away, though, does it?” says Diana. She pokes at her queso.
“No. But you get stronger.”
* * *
Diana opens the door to get her takeout, but the delivery guy isn’t there. Tae shoulders his way into her apartment before she can slam the door on him. He backs her up against the wall, trapping her with his arms. When she opens her mouth to scream, he stifles the sound with his palm.
“Don’t,” he says, his tone urgent and dark. “I just want to talk, I swear. Hear me out and I’ll leave you alone.”
Her heart hammers, and she bites down on her scream as hard as she can. The nightmares flash back, and her whole body feels too hot, too cold. Her phone lies on her bedside table, too far away.
The tattoo on his forearm presses against the side of her face, and she remembers what his hands felt like in her hair.
“Everyone thinks I raped you,” says Tae. “You’re the only one who knows that I didn’t. My bosses found out about the picture, and I’m in trouble at work. I could lose my job over this.”
Diana rips her mouth away from his palm. “Good,” she says. “You deserve it.”
He leans in closer. “I need you to tell them that I didn’t do this,” he snaps. “I wasn’t even the one who posted it to Reddit! One of my idiot friends did.”
Of course he shared it with his friends, Diana thinks, sick. “If you’d deleted the photo like I asked you to, none of this would have happened.”
“You led me into that bathroom. You wanted me.” He’s desperate, Diana realizes. Tae looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. He punches the wall by her head, and she flinches. “Don’t you fucking lie to me!”
“Get out.” Diana’s voice is so calm that she almost doesn’t recognize it. It cuts through him like a knife.
Tae backs off, runs his hand through his hair. “What do you w
ant? Money? I can make you an official streamer for the company. Or . . .” A considering gleam appears in his eye. “I know. You’re upset, aren’t you. You think I was too pushy. And you’re upset because I ghosted you and then my friend posted the photo.”
The fucking nerve. The blood rushes to Diana’s head and her face burns. She opens her mouth, but Tae continues.
“I’ll give you a real chance this time. Just us, no cameras, all romantic and shit. However you want it. And then you’ll tell the company that we’re dating, and the picture meant nothing.”
Tae is between her and the door, and Diana’s apartment is a studio, so there’s nowhere to hide. She won’t be able to get away.
It’s just like that night in the bathroom, where she was afraid of what he’d do if she said no.
Diana glances past him, at her desktop set up opposite her bed. She was in the middle of streaming when the doorbell rang, and the feed’s still running. The webcam mounted over the monitor points at her vacated chair, and at the fluffy pink bedspread behind it.
Its lens gleams like an eye.
“Okay,” she says shakily. “Okay. Just . . . let me go.”
Tae doesn’t move. Diana tries to slip under his arm, but he blocks her. His mouth is set in a hard line. He doesn’t trust her.
Come on, think, Di.
Diana takes a breath and tilts her chin up, looking him straight in the face. “We’re not doing this in the hallway. The bed’s right there.”
A slow, easy grin spreads across Tae’s face. He thinks he’s got her now. “All right. Whatever you want.”
Diana nudges the arm trapping her against the wall. Her heart is beating so hard that she’s afraid he’ll hear it. But he lets the arm drop, and she walks backward into the apartment.
“You weren’t answering my calls.” Tae follows her to the bed nestled in the corner of the apartment. Her desk sits opposite to it, with its webcam pointed at the bedspread. He glances at it, and then at the posters on her walls. Heroes from Diana’s favorite games stare down at them, their faces frozen in eternal grins.
He’s so arrogant. Even the way he stands in her apartment, taking up space like it belongs to him. Diana pushes him, and Tae falls back onto the bed with an oomph. There’s something dark in his eyes. He looks amused, like she’s a puppy doing tricks.
Diana thinks back to the stories she’s read online, to all the videos she’s watched late at night. She can do this. She can do this.
“Take your clothes off,” she says with more bravado than she feels, and he does, stripping easily in a way that’s meant to impress. Diana pulls her hair ribbon free from her ponytail and holds it tight between both hands. “Now . . . now give me your wrists.”
Tae raises an eyebrow. “Kinkier than I thought. I could have sworn you said you were a virgin.”
She ignores that, kneeling on the bedspread beside him. It’s too late to back out now, she thinks. Diana reaches for the bedside table and turns her phone facedown. “I thought you said we’d do this however I wanted,” she challenges him.
The vulnerability in her voice must show through, because after a moment’s hesitation, he lets her tie his wrists to the white-painted iron headboard. She stands up, surveying her handiwork.
“Like what you see?” he says.
“Yeah, I . . . yeah.” Diana swallows hard.
What would MoonDi say?
“You look good like this,” Diana says, and tries not to cringe, because that’s a porny fanfiction line if she’s ever heard one. But a red flush creeps slowly up his neck. “Just give me a second to turn off my computer.”
Diana moves to the desk, blocking Tae’s view of the screen with her body. The chat is blowing up with questions and comments from her viewers, but she ignores them, dimming brightness on the monitor until it’s gone completely dark. The mic on Diana’s headphones broke a while ago, so she’d switched to using a podcasting-quality standalone microphone. It’s currently parked on the corner of her desk, picking up every word they’re saying.
