The Childhood Friend

Grace didn’t like being outside this late in the day, when the sun was low and the shadows were long and dark. The handles of the shopping bag cut into her fingers while her other hand was shoved deep into the pocket of the long and bulky hooded coat that she wore despite the warmth of the evening. She’d almost caved in and tried out a delivery service to get the essentials she needed to feed herself for the rest of the week, but that would have meant giving out her address and having to open her door to someone she didn’t know or trust, which she couldn’t risk.

A shout came from somewhere out of sight. An indistinguishable yell that had nothing to do with Grace but still made her almost jump out of her skin. Her shopping bag swung wide, hit the brick wall she was walking next to, then split. Jars and cans and boxes scattered all over the pavement, none of them breaking but each of them fleeing in a different direction.

Grace scrabbled across the floor like an animal, her heart pounding as she rapidly shoved as much of her shopping into her pockets as she could and cradling the rest in her arms. She was so focused on her task she didn’t even notice the approaching footsteps until the man was standing right above her.

“Here you go, Miss,” said the elderly gentleman, holding out a dented can of tomato soup.

Grace’s head whipped up, her hood flying back and her copper curls spilling out as she snapped upright. A fire blazed in her green eyes as she stared down the stranger, her face hard and her jaw clenched even as her heart tried to escape her chest. The man took a half-step back at the fury that suddenly bombarded him, and Grace took the opportunity to snatch the soup from his fingers and angrily add it to the pile in her arms.

“I don’t need your help,” she spat venomously, her voice shaking.

“Alright then,” the man huffed, affronted by the reaction. He frowned and walked on his way, a murmured “...bitch,” only just reaching Grace’s ears. She waited until he had gained some distance, then hurried away, turning a corner, then two, then three as she took a circuitous route back to her apartment building with her senses tuned to the smallest sign that someone might possibly be following her.

By the time Grace made it back to the building she was panting like she’d run a marathon, but she still took the stairs rather than the lift to avoid being trapped in an enclosed space. She fumbled with her keys, burst into her flat, dropped her groceries in a heap on the sofa, checked each room for intruders and then locked, bolted and chained the door behind her. Only then did the tears come, burning like acid down her cheeks as she sank to her knees and hyperventilated.

Grounding techniques. The rational part of Grace’s mind fought for control, using the world around her to anchor her back to reality.

Five things she could see: her stained sofa, her cheap desk, her ergonomic chair, her expensive computer, the pictures on the corkboard from the children at her nursery.

Four things she could touch: the thin and worn carpet, the cool metal of the soup can, the slightly warm plastic of her mobile phone, the silken strands of her own curly hair.

Three things she could hear: the noise of traffic from the ringroad, the hum of the fridge, the drip of the bathroom tap that had never been properly fixed.

Two things she could smell: the musty dankness of the upholstery, the beefy richness of last night’s dinner that still lingered on the dirty plates in the sink.

One thing she could taste: she hadn’t wanted to open it yet, but she pulled a chocolate bar out of her pile of shopping and quickly unwrapped it. She snapped off a single square and allowed it to melt onto her tongue.

Everything was okay. Nothing bad had happened. Grace had just dropped her shopping, a man had offered to help, and she hadn’t even let him get close to her. She was safe. She was okay.

In the aftermath of the panic attack, Grace felt drained and tired. It took her a few more minutes to get back up off her knees, and she staggered her way over to her desk and turned on the computer. Matt’s game night had been cancelled this week, something about a surprise date, but she could still do with a friendly voice. Preferably a woman’s voice.

The top-end PC booted up in seconds, and Grace flicked through her various messenger programs until she found someone who she thought would help take her mind off things. The crew from Matt’s game were all offline, having found other things to do on their week off, but she had other friends to reach out to. She tapped out a message and waited for a reply.

DontAsk01: Hey, are you free for a chat?

The reply came a few minutes later, then more messages in quick succession.

AprilSh0wers: 10 mins

AprilSh0wers: in a game rn

AprilSh0wers: u ok?

DontAsk01: Yeah, mostly. Just had a bit of a shock, but no damage done.

AprilSh0wers: just tell me who you need me to kill

DontAsk01: xD

Grace’s actual face didn’t look dissimilar from the typed emoji as she laughed out loud, trying and failing to picture April committing **** outside of a videogame.

DontAsk01: I’d appreciate the offer more if I thought you were capable of following through.

AprilSh0wers: lol rude

AprilSh0wers: find me his username and I can spam him with 100GB of bespoke furry porn then

AprilSh0wers: is that more believable?

DontAsk01: Little bit :-P

DontAsk01: Thanks April.

AprilSh0wers: nbd

AprilSh0wers: srsly tho, u good?

AprilSh0wers: ur ment to be in Matts Apocalypse World game 2nite right?

DontAsk01: Cancelled this week. He’s taking his wife out.

