Bite Me, Royce Taslim

42

WHEN I GET HOME, MY MOTHER IS STILL UP, AND WE DEbrIEF HER. “LET’Shope the situation is contained in the coming days.”

My chest tightens with the disappointment in her voice. I drop my gaze.

“Maybe…maybe I should withdraw from the competition—”

“Nonsense,” Stanley says firmly. “You worked hard to get here, and we don’t think taking the chance to compete away from you is an appropriate punishment.” I wish it had been my mother who’d said that. I wonder if she felt the same as Stanley, even as she nods.

“Also, they canceled our family vacation to Langkawi next month so you can have money to enjoy yourself in New York, because it’s expensive and they don’t want you couch surfing,” Rosie added. That had indeed been my plan, because even with all the money I’d saved and the basic travel expenses covered by the sponsorship, four days in New York was going to be expensive, especially at the ringgit’s crappy exchange rate. I’d to pay for all kinds of insurance and our own accommodation.

“We’ll deposit the money in your bank account next Monday,” my mother says, then weakly, “Surprise!”

I groan, feeling guiltier and guiltier. “Mom! Dad! That was the babymoon!”

“We’ll figure something out later,” Stanley says, kissing the top of my head. “Now go and rest. You’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress over the past week.”

I drift upstairs to my room, where I slide into my bed and burrow under the covers, preparing myself for the worst, mentally.

Could they charge me for anything I’d done? As an accessory, as they say on legal shows. Which one would I be guilty of: Libel? Slander? Defamation? All of them?

I imagine myself splayed desultorily on the floor of a lone prison cell, rats circling my rotting flesh (from the wounds of my self-flagellation), taking random chunks out of my flesh, as the jailor(?), a pockmarked woman who with yellowing, bitter eyes, encourages them. “This one is the worst,” she would say, pointing a pustule-laden finger in my direction. “She brought down an entire family, just because she wanted to win.”

I hear Vern in my head: Or maybe the real problem is you got soft, you had to say something when you could have kept your head down, kept your eyes on the prize. They would never have charged Royce’s dad. You don’t have what it takes to be a winner. You’re not a winner.

If I don’t have what it takes to be the kind of winner that Vern—who’d certainly seen himself through hardships with a blend of tenacity, charm, and wiliness—is, what does that mean for my future? If I don’t become a success, what do I have to offer anyone? Who would care about me if I’m a nobody? Out of all the people I know, Vern is the only one who’d seen the worst of me, and still wanted anything to do with me.

Maybe I need to speak to Vern.…

No. I shake my head. Vern was not the solution to this problem. Catching myself automatically reaching out to Vern was sobering. Wow, he really got his hooks into me.

No, I let him get his hooks into me. Sometimes, inaction can be just as bad as action.

I miss Zee with the sum of all my parts. I’d tried to send her texts several times over the past few days, ultimately chickening out each time. I try texting her again, an apology at hand, and erase the whole thing. She doesn’t deserve me—she deserves much better.

I fire up Revenge of the Soul Flayer: Hellfire and start hacking enthusiastically away at a Blood Binder, the minions from hell out to get the hero, Flayer the Bastard. As predicted, my blood pressure starts dropping with each kill.

My phone vibrates. I let out an elated-terrified squee when I see who it is.

Zee:I saw you writing and erasing so many texts over the past few days, I decided to give you an opportunity to explain yourself.

Zee:So explain. And how are you? How is Royce? I can’t get through to him.

I drop Zee several long voice notes to explain all that had happened and Vern’s involvement in all of this.

Me:I’m so, so, so sorry, Zee. I was a shit friend to you and to Royce

Zee:Yup, I know. As your friend, I love you, but what you did still stinks

Agnes: owning it I am not worthy of your forgiveness.

Zee:Good that you know

Zee:But I’m giving it to you anyway

Tears flood my eyeholes. On-screen, Flayer the Bastard is being eaten by giant fire ants, because I cleverly forgot to pause the game.

Zee:Also—I TOLD YOU SO! THAT VERN IS SKETCH!

Zee:Aaahhhh it feels SO GOOD TO SAY I TOLD YOU SO!

Zee:Like pricking a boil

Zee:If only I could boil Vern

I send her a flurry of what I call kowtow face emojis. Zee has earned herself a lifetime right to tell me she told me so, because she’s endured so much of my nonsense.

My phone pings again.

Unknown:Hey Agnes, Royce here.

