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The day my husband moves out of our apartment is also the day Resident Evil Village releases for PlayStation, and you might be surprised which of these things lands with a greater emotional impact.
Two years into this adventure, and I’m better acquainted with the couch he’s leaving behind than I am with him.
West’s eyes are the color of sunlight passing through a glass of whiskey.
His
hair is that exact same color, but with more sunlight streaking through, and so thick I suspect it alon...
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With one last smile, I squeeze her hand where it rests on my arm and turn to go inside. I have zombies to kill.
If you’d told me back in college that my primary source of income at twenty-five would be working as the night cashier at the corner convenience store, I… well, I might have believed you.
“Hey,” I say, pointing. “You were my husband. West, right?”
I attempt a British accent: “The lord must find a wife!”
Google tells me that West is the son of a billionaire, and a glance at my banking app tells me I am a thirty-dollaraire. We don’t exist in the same galaxy, let alone metaverse.
“You bet your ass this time I’m going to read every single word of this.” I open the envelope and the thick stack of documents slides heavily onto the tabletop. Staring down at it, I amend, “I’m going to read some of this.”
She leans forward and hugs me. “This is going to be a disaster. I’m so excited!”
Being an artist is sometimes about not being afraid to do it badly first.
“Don’t you fucking touch the lips,” he says, voice hoarse. “You look amazing.”
I realize, just before we touch, that he’s about to erase everything I know about the act of kissing.
We crash together with her two steps above me on the stairs, pulling me into her arms. Wordlessly, she presses my face to her ribs and holds me, whispering a soothing “Shhh, it’s okay” against the top of my head. I send my arms around her hips, curling into her as I shake. I don’t know what she can possibly be thinking, and for the moment, I don’t care. I have never needed anything more than I need this, from her, right now.
It is the comfort of having an ally. It is the powerlessness of infatuation. It is the terrifying beginning of more.
And this, right here, is where I don’t know what to do. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to laugh at Anna Green, ravage her, or marry her all over again—but this time for real.
“I guess now is when I tell you the truth,” I say with quiet solemnity. “You may have noticed that I sparkle in the sunlight. That my skin is like marble.” I pause. “This is the skin of a killer.”
Emotion swells in my chest, eager and demanding. I should ask her to move in with me now. It’s sudden—it’s crazy—but it’s right.
“When we care about someone, they deserve the benefit of the doubt. We have to consider not only what they did, but also why they did it. Intent matters,”
And when a strange hand comes around my forearm, Liam’s voice turns deep and sharp: “Do not touch her.”
“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”