AprilSh0wers: lucky girl

AprilSh0wers: sucks for u tho

AprilSh0wers: that game sounds great fun

DontAsk01: It is. You know Matt’s always happy to take another player, if you want. Nobody’s playing the Skinner yet...

AprilSh0wers: no

AprilSh0wers: I mean, thanks but still no

AprilSh0wers: he’d remember me from before

DontAsk01: So do I

AprilSh0wers: yeh but

AprilSh0wers: its different with girls tho

AprilSh0wers: the nice ones at least

DontAsk01: Yeah. I get that.

DontAsk01: Give me a call when your game is done?

AprilSh0wers: np

AprilSh0wers: ttyl

Grace let out a sigh, expelling her anxiety with the heavy breath out. Even just the short text chat with April had made her feel a lot better. Well enough to actually put the shopping away, rather than just leaving it piled up on the sofa. She pushed herself up from the desk and walked straight into the throne room.

“...I thought you said it was someone I knew well?” said a voice from on high, literally. A man on a golden throne, looking very confused. A very familiar voice.

“Matt?” Grace gasped in shock. Recognition lit up his face as he heard her speak.

“Grace? Oh wow. I haven’t seen your face since we were teenagers,” he said with a bittersweet laugh, “You look... wow.”

The compliment hit Grace like a bucket of ice water. Her freckled skin went pale, and she started to shrink into the shapeless clothes she covered her body in any time she had to leave the house. Then, a feminine hand came to rest on her upper arm. Her incoming panic attack was halted by a lopsided grin and a pair of eerie yellow eyes.

“Who...?” she started to ask, then yelped as she felt a sharp prick into the back of her hand.

A flash of understanding. The show, the Host, the questions. The harem. Grace’s eyes went wide. A scream began to bubble up into the back of her throat, but froze there. The compulsion wouldn’t let it out.

“Alright, just take a minute to process,” Scarlet said with a patronising pat on the shoulder. “You’re stuck in this situation now, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it,” said the woman who had stuck her in this situation and could have done something about it, “But before you freak out, try and remember that he’s still the same Matt you know.”

“Why does she get special treatment?” Eleanor whined, kicking her heels.

“None of your business,” the Host snapped, then peered closely at Grace until she seemed happy with what she saw.

Scarlet stepped to one side, and the compulsion took over to guide Grace to her seat. She tried to calm down as best she could, given the circumstances. Even if Scarlet had been the one who pulled her into this mess, she hadn’t been entirely wrong. It was still Matt. She knew Matt. Matt was safe.

“Hello, my name is Grace Dalton. I’m twenty nine and I’m an assistant at a daycare nursery. I’m bisexual but I prefer women, and the last time I had sex-” she bit her tongue, trying to stop herself from continuing, but the compulsion could only be delayed for a few seconds, “The last time I had sex was three years ago when I masturbated in the same room as one of my friends.” She slumped forward in exhaustion and relief, sickeningly grateful that that night had apparently counted. “I know the Master because we used to be neighbours and we went to the same primary school, and I’ve played online games with him regularly ever since he moved away.”

“You’re Grace?” said the woman at the other end of the line of chairs, eyeing her suspiciously, “I don’t know if you’d remember me, but we spoke a few times online. I’m Sarah. Matt’s wife.” She emphasised the last word, a defensive tone surrounding the title like the walls of a castle.

“Good for you,” Grace spat back at her, folding in on herself to build her own defenses as high as she could.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hey, there’s no need to be like that,” Emma interrupted, “She clearly doesn’t want to be here.”

“There’s no need to be like what? Annoyed that my husband has been lusting after so many women?”

“Attracted to, not lusting after,” Matt said quickly, blushing hard, “I had no idea what Grace looked like now, and I didn’t even know that Poppy existed!”

“But you’re not exactly complaining though,” Sarah grumbled.

Grace stayed perfectly still and quiet, letting the attention drift away from her. In the next seat, Poppy was humming an arrhythmic tune to herself and examining each of the large stained glass windows in turn.

“I didn’t want this, but I can’t help who I find attractive,” Matt said with a guilty shrug, “Don’t pretend that you don’t think at least some of them are hot too.”

Sarah’s eyes flicked across the line of Contestants, whether she wanted them to or not. Max scowled and crossed her arms, Eleanor pointedly looked the other way, Emma looked down with her cheeks going faintly pink, Poppy didn’t even seem to notice, but Grace just met her gaze without moving a single muscle.

“Sexual relations between Contestants are encouraged,” Scarlet chimed in helpfully, “Especially for the Master’s entertainment.”

Sarah finally seemed to realise that she’d been checking out her competition, and flinched back. She sat low in her chair with a wordless grumble, her face a burning red. The room went silent until the Host took control once more.

“Alrighty then! Now we go from a childhood friend the Master kept in touch with, to one that he didn’t...”