Chương 10: Arm Wrestle and—Hey. Shouldn’t We Take Turns Watching. Like. Uh…

Shouldn't We Take Turns Watching. Like. Uh…

She pushed back. He pushed harder. She pushed back harder. Their hands stayed exactly vertical for about five seconds, neither of them gaining ground, his bicep starting to burn in a way that suggested his old body had not really moved his bicep much in a long time, her shoulder bracing in a way that suggested she had at least picked up something heavy in a gym recently. He pushed a little harder. She held.

They were locked dead even at vertical for ten seconds, twelve seconds, fifteen, and then she lost her grip slightly and he gained a quarter inch. She gained it back. They were at vertical again. His forearm was burning. He recommitted through the shoulder and pressed her down another quarter inch, then another, and her hand went to the wood with his on top of it. Two college students sweating into each other's hands at a wooden table in a fantasy inn.

"Stop," she said, after it was already done.

"You win." He let go.

"Pretty close."

"Yeah. close," she said.

"So strength works. The numbers work."

"Yeah. They work." She flexed her fingers.

"That means INT works too," she said.

"Yeah."

"And it means I'm probably smarter than you."

"Don't."

"By a lot."

"Maddy."

"By like, six."

"FINE." She grinned. He grinned. He couldn't help it. They finished their stew. They finished their ale.

John brought them another ale that they had not paid for and then bowed slightly and walked away before they could ask, and the second ale was warm and good and they drank it slowly, and at some point in the next forty minutes the inn started to empty out, the laughter quieted, peasants disappeared into the night or up the stairs to their rooms, Gerald gave them a small wave and went up to bed with his egg basket, and the candles on their table burned down to about half-length.

"I want to tell you something," Maddy said.

"Okay."

"Don't be weird."

"This is the second time you've said this."

"So. Why am I dressed like a slut. I know it's on your mind." She started laughing before she finished the sentence. He stared at her.

"It's not."

"Shut up dude. You're a lit student. You have like, three classes on judging other people."

"I wasn't going to ask you."

"You were going to ask me."

"I wasn't." He was going to ask her. She knew. They both knew.

"... okay. Why."

"Why am I dressed like a slut."

"Yeah." She took a sip of her ale. She set the tankard down.

"I have a stream."

"A…stream."

"An OnlyFans stream."

"... okay."

"I'm in mechanical engineering. The degree is sixty thousand a year. My mom makes like forty thousand. I had a partial scholarship freshman year that I lost because my freshman GPA was 3. 6 and not 3. 8. The math wasn't math."

"So you—""So I do a stream. The stream pays for school. I don't show my face. I don't show anyone my face. I put wigs most of the time. The wigs are the only thing that's mine in the videos. Like, my actual face is mine, but the wigs are the part I let them have. You know what I mean." This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"Yeah."

"So I'm dressed like a slut because I'm dressed like the girl from the stream and the girl from the stream wears these shorts because the shorts make eighteen thousand dollars a month. I'm not really her. I'm just wearing her clothes."

"Okay."

"And I died bending over to pick up my dildo because I was running late to my Stochastic Processes lecture and I didn't want them to find the dildo on the floor when they found my body in case I fucking... died. And then I fucking died so. They're not gonna find the dildo. At least. Yeah."

"Right."

"So. That's the thing."

"Okay."

"Don't make me feel weird about it."

"I'm not."

"I know."

"I'm not the audience for whatever you think I am, Maddy."

"Okay."

"My parents are rich." She looked at him.

"They're not like rich rich. But they're rich. Both lawyers. They live in Westchester. They paid for my undergrad. I don't have a job. I write essays for assignments and I have a fancy laptop and I have a lot of books and I have nothing else. I have. I don't know. I'm a fucking lit major. I have nothing."

"That checks out actually."

"What."

"You read like a lit major with parents from Westchester."

"Shut up."

"I'm not making fun of you."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"A little. But it's like, affectionate so it's fine."

"It's not."

"It is." She was smiling again. The candles were really low now.

"Anyway," she said.

"You don't have to feel weird about my slutty clothes."

"I don't."

"And I don't have to feel weird about your rich parents."

"Okay." They drank in silence for a second.

"Did you have a boyfriend," she said.

"No. Why are you even starting with boyfriend."

"Lit major. Girlfriend?"

"No."

"Anyone."

"No. Last actual girlfriend was sophomore year. Her name was Anna. She broke up with me because I didn't have hobbies. Which I disagreed with. I have hobbies. I read."

"Reading isn't a hobby it's a thing you do."

"What? Dude. Reading IS a hobby."

"Reading is a hobby is something a lit major says."

"... okay?"

"You don't have hobbies."

"Dude. Shut up. What are even your hobbies. Fucking Sephora shopping."

