Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Zayden
Days later….
The smell of coffee and scrambled eggs greets me as I rub the sleep from my eyes.
From the lack of sunshine filtering through the curtains, I can tell it's another cold and grey day. The familiar navy-blue curtains and coral walls tell me I’m at Nico’s grandma's house. Instantly, I feel the muscles in my body relax, and my breathing evens out. I’m comforted knowing that we are at Nico’s house and not back at the dorms. Even when I’m not there, my body always thinks it is.
I always wake up in a panicked state, my heart and mind racing until I take in my surroundings.
It’s been the same tango since my arrival at the university, and by the looks of it, it’s not something that will change any time soon.
My phone buzzes again and, as usual, I ignore it. Just like I've done since the night of the ball. Safra has made it his job to blow my phone up with calls and texts, all of which I ignore.
With a groan, I stretch before rolling out of bed and handling business before getting my day going.
Slipping into a black hoodie and sneakers, I make my way out of the room and into the small hall, stopping just as I make it to the living room, where Erikson sits in front of the TV playing Fortnite with his friend.
Nico stands in front of the kitchen counter, his eyes sunken in from the lack of sleep, bags adorning the bottom, and a dissociative look plastered over his face.
I sigh, letting my head hang low as I move towards him.
“You get any sleep?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but I still try to pull him out of his head.
Last night was tough. After a much-needed soccer match, we filled our stomachs with cheap vodka, and Nico poured his heart out to me.
I feel for the kid; he’s in love and refuses to let go.
And I can’t say I necessarily blame him; however, it would be a lie to say I understand.
He tussles his brown hair, disheveling it as he lets out a sigh.
“Nah, I can’t sleep.”
“Figures, you look like shit,” I grumble as I grab the coffee pot and make myself a cup of it—black and creamer with no sugar. I don’t do sweets, and the coffee is better at waking me up when it’s bitter. “Have you talked to T?”
He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “I can't right now.”
I shrug; that’s his business and an issue he will have to deal with sooner or later.
I turn my attention back to the steam coming off the blue cup, blowing it softly before taking a sip.
The coffee floods my mouth, the taste familiar and just how I like it.
Bitter like me. The liquid warms me up, slowly alerting my cells.
“Have you?” Nico's question catches me off guard, the coffee burning my lips.
I'm not sure why the question takes me by surprise; everyone knows that I am Safra's bitch. It’s not like it’s some hidden secret, especially at Velarium.
The only reason I've been up Nico’s ass is to keep him out of trouble.
He also knows about my very complicated feelings regarding Safra; there’s no secret that I like men.
I’m not ashamed of being bisexual. I don’t hide it.
What I do hide is the depth of his effect.
Right now, it’s been the perfect opportunity to avoid him.
And those feelings. Nico knows that, so I’m not sure why he would think I’ve been talking to Safra.
It’s not like I talk to him outside of Velarium or games unless it’s for a job.
“He’s been texting. I’m sure he’s worried about you,” I reply honestly.
Despite the secrets I carry, I am not a liar.
Just cautious with what I share. Words can sometimes be deadlier than any weapon.
Plus, Nico never asks the right questions; the poor guy always gets thrown to the wolves, expecting to survive, but I guess that’s why I’m here.
The least I can do is guide him through the dark, though it would be a lie to say Thiago didn’t care.
In his own fucked up way, he does, that much I can admit.
Which is another reason I dislike him, or at least force myself to.
It’s better to keep the walls up high than allow them to disarm you.
In a way, I’m glad that if I’m going to be fucked during my time in Villalargos, at least it's by him. And that’s the part I hate the most. It’s my most well-kept secret.
The echo of Nico's ringtone catches my attention. Slowly, my gaze shifts towards Nico, who looks down at his phone, battling his need to answer the call as the phone rings on the counter. He didn’t have to tell me who it was; the look on his face told me all that I needed to know.
The orders given to him that night were simple: he needed to stay away from her.
If not, there would be consequences; Thiago’s job, and I guess mine, is to ensure that.
To protect him.
Nico runs his hand through his hair, the other clasped around the corner of the counter.
Staring down at the screen as if he could answer the call without a lifting of fingers.
His eyes plead with me; my best friend was never good at hiding his emotions.
And now, they are even harder to control because he’s in love.
Given the look on Nico’s face, his feelings are definitely overwhelming his logic.
In a quick swipe, he presses the green button and places the phone against his ear.
“Blondie,” he answers, his voice barely a whisper as he turns to lean into the counter.
My nose flares, my lip curling with disdain.
I’m not mad at the fact that he’s in love…
What angers me is the lack of concern for his own safety.
Shiloh is a death sentence, and Peter is the happy executioner.
That much is clear. I linger in the kitchen, unable to stop myself from eavesdropping even though I know it’s wrong.
Staying informed helps you prepare for the unknown, and in this fucking game, there’s so much that's unknown.
So many players moving around that you have to be prepared for it all.
Emotions are currency when you know how to exploit them.
My ears perk up at Nico's hushed whisper. “I know,” he breathes out, dragging a hand down his face. “I miss you. We can fix this.”
I can’t contain the scoff that escapes my lips at his words.
