Opus

18. Left Field

Rule 11: A new access point will be assigned to each player prior to each set. Players must enter and exit playground via their allotted gate. Designated referees (therefore referred to as gater referees) retrieve players' collected chips at the gate upon exit. Chips will be not be accepted or recorded at any other moment.

"I've got to ask you something." Jasper takes the longest pause. "OK, here goes nothing. I'll ask you because if I don't, I might hate myself. Shit."

This is new. Cocky Jasper looks almost... timid. "What?" I look down at my time band. The tenth set is about to start. Jasper's my gater. Of all sets to get a bashful gater. "Say it already!"

He just stares at me. His eyes bore into me as if he wants to rip my soul out. It's unnerving. I don't flash my psyche to just anyone. To no one really.

"Drop out."

"What?"

"Ever worried you might be the next one to explode?" I frown at him and shake my head no vigorously. "I do. I fucking do, princess. Drop out."

"No. I can't." I look away for one heartbeat. Two. Three. Four. "Don't worry, gater." I awkwardly pat his shoulder. "I have a plan."

"Well, fuck, doll. That makes me feel so much better."

"No, truly, I do. Want to know what it is?" I tease mischievously to lighten the mood. Jasper and I, we have a tacit agreement, an "I don't give a shit" attitude toward one another. His concern makes this conversation uncomfortable. Ironic, since I'm already half in love with the bastard, I should be ecstatic. I am not. I'm pissed. I don't want this, not now, not ever.

He scolds but doesn't answer.

"I stay away from the defective spheres," I offer anyway.

Jasper does not find my quip funny. That's because he doesn't know of my secret talent. He opens the gate. I cross the threshold. The door shuts closed at my back. And that is that. I am on my own. Belatedly, I remember our love fest. Of course, on that topic, he didn't utter a single peep.

"That was so damn fun."

"Greatest lay of my fucking life."

"What is good for you? It was an out-of-body experience for me."

"I can't see my life going on without you. Let's get married."

OK, scratch that last one. Been there, done that, but that's a story for another time. I have a set to play. A competition to win. A wee killer to ferret out. My life to live. And I'm off.

I've dated four guys seriously. I've had sex with numerous others (and one odd woman) since the beginning of the competition. I have no clue what goes on in a man's brain. Their vibrations are a bit off. That might be a sign they're all a bunch of crackpots−Bree too; she's a man in a woman's body, a scrawny girl's frame at that, but her vibes (not to be finicky, but they're tremors more than vibrations) are male all the way.

I collect chips and reflect. I shouldn't have let it go this far, but I like him, damn it.

Fuck him!

A yellow chip. One poke. A black chip. A cut. A red chip. A cut. A red chip. A cut. A yellow. A poke. And so on and so on. I'm numb. I'm high. I can fucking taste the blood soaking my pants. Fuck you, asshole!

So I curse, get over it. If you'd been raised to be the quintessential monarch, you'd want to cuss the world too. So... Fuck. Men. Man. Him. Me.