"I have plenty of hobbies. I like Pokémon. A lot. I have plenty of plushies. Well they're all of Pokémon so it's kinda the same hobby. Whatever. Engineering. Well, not the class, but the problem solving parts. I like to…solve things, you know. And yeah, the stream. Well, it's more of a job."

"Boyfriend?"

"No. Couldn't really. With the…OnlyFans and all that. Boys are weird about it. Couldn't tell anyone or there'd be one too many people who knew, and one too many people who knew was always the limit."

"Yeah."

"So. Nobody at home is going to notice for a while. My friends will eventually I guess. My mom will."

"Your mom."

"Yeah."

"... yeah." She didn't say anything else. She finished her ale. He finished his. She stood up first. She picked up Bolt—which was the name she'd given to her dildo for some reason—from where she had set it next to her on the bench. She picked up the Monster Tube. She palmed them both like an awkward inappropriate bouquet.

"Come on dude," she said. They climbed the stairs. Room nine was at the end of the hall and had a wooden door with a nine carved into it and the key turned in the lock with a satisfying iron clunk. The room was small. Two beds against opposite walls. A wooden chest at the foot of each. A window with a wooden shutter. A candle on the washstand that John had lit and left for them. She put Bolt and the Tube on her chest. He set the wax knife on his. They sat on their beds at the same time.

The beds were fucking garbage.

"Goodnight," he said.

"Yeah."

"You good? Maddy?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." A pause.

"Wait," she said.

"What." She was sitting up on the edge of her bed now. He could just see her in the candlelight, hands on her knees, looking at the door.

"Shouldn't we like. Take turns keeping watch." He stared at her.

"... oh."

"Right?"

"Yeah."

"Like in case something happens."

"Yeah."

"Like a…slime."

"Like a slime."

"Or a like, random guys or assassins," she said.

"Assassin guys."

"Uh."

"Well anything really. I don't know. We don't know what the fuck is going on in this world."

"Yeah. Fuck. Okay. Yeah."

"I didn't even—I just lay down. I'm an idiot. We have to keep watch. We're in a fantasy inn. We have weapons. We have a key but the key is wood and the door is wood. Anyone could just fucking…yeet the door."

"Yeah."

"So one of us sleeps and one of us watches."

"Yeah."

"Who first," she said. He thought about it for two seconds.

"I'll go first. You're more cooked than me."

"I'm not more cooked than you."

"You look like you cried for like three hours today."

"You also—""I didn't cry."

"Well, okay. I—I know. I just—."

"Maddy. It's fine. Really. Crying's pretty fucking normal."

"…yeah. Okay."

"I'll go first."

"Okay."

"Sleep."

"Okay. Thanks Ben." She lay back down. She pulled the blanket up to her chin. He watched her, in the small wedge of moonlight from the window, settle in. Wait. There was like... two lights. Moonlights? He looked out the window. Two moons. Great. Whatever. Maddy turned on her side. She turned on her other side. She turned on her back. She turned on the first side again.

"This bed sucks," she said.

"Yeah."

"Like I'm in straw."

"It's straw. Literally."

"... goodnight."

"Goodnight." He sat up against the headboard with the wax knife on his lap and his back to the wall and he listened. He listened to her breathing slow. He listened to the inn settling. Wood creaking. Floorboards somewhere downstairs. The last laugh of an NPC at the bar. Probably programmed. A door opening and closing. A horse outside in a stable somewhere doing whatever horses did at night. A real chicken who really did not understand time. He stared at the door. He thought about the slime. He thought about Gerald.

He thought about how Gerald had given him three eggs. Three. For your friend. Gerald had known he was going to have a friend. Gerald, the kindly old man, who had cried for Pony, who had hurt feelings when Ben mocked his backstory, who sniffed when offended, who was either the most coincidentally placed real person in human history or the world's most committed NPC. He thought about his mom.

He thought about her in her kitchen in Westchester, the granite countertops, the espresso machine she had finally figured out how to use last year, the way she sometimes called him on Sundays and he didn't pick up because he was hungover or stoned or both, and how she would notice he hadn't called this Sunday, and the Sunday after that, and how at some point she would call the school, and at some point after that— He blinked. His eyelids were heavy. He shook his head. He shifted on the bed.

The wax knife in his lap was warm. He listened. Nothing. The horse outside again. A peasant down the hall snoring like a wood saw. Maddy breathing, she was asleep now, the breaths were deep and even and her shoulder was rising and falling under the blanket. Asleep with her hand still wrapped loosely around the handle of Bolt where Bolt sat on her chest. She had not let go of Bolt. The candle flickered. His eyelids closed. He opened them. Why did Gerald gave him three eggs if they were… two.

The fuck is the third egg for. Probably nothing. His eyelids closed. He opened them. His eyelids—