Fix this. He thinks he can win, as if he has the power to go up against old money.
He’s no match for the psychotic elite, who now have a claim over the woman he loves.
The urge to slap sense into him tingles at my fingertips.
I gotta give it to my best friend, though.
The man is not only stubborn but also delusional and much more reckless than I want him to be.
And yet, those very qualities are what make him the man he is.
Who could blame him for wanting to be happy? As much as I want to, I simply can’t.
After a few minutes of listening to him profess his love and making false promises, I walk away, bored.
Romance isn't something I necessarily care about. It’s not like I had any real example of it, and then Thiago and Villalargos shattered it.
Whatever part of me that had remained somewhat okay is now tainted by secrets and trauma.
I wouldn’t be any good for anyone. I just fuck, no attachment—nothing but mindless sex.
It’s become a routine on the days I'm not busy with Velarium that I let out steam with three things… on the field, inside a fighting cage, or fucking. What can I say, I’m a simple man.
“Zay, you want to play a match?” Erikson’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, and I come to a stop behind him. A smirk curls at the corner of my lips, and my hand moves towards his head. Roughly, I ruffle his curls under my palm and, for a second, the moment brings back a memory.
A painful one at that—one I thought was long forgotten.
One of my father, before alcohol and drugs turned him into someone I barely recognize.
I shake off the thought, grabbing the PlayStation controller from Erikson's small hand and plopping on the sofa.
From behind us, Nico continues to calm Shiloh down, and I can tell by the look on Erikson's face that he’s worried about his big brother.
Softly, I tap his cheek. “Focus, man, or you might miss greatness cuz you are too nosy.”
Erikson scoffs, puffing out his chest, his hand tightening around the remote. “Yeah, okay.”
With that, we focus on the screen, arguing for a bit about my character selection. The yellow banana. What’s the reason for having a banana skin, if it’s not to use it? Not that I cared either, I just wanted to distract the poor kid while his brother lost his shit behind us.
“Where’s Grams?” I ask when he falls quiet, my fingers pressing on the trigger as I build and shoot the couple trying to tag me.
“She went to the store, and your dad stopped by.”
I wet my lips before biting down on them as I score the kill and build a box around me to camp out and wait for some unlucky bastard to cross my path. But with the storm closing in, I need to get going. “What did he want?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Abuela told him he shouldn’t let you see him like that.”
I couldn’t help the disappointment that tugs at my heart; it’s not like I should expect anything different.
It’s been years, but loving someone with an addiction is a hard thing.
Nothing like expecting them to change, only for them to spit in your face and make you feel like you’re not good enough.
It’s a contradictory cocktail of emotions.
Part of me longs for the man he used to be, while the other grieves for him.
And no matter how much I try to escape it, in the game and in real life, the storm closes in.
“Ahh, you died. You suck!” Erikson chants, using his fingers to do an L. “Loser!”
I huff out a breath. “Maybe this game sucks.”
With that, I hand him the remote, and thankfully, Nico’s done on the phone. Unfortunately, he’s brooding and resting his forehead on the cool surface of the counter.
“You seriously look pathetic, and I mean that in the most loving way.”
He doesn’t bother to look up. I can tell he’s focusing on his breathing, trying not to lose his shit. It’s just too much for him to bear. My hand moves to console him, but he recoils away before I have a chance to. As if sensing the need, he snaps, “Don’t.”
He brushes past me and locks himself in the bathroom.
I walk back to the room where I slept and notice my phone isn’t in my pocket.
Opening the door to the room, I locate it sitting on top of the bed.
I saunter over, pick it up, and look down at the screen.
Finally, reading all four unopened messages from Thiago.
Safra:
How’s Nico?
Safra:
Stop ignoring me.
Safra:
Should I go there myself? C’mon, just text back.
Safra:
Ur needed tonight.
The last message is the only one I reply to, only because of obligation—nothing else.
Me:
Time.
Bubbles appear immediately and then disappear and reappear until finally a message comes through.
Safra:
9 pm, warehouse lot 8. I’ll pick you up at 8.
My stomach knots, my thumb lingers on the screen, unsure of how to answer. I rode my bike here, and honestly, I didn’t want him anywhere near Nico’s home. Or mine. That’s too close to my world, past the walls I keep him out of. One thing is Nico, and another is my life. Finally, I respond.
Me:
I’ll head back to the dorm. Link up there.
I keep it short, and I know that pisses him off more than anything.
I find myself smiling at the screen, watching as the bubbles continue their dance.
I’ll ignore him again, but it would be a lie to say that some part of me didn't enjoy getting under his skin just as much as I enjoyed… I shake the thought out of my head. I can’t let myself go there. Not with him.
I’m just horny and need to blow off some steam. Ever since that fucking kiss, my mind has been in shambles, and Nico’s relationship problems are only highlighting my own. Just as I go to place my phone in my pocket, an unknown message comes in, causing my heart to fall into my ass.
Unknown:
Lose tonight. And meet me out by the shipment containers.
My stomach knots, my hands shake, and disbelief causes me to plop down on the corner of the bed. I don’t write back, because there’s no need to. I don’t have a choice; this isn’t a request.