Lost King by Piper Lennox (moboreader txt) 📗

All I can think to say is the simplest truth, words I’ve already sputtered and know won’t change a thing. “I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t.” He locks his hands behind his head and stares through the glass wall, out into the empty bay, his empty deck...his big, empty world.

“Then...then maybe we can still—”

My mouth shuts up. Enough words.

I cross the room and touch his shoulder, turning him to face me. When I stand on my tiptoes and draw his head close, he starts to speak.

I don’t let him.

I simply kiss him. I taste that sweetness on his breath and the addictive flavor of his skin. My fingers wind into his hair. My body nearly melts against his when his hands grab my waist and pull me deeper into his orbit, right where I want to be.

Suddenly, he pulls back and holds me at arm’s length, shaking his head.

It feels like a bullet to the chest. Still, I nod and step away.

“Ruby...I know you didn’t know. And honestly, I—I can even kind of understand why you wanted revenge. But it’s done. You didn’t go through with it, but it still happened. I can’t trust you. You can’t trust me. And this thing we had, it won’t—”

“I do trust you, Theo. Now that I know the rest....”

My words fail again. Maybe my mouth got so used to lying, it wears out from too many truths in one day. I bite my lip and hope the sting will get just a little more out.

“And doesn’t that count for anything: the fact I started to trust you even before I knew the rest? That even when I thought you were the one who filmed me—the guy who destroyed my entire world—I still fell for you?”

He shakes his head again, but I know he’s listening. I pray he’s considering.

“I’m sorry, Ruby,” he breathes. “If things were different—”

“They can be.”

“No. They can’t.” He thumbs his lips. Those eyes drip down my body in the same slow-motion way that used to make my knees weak.

There’s something different to it now, though: a coldness. It’s hollow. Flat.

I know this look. It’s the same way I found him on that bathroom floor. The same way he looked when he talked about the other kids at the party—every single friend he’d just learned was lying to his face, all along.

And now I’m one of them.

I gather my keys and wallet. As I pass, I fix one crooked picture on the wall, and whisper one last goodbye. He nods in return.

I think about locking the door behind me, but decide I was right before. It’s not my place.

And it’s the one tiny piece of his old normal that I can give him: the beginning of his life resetting, back to how it was before Ruby Paulsen lied her way in.

37

Two Weeks Later

“Back to being nocturnal, I see.”

I adjust my headset and wait for Van to start the game. “Yeah, so? You’re awake, too.”

“Got off work late. We had this twenty-top come in, like, thirty minutes to closing, so I’m way too keyed-up to sleep. Let’s fuck up some zombies.”

We play in near-silence for a while, save for directions and tips and more than a few cursing steaks. My hands are too tense to maneuver right; Van has to revive me constantly.

“Shit,” he breathes. “I was gonna ask how you’re handling all that Ruby stuff, but now I don’t have to. I’ve never seen you play this bad.”

I want to tell him he can go screw himself, but I know he’s right. The last couple weeks might’ve felt like the same old life I had before Ruby: video games, insomnia, and boredom so depressing, you start feeling like a ghost watching everyone else live their lives. But nothing’s the same, now.

Every game I play leaves my senses fucking wrecked. Like now, when I have to shut off the TV and tear off my headset. The lights and sounds burrow into my brain like a fever.

At night, I’m not awake because I can’t sleep: I don’t want to sleep. I dream about her too much. I wake up forgetting what happened with us, then have to feel that knife twist its way into my back all over again.

It’s a shame. Exhaustion comes so easily these days, and I can’t make good use of it.

The boredom’s an entirely new beast. Before, it hung around like a low cloud. I knew it was there; I wanted it gone. But I could live with it.

Now it’s everywhere. I hate moving and sitting still. I hate being hungry and I hate eating. Walking through this house, I’ve got every detail memorized, but the place feels like it belongs to a stranger.

My life isn’t boring; I’m bored with life. Turns out there is a difference, and it’s way goddamn worse.

At seven-thirty, while I’m watching the gray sunrise over the harbor, my phone pings. I check my disappointment that it isn’t from her. I should be glad.

Dad: So…Kimberly and I went on a date last night. I think.

Amazingly, there’s one half-assed smile muscle still in operation. I start another latte at the machine while I write back.

Theo: Think?

Dad: Business party. Not sure it counts.

Theo: Did you kiss her goodnight?

Dad: ...

Dad: Yes.

Theo: Then that was def a date.

I can tell he’s happy with my verdict, but the dude still hems and haws and bickers. It’s like he’s scared to believe me.

If I could laugh, I’d find this funny as hell. Who wouldn’t know a kiss at the end of the night equates to it being a date? And why not just accept things as they