8 Coping Mechanisms
Luca
I’ve curated an image so that when people look at me, all they see are the jokes, the smile, the charm. I’m easy-going, amenable, just coasting through life happily. Nothing gets to me.
Luca Silvain, chronically unbothered.
I let most people keep that image of me, even play into it. ‘Cause making others think I’m happy is what I’m good at. Most days, I wonder if I actually remember what happy is supposed to feel like.
I could do the route to the overlook blindfolded at this point and could still probably hit every fallen tree and trail sign on the way with my daggers. I don’t remember most of the ride.
The bike eats up the road, engine roaring loud, drowning out my thoughts.
Which is the point.
The wind tears past, clawing at me, forcing my focus in a way nothing else can. No thoughts. No voices. Just speed. Control. Adrenaline.
Except it doesn’t last. It never does.
Tex bleeds into it anyway.
A flash, his laughter, leaning back like he had his whole life ahead of him. Like there wasn't a clock ticking down to the night Daniel stole him from us.
Then him, bleeding from the cut on his head, being held by two of Daniel’s men. Gunfire. His body hitting the ground.
I push the throttle harder,
The engine screams, the front of the bike lifting just slightly as I surge forward, The road curves and I lean into it.
I should’ve done something. Just taken the damn shot.
Anything would’ve been better than nothing.
The overlook comes into view too soon and not soon enough all at once. I pull off hard, gravel spitting beneath the tires as I skid to a stop. I kill the engine.
Silence crashes in.
It’s suffocating.
For a second, I just sit there, hands still gripping the handlebars, helmet pressing down on me.
My chest feels tight, a twinge starting somewhere.
From everything I’ve been trying not to feel.
I rip the helmet off, dragging in a deep breath but it doesn’t help. It feels like something’s pressing in on my chest no matter what I do. The air is cool, carrying the faint scent of dry earth, like the fresh soil they dug up.
The hole they made for Tex to go in.
I swing off the bike, boots crunching against gravel as I shove a hand through my hair. My fingers snag, pulling harder than necessary.
“Fuck.”
I place my helmet down and pull off my jacket, tossing it over the seat.
I walk towards the edge.
There’s nowhere for the energy to go. It just buzzes under my skin. I drag both hands over my face, pressing hard like I can shove it all back, lock it down where it belongs.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches.
A harsh breath leaves me as I look out. The city stretches out below. Lights begin to flicker on as the sun dips lower. It’s the kind of peaceful view I come up here for, it usually calms me.
But it’s not enough.
I step closer to the edge, letting out a guttural yell. I yell until I can’t anymore. Until the weight lifts slightly.
Tex is dead.
The words feel wrong. Too simple for an event that’s ripped this wide of a hole through everything and everyone. I still expect to hear his footsteps behind me. Sitting in his space at our table every day. He survived so much. Just to be taken down by fucking Daniel.
Daniel.
Fucking scum.
My hands curl into fists.
I back away from the edge, pacing. I need something to hit, to break. The energy under my skin is clawing it’s way out.
But there’s nothing to break.
I kneel down and drive my fist straight into the ground.
Pain shoots up my arm. The thud of the ground is unsatisfying. I suck in a breath through my teeth.
It helps, barely.
I rest my fist against my forehead, eyes squeezing shut.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to no one. “I don’t know how to do this without you, man. It doesn’t feel right.” I admit under my breath.
It feels stupid, talking to someone who’s not here anymore.
But what else can I do?
I stay there for a long time, trying to figure out how the hell we’re supposed to move forward from this. Eventually, I drag a hand down my face and straighten.
I'm giving myself one night. One ride. One mental breakdown over a cliff, screaming at nothing like a fucking crazy person.
But as soon as I get back on that bike, I'll put the smile back on and toss out the jokes like nothing's wrong. Back to the regularly scheduled Luca, because I need to be strong. For her. The thought of her shifts something in my chest. She’s hurting and she doesn’t need me losing it.
I glance back at my bike, still sitting exactly where I left it.
Then back toward the city, how easy it would be to hop on my bike and just let the road take me wherever.
To leave this life behind. But I can’t leave her.
She keeps me tethered, the one bright spot in all of this.
Whatever version of happy I ever manage to feel, she's the reason.
I shake my head and make my way back, shoving my helmet back on. I slide the jacket on and zip it up with a forceful tug, sealing myself in leather.
The engine roars back to life, loud enough to drown everything out again. One last look and I turn away. Not gone. Just buried. For now.
Noah
The room is dark except for the glow of my monitors.
My headset sits crooked over one ear. I move my mouse, clicking around the screen, fingers poised and ready on my keyboard.
I’ve never lost so many rounds in a row before.
I can hear his voice in my head, telling me sunshine would do me good, that his reflexes were always better than mine because he went outside once in a while.
Tex. I shake my head.
“Come on… get it together,” I mutter under my breath, leaning forward slightly as my character enters the mid lane. My jungler engages, starting a fight and I join in without hesitation but it’s no use. Dead. Again.
Footsteps echo faintly in the hall outside, but I don’t look away. Timing is everything, especially when you’re watching the respawn timer to be revived.
The door creaks open.
“Wow,” an unimpressed voice says. It’s entirely too loud for the concentration I’m attempting to maintain.
I exhale slowly through my nose. Maeve. I groan as my character dies in the next fight. I spin around to look at her as I wait for the respawn timer. She doesn’t wait for an invitation, scanning the room.
“Don’t touch anything,” I say flatly, I turn back to my screen as my character loads back in base.
“I wasn’t going to,” she mutters, though she’s pulling her hand back.
