Page 5 of Darcy
Not ur fault he was a shithead
Isn’t it?
After the first two break ups, yeah, it could’ve been them. But I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been here. Surely, at this point, any smart person would see that the common denominator is me.
I can’t even tell what I’m doing wrong.
I had one ex tell me my intelligence was “intimidating,” so I dumbed myself down, only for the next to tell me I wasn’t challenging him enough. I’m too enthusiastic for most, but too demure when I try to change. I talk too much, or too little. I give too much affection, or I’m too distant.
And whenever I manage to get it right… I get bored, and the whole thing falls apart, anyway.
I just can’t win.
“How’s the pepperoni and pineapple?” Dodger asks, shattering my grim reverie.
“Glorious,” I reply, but my mouth is full of cheese, so the word is mangled.
A drop of the sauce drips free, and I grimace as it lands on my blanket. Ugh, the price I pay for stuffed crust goodness.
Arlo chuckles. “Only you could eat something that sounds so…”
“Fucking awful?” Slate finishes for him.
I can feel Dodger cringing. “It’s definitely a questionable choice of topping.”
“Unique.” Arlo steps in to save his clan mates. “Just like Dark.”
I fold my last slice in half and down it, cleaning my hands with an antiseptic wipe I stole from Harlow on her last visit. Pizza down, I crack my knuckles and grin.
“Enough judging my gourmet meal choices.” I fire up the game and take control of my avatar as she drops in from the heavens in a burst of fire that cracks the ground. “You ready to beg, Prophet?”
The grunt of annoyance from his end makes me smile.
“Very mature,” Dodger grumbles, as his halfling appears beside my fallen angel in the dark and creepy dungeon we’ve been tackling.
“At least I don’t still have myCall of Dutyclan tag in my username. What are you, twelve?”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Slate argues. “You know they charge you to change it after the first time.”
I smile secretly. It’s not like the band can’t afford it, but I suspect they secretly like having those three little letters telling the world that they’re brothers by choice. I’ll never admit it, but in my daydreams, I’ve wondered what their reactions would be if I changed my own username to match.
“Don’t you think this begging game has gone on long enough now?” Arlo asks. “You’ve held this grudge for years…”
His druidic gnome pops up on screen, immediately followed by Slate’s enormous stone golem and Prophet’s orc. The latter is sagging, his green skin glowing red with the injuries he’s sustained in my absence.
“Grudge? Whatever do you mean?” I grin. “I’m just an innocent little do-good healer.” I pause. “I’m not asking much. It’s a bargain, really, given the cost of healthcare in the real world…”
My phone chimes again, this time with theba dum tssthat I’ve assigned to Prophet. Everyone else goes quiet. By now, they all recognise the quirky ringtones I’ve assigned the four of them.
[HzD]Proph3t
Please.
My evil grin spreads, and I whisper against the mic huskily. “You know that’s not enough.”
In all honesty, I’m surprised he’s given in. Usually he’d rather die, be sent back to the spawn point, and lose his entire inventory than submit to my demands. I guess he’s looted something good from one of the bosses down here.
Slate lets out a breath. “This must be a record.”
