Page 44 of Fake Game
My shaky hands grip the mug before me, grateful for some sort of stability. I slowly raise it to my lips and take a sip of the sweet, warm liquid—it tastes like being wrapped in a soft, knitted blanket. It barely scratches the surface of my unease, but it begins to drip into the cracks, filling me with a touch of comfort.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jackson’s deep voice breaks the silence.
“My makeup is like your masks: without it, I’m not Deer.”
“I meant your nightmare, but that’s a good start, too.”
My chest pangs with regret at revealing a shard of myself that he didn’t ask for.
It’s an effort to keep my grip on the mug when all I want to do is shut down, to sink into the abyss.
“Deer?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m trying here, but I need you to respond so I know you’re okay.”
“Can’t we just sit in silence?”
The sound of me taking another sip of milk crackles through the air as I wait for his response.
“Shield?”
“I thought you wanted silence?”
Annoyance flashes through my veins, but it’s quickly replaced with a short laugh that tumbles past my lips. And though I can’tsee his face, I can see the way his cheeks move back, almost in a mimicking smile.
“Come on.” He pushes off the counter and makes his way out the balcony door.
Like a string is connecting my body to his, I follow the pull and trace his path with my own soft footsteps—careful not to spill my mug in the process.
This late at night, the air carries a bite in the breeze. The hairs on my arms stand up as I’m reminded that, for some Gods forsaken reason, I’m still in my damn towel. I really wasn’t thinking anything through tonight.
Jackson leans against the railing, and I come to rest next to him, our position a mirror of the other morning.
The sky is a deep midnight blue, bordering on black, with hazy clouds. The darkness calms my nerves in the knowledge that even if Jackson were to glance over at me, I would be hidden in the shadows.
I can hear a plane landing somewhere, but I have no hope trying to figure out where it might be when I can only see a foot in front of me. The city lights shine dimly in the distance, but to my broken eyes they just look like a muddle of sparkles across the dark expanse.
A cube of ice settles in the center of my chest, slowly melting and dripping into my system. The city is so large around me, and yet I’m stuck in a small corner, refusing to leave out of fear. I can’t even begin to understand the person I have slowly become—someone so at odds with who I should be, someone who fears living when they should be thriving.
“I couldn’t sleep for a week after we got swatted.”
I drain the last of my milk, a thick pool of honey at the bottom coating my tongue as I silently listen to the deep rumble of his words.
“None of us could. I’m pretty sure I made Aleksander watch a million reruns ofFMABrotherhoodas we survived off delivery pizza and ramen for a few weeks. Parker even flew back to London for a month while we got our security sorted.”
“Really?”
“What? You think Aleksander just keeps a switchblade by his bedside for fun?”
“He could be using it as a letter opener.”
I feel Jackson give me a look from the corner of his eye, and I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from making any more snarky remarks.
“Point is, you can talk to us.”
My nails tap against the ceramic in an odd staccato.