I move back down my lane, pushing the tower.
For a second, I start to feel confident, like I could win this round for the team.
Then I make the wrong call and have to back down.
I sigh in frustration and rub my hands over my knees, like sweat is what’s causing this.
I know better, I just wish I didn’t. I can’t get the sound of that shot out of my head.
“What’s this?” She bends down beside me, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“A game.”
“Well, duh.” She scoffs.
I tilt my chin towards the screen. “Less talking, more watching. It’s distracting.”
She watches in silence as I regain my footing and take the tower, then move to the second one. But the other team’s jungler ganks me.
We engage in a fight. I’m pressing through my abilities as fast as possible.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I barely escape with only two hit points left.
I move into a bush and start to go back to my base.
Finally, I’m getting my concentration back.
Having a spectator hones the skills, at least marginally.
I move my hands above my head, stretching. Maeve clicks my mouse, stopping the animation and attacking a pack of wolves.
I die.
Maeve winces. “Oops.”
I turn my head slowly, keeping my expression blank. “You killed me.”
“I didn’t kill you,” she says defensively. “The wolves did.”
“You assisted.”
She snorts, completely unbothered, then drops into the chair across from me. “You’ll recover.”
“Not for like five minutes,” I grumble, sitting back in my own chair.
“What are you doing here, anyway? How did you get in here?”
Maeve shrugs, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Luca gave me a key to all your rooms for emergencies.”
“Are you having an emergency?”
“I’m bored.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
“I think I’ve found the solution. Watching you die in your funny game.” She glances around again, taking in the setup with more interest this time.”You’ve got a stupid number of screens.”
“It’s efficient.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is excessive.”
“It’s necessary.”
She hums like she doesn’t believe me. The enemy takes down our nexus and the game is over.
I wait for the screen to load, queuing up another match as soon as I’m back in the lobby. Maeve has worked wonders on Isobel. There’s color in her cheeks, she’s eating again, talking. Even small smiles and laughs here and there.
Jace has even accepted her presence.
I glance at her again. “Why aren’t you with Iz?”
Her eyes soften at the edges. “Giving her some space. Hovering like a helicopter isn’t going to help.”
I study her.
“Fair,” I say, turning back to my screen.
She doesn’t say anything.
“Was she always like this?” I ask.
She arches her brow. “Like what?”
“Handles everything on her own. Refuses help.”
Maeve lets out a small breath, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, pretty much. Mom and I used to invite her over so she could get a break from that evil douche canoe… didn’t want to be a charity case or something. She wouldn’t believe she wasn’t.”
Figures.
The match starts and I fall back into rhythm.
Maeve watches for a minute, leans forward. “So are you actually good at this?”
“I am. I was doing great before you sabotaged me.”
“Sounds like an excuse.”
I don’t bother responding, just farming my minions. I engage with the other midlaner early, chunking his health down, forcing him to retreat.
“That was kinda cool.”
“I know.”
“At least you’re humble.”
“It’s a burden I bear under great duress.”
I go back to the base under my tower, I can feel her eyes assessing me. I let her.
“You’re not like Iz described.” She tilts her head with a bright smile.
I blink.
“Which is?”
“Closed off, quiet.”
“I am closed off.”
“Debatable. You’ve spoken more than five words to me already.”
“That’s because you broke into my room.”
“I knocked.”
“No, you didn’t”
“Well, I had a key.”
“You opened the door without invitation.”
“Technicalities.”
I huff out a quiet breath.
“There it is.” She beams.
“What?”
“Proof.”
“Of?”
“Life. Emotions.”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head to focus back on the game. “You’re loud.”
“You’re quiet. We balance each other out.”
“That’s one way to frame it.”
I groan. “You’re just like Luca.”
“That’s a compliment in my book.”
“It’s not,” I murmur.
She giggles, the sound light and airy. “You like me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Same difference.”
It’s not, but I don’t bother correcting her.
The sounds of the game fill my ears, I fall back into familiar rhythms and patterns. She’s so quiet I almost jump when she speaks again.
“Is this all you do when you’re not being a spy?”
“First of all, we’re not spies. We’re a thieves guild.
It’s an entirely different skill set. Well, not entirely different, there would be some overlap, if I employed a Venn diagram, I guess.
” I can see her eyes narrowing on me, examining my outburst of information and cut myself off dead, clearing my throat. “Yes, I like to play to relax.”
“All the time?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“It’s productive.”
“How is this productive?” She raises a brow, crossing her arms.
“Strategy, reaction time, pattern recognition, teamwork, communication. It all translates.”
She nods, considering my words. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”
“Still, you should probably go outside at some point.”
“I went outside yesterday.”
She stares at me. “That’s not the flex you think it is.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
“Mm.”
I almost smile.
My focus shifts back to the game, more aware of her presence. Less intrusive now.
Not as bad as I expected.
She can at least stay silent during fights to let me concentrate, unlike Luca. She continues watching in silence until the game is over, this time, my team winning and taking their base.
I take a sip of my drink, leaning back in my chair. She nudges the edge of my desk with her foot. “Hey.”
“What?”
“If I sit here long enough, are you going to let me try?”
“No.”
“Wow. Rude. Learn to share.”
“You killed me last time.”
“That was one time.”
“That was enough.”
Maeve grins, completely undeterred. “We’ll see. Will you at least teach me then?”
I stare at her, raising a brow over my glasses. “Seriously?”
She shrugs and nods. “Why not? Looks fun.”
I reach to the corner of my desk where my laptop sits, opening it up and logging in.
“What do you want your user name to be?”