She adjusts the webcam so it’s pointed directly at the bed. Its glassy lens gleams like a warning, and Tae watches her, hungry, unknowing, from the sheets.
Diana turns back to Tae and advances on the bed. Last chance to chicken out, she thinks grimly. But there never was a chance, really.
“Let’s do this,” Diana says, and takes off her shirt.
* * *
When Diana streams, it helps her focus. She feels calm, centered. This stream is different, and there’s a deep, unsettled feeling in her stomach. But as the camera watches her climb onto the bed beside Tae, that familiar sense of calm, of being MoonDi, descends like a heavy blanket. It steadies her, stops her shaking. Diana swings her leg over Tae’s hips and sits there, staying in frame and pressing her hand onto his chest.
She’s still in her pajama pants and sports bra, and the material against his bare skin draws a muffled groan from him. “Why are you still wearing that?” Tae demands. “Take it off.”
“No,” Diana says. The touch of his skin repulses her, but when she shifts her weight above him and a groan escapes his lips, she feels powerful. She makes sure her voice is loud enough for the mic to pick up. It isn’t difficult; the equipment’s always been too sensitive. “You stalked me, you forced yourself into my home, and you threatened me. I’m calling the shots tonight.”
“You said yes,” Tae pants.
She shoves him down farther into the sheets. “You made it clear you weren’t accepting no for an answer.”
“Whatever.” His grin is a predator’s grin. “So are you going to blow me again?”
She rocks back, shivers. The room is cold. This is a stupid idea, Diana, what the fuck are you doing? she thinks. But the red eye of the camera steadies her. “Only if I want to,” Diana says.
Diana rocks forward with purpose this time, then back again. She can feel the hard press of him through her pajama pants, and it makes her want to recoil out of her skin, but she holds on. “Who did you send that picture to?” she says. Her hands travel up his chest, sharp and vicious. He winces, but his breathing catches and his hips raise. “Who?”
“Why do you want to talk about other people?”
She slaps him. His head snaps back, and he looks at her wide-eyed, all of his bravado evaporating. He’s gotten even harder.
Oh, Diana realizes faintly. Her head is beginning to fill with a roaring sound again, but this time, it’s different. She’s never felt like this before. It fills her with electricity.
“Tell me,” she hisses, grabbing his hair, and he twitches beneath her hips. “I want names.”
Diana slaps him again, and he almost comes undone, his back arching. Names spill from his lips. Eight of them, all coworkers, all men his age. She recognizes all of them. She knows her viewers will too.
She wonders what they’re saying now, watching this. Tae’s face is recognizable; he has his own stream, and he appears on official ones for work, too. All of the friends he names stream, too.
“Good,” Diana says, and he looks back at her hazily. His demeanor is completely different from the man she’d met under the neon lights months ago. The flush has crept all the way across his neck and chest, and his cock presses against her with urgency. “Now apologize.”
“For what?”
She reaches down and grabs him. Upsetting memories of the club bathroom flicker through her head, but she fights them off. “For taking that photo. For leaking it to your friends. For trying to coerce me to stay quiet.”
“I didn’t—”
Diana squeezes him tight, and his wrists strain against their ties. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cries, but she realizes that he has no idea why he should be sorry.
“Say it!” she shouts at him, pulling her hand away, and he begs her to touch him again. He’s strung tight, so tight. “Tell me why you’re sorry!”
And he does. He says everything Diana wants to hear, every word loud enough for the mic to pick up.<
br />
“Very good,” she says when he’s done, and she works him hard in her hand. She isn’t gentle, and it’s sloppy and inexperienced and too dry, but the noises of pain-pleasure Tae makes and the way he begs her not to stop keep her going. The video keeps her going. Her arm muscles feel like they’re on fire, and it’s like an electric current is running through her fingers. It’s so different from that night at GDC.
As he gets close, Diana grips his hair again with her free hand, forcing him to bare his throat. There’s no disguising his moan. “You want this,” she says, wonder in her voice. Patches of bright red trail all the way down his torso.
“Yes.”
She pulls harder, and he whimpers under her. “You want me to do this to you?” she says, and the pressure draws a wrecked sound out of him.
“Yes, god, yes.”
“Too fucking bad,” Diana says, and she rolls off of him, getting to her feet on the carpet. She snatches her phone off of the bedside table, and Tae looks up at her, bewildered and more than a little pissed off.
“What the hell?” he demands. “What are you doing?”
“Calling the police,” says Diana. Her heart beats so hard and fast it makes her feel light-headed. Her body is bright with adrenaline. “Because one of us is getting a happy ending tonight, and it’s not you.”
“Calling the—why?”
“Because,” Diana says slowly, like she’s explaining something to a child, “you broke into my apartment and threatened me. Plus the stalking, and the revenge porn. Of course I’m fucking calling the police to arrest your ass.”
Tae looks up at Diana like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “So what, they’ll get here and see us playing some weird sex game? Is that your idea of revenge?” He laughs at her.
“You confessed to everything,” Diana snaps.
“Maybe I did; maybe I didn’t. You’ll never be able to prove it.”
“I don’t have to.” Diana increases the brightness on her desktop monitor, and his eyes widen when he sees the active window with their stream. The chat box on the side of the screen is going wild. “You already did.”
holy shit is that Tae
The Mythic Dream Page 26