I squeak and almost drop my phone, my heart pounding like a timpani. I felt nervous and elated. After almost five days of not hearing from him, why is he reaching out now?

Me:How do I know this is really you? ARE YOU A BOT?

Unknown:I can prove it. Call now?

My fingers trembled as I type, Sure.

I pick up on the second ring. Royce’s lovely, deep voice flooded the speaker. “Hey, LilHotFlashes.”

I smile. “Royce, I’m so, so sorry about this. This is my fault.”

“And I don’t deny you had a part to play in this mess,” Royce says wryly. “I was very pissed, to be honest. I’m not a saint.”

“I get it,” I say in a small voice. “I would have been furious if I were in your shoes.”

“Sorry I didn’t come down the other day when you and Stanley came over. One of my mom’s bodyguards, Uwe, had been stationed outside my door, with strict orders not to let me out. I’ve not been allowed to leave the compound since the news broke.”

I swallowed, feeling sicker and sicker to my stomach. “Shit, that’s…that’s extreme.”

He sighs. “Ordinarily, I would agree, but there’s been some death threats sent to me and my family, so my parents are rightly very worried for me, and I feel bad enough about everything to try to fight it. My father has”—his voice grows gruff—“some nasty competitors, and they were waiting for an opportunity like this to bring him down.”

I cover my eyes with trembling palms. I hate that Vern’s and my actions have led to this.

He clears his throat. “To be honest, there was a part of me that didn’t want to see you until I knew what the meeting was about, either. I told you, I’m no saint. I was mad at you, and worried for you, not sure if you’d been implicated in this in anyway, especially since I didn’t know what Vern would do to you if you retaliated.” My heart flutters at his concern. “I had no idea what was happening on social media, the internet, what people were saying. I’ve just been banned from going online, and my mom…”

“She has your phone. I saw it tonight.” I swallow.

“Yes, she swiped it pretty much as soon as the first few stories broke. Our publicist recommended that they craft any social media responses from my accounts, since I couldn’t be trusted to ‘keep to the narrative.’”

“How are you even on the phone with me now?”

I can hear the grin in his voice. “This is Jit’s phone. And I’m in my walk-in closet.”

“Royce—” My voice hitches.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t want him to do any of this. I swear.”

“I believe you. And I’ve forgiven you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“How could I not?” His voice is gruff. The line crackles. “When the girl of my dreams was willing to confess to a crime she didn’t commit, just so I can leave my house without being accosted by internet haters?”

The hairs on my arms raise. Girl of my dreams. Maybe the acoustics in his walk-in closet had distorted what he said. Maybe he’d actually said girl from my team or girl who makes schemes, or maybe he said the former girl of my dreams.

Or maybe he did mean to say exactly that. “Well,” I say, aiming for levity, “I wasn’t actually going to take all of the blame. I did state that Vern was the perpetrator. I’m silly, but I’m not stupid.”

“Agnes?”

“Yeah?”

“Just take the compliment. Just…just take what I said. I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to speak with you again…Jit isn’t even supposed to see me, much less hand me his phone. My mom switched him with a bodyguard she trusts. Jit’s supposed to be on a shift with my dad. Any minute now someone will be looking for him.”

“Okay, okay.” I let my air out in a whooshing breath. “I can’t. I can’t accept it. I’m not worthy.”

He chuckles. “Most of the time, you are.”

We stay on the call for a bit, saying nothing. Finally, I whisper, “Okay. I accept. Are you going to New York next week?”

“Do you want me to?” he asks.

“If I say no, would you cancel your spot?” I challenge him rhetorically because I already know the answer.

“No,” he concedes. “But I also know you’d never ask that of me.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. It’s not in your best interest to retreat now.”

Vern spoke of me and him being in a wolf pack, but he looks out more for his own interests than others. I thought I’d met the one person who got what it was to be me, an outsider, an outlier, who had spent her life trying to fit in, smoothing out all the jagged little pieces of herself, but actually Royce has been the one who sees me for who I am—the good, the bad, and the gray—and he accepts all of it. And if there’s anything he draws out of me, it’s my better self. I know that now.

“You wouldn’t want me to give you an easy win,” he says.

“That’s true. And neither would you.” Vern would have taken the win.

“I wouldn’t,” he concurs. “I respect you too much for that.”

Words are forming in my heart and crawling out of my mouth before I could parse or stop them: “And that’s why you’re the guy of my dreams.”