So I’ll keep playing, too—just not his game.
“Do you have the flask?” I whisper.
Ellis shakes his head. “I’m cutting back.”
“Good.” I feel guilty for asking, and that opens a deeper pool of guilt in my chest, and for an instant I think I might drown.
The flames keep flickering, and Ellis’s fingertips press my bare skin. Slowly the warmth of his flesh, the soft gusting of his breath, bring me back to myself.
Far away, in the empty rooms and alleyways of my mind, I still hear the keening.
Rachel Carter and Dayna Lorentz weathered turbulent brainstorming sessions, read way too many drafts, and offered brutal frankness when I needed it. Nicole Lesperance and Jennifer Mason-Black contributed incisive feedback and emotional support, as did Pat Esden, Vikki Ciaffone, and Aimee Picchi. Andrew Kozma, who knows way more about gaming than I do, generously helped me add a layer of authenticity.
Thank you to the Sweet Sixteens and Absolute Write for the community, to my coworkers for the understanding, to Harvey Sollberger for always being ready to discuss ideas, and most of all to Sophie Quest and Eva Sollberger for the steadfast conversation and commiseration, year in and year out. Finally, thank you to my readers. Writing is about trying to make a connection, and without you, I would be like Hedda in the desert, reaching out and getting no signal.
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