Save Point 17

Rosabella

The portal fizzes and pops in the center of the apartment living room, the ends of the circle riming with blue and red flames that are a magic I don't even want to understand—only that it takes me here...home.

Back to New York.

Rainer's awkwardly attempting to reattach the door to the place, with his huge hands and a frown on his face, while Joy scolds him from behind the cracking screen of the portal.

"You're taking all day—" she whines.

"We can't leave the girl without a door," Rainer grumbles back, annoyed, under his breath. It looks like he almost has the thing fixed...

"Are you sure we should just...leave her here?" Dormouse hedges; his voice is laced with the nerves dancing in his eyes.

"Rosabella can fend for herself," Callen assures the timid kid, nodding at me.

I cross eyes with the gray-haired man. And, for a reason I can't nail down, I feel nervous myself.

...Because I've asked for this.

...And I don't know what I'm going to do now that Goran is...well, not here anymore.

"There we go!" Rainer shouts as something metal clicks, obviously popping back into place. He tests the door with a robust swing, and it clicks closed with precision.

Satisfied, the bulky guy wipes his hands together and falls into line with the rest of the group, his eyes flashing up to mine for only a brief second. "Hope it helps," he mutters, almost bashfully as his eyes dart to the floor again.

And I nod.

Because it does—it's kind that he'd even want to do that and fix it for me.

"Okay," Callen warns us all with a tight-lipped smile, "We're gonna shove off now. Be safe, kid."

The smile I send back at all of them barely counts as one. Because, suddenly, I'm feeling rather emotional. Is this a big mistake?

Callen seems to recognize the doubt paralyzing my face. He reaches back out of the portal, something clutched tight in his closed fist. "For if you change your mind," he calls amid the rising wind from the portal which pulls at his choppy, gray hair, "All you have to do is slip it on, and we'll find you."

I nod as he drops something rounded and hard into my hands.

I open my fingers to find a thick, gold ring there—engraved, with a navy-blue stone.

And I bite down hard on my cheek.

Because I'm not going to cry.

And I'm not going to use this ring either. I slip it into my pocket.

This is the last time they'll see me.

Dormouse and Rainer wave as the portal begins to fizzle into thin air like an old TV snapping off.

And text flashes over where the portal disappears:

And the dark apartment in NYC.

Just like Callen had promised.

...Honestly, I'm fine until I'm alone. I swallow a sour chuckle, my eyebrow raising as I observe the mess before me—isn't that how it always goes?

I'm fine till I feel the lump in my throat I've been pressing down so firmly that it's only grown as long as a tire.

Lodged in my throat.

And, feeling like I'm going to lose control if I do anything else, I look around the place.

The curtains are secured firmly over the windows.

The lamp I remember from the side table is knocked to the floor in jagged pieces I remember.

And me.

Also, knocked to the floor in jagged pieces.

Just ones I don't remember.

...I can't remember any of it!

Besides Goran...his fingerprints are all over this place: in the decorations and the way the books on the coffee table are stacked...in how cleanly everything is... It's like he's matted into the very fabric of this apartment—like, if I close my eyes and round the corner, I might open them to find him there, in the kitchen, cooking up something he's burnt most of.

Tears prickle at my eyes. No. I won't start crying yet.

This is a new day—a new chance to start over. I won't begin it by feeling sorry for myself. I got out of this mess—out of The Game. Now, I have this place all to myself. I'm not going to waste this. I'm determined to do it different.

Make this new.

So, I fling open those stupid curtains that Goran always kept closed.

Sunlight streams in, batting me in the face so hard that I have to close both eyes.

But I persist.

Throwing back the heavy, scratchy fabric.

The rays linger on my cheeks, warming them when I finally wrangle the shades open. The sash of the window is already open from my lunge for the fire escape and a breeze flutters the wispy ends of my hair back from my face.

A deafening horn sounds from below. My eyes swivel to lock on the school bus at the street corner.

The one waiting for me...

My insides scramble—

I'm late for school? Dad will be—

Dad will be nothing, I remind myself quickly, because Goran isn't my Dad. And I'm not late for fucking anything because I just got back from emotional trauma. I'm gonna do whatever I want today, and no one is going to stop me.

And, so, I watch the bus full of my classmates whistle and grunt as it lurches down the street without me.

And a strange sort of pride and giddy confidence fills me in jumping over my first decision hurdle.

...12th grade is just going to have to wait.

And I throw off my boots in the middle of the carpet.

And I let my hair stream behind me and my bare feet slap all the way down the hall on the hard floor as I run, breathless, to my bedroom.

To my safe place. The room is exactly how I left it: band posters taped to the wall and ceiling, my journal thrown on the balled-up covers of my bed, the fuzzy-pink lampshade contrasting the dark posters overhead and the small bed pushed up against the window-less wall. I have cases of movies and video games stacked so high beside the bed that they've started to fall over, but seeing the place almost causes me a sigh of relief because it smells...familiar.

Like rest.

And comfort.

And...me.

I tear my body armor—the last reminder of The Game—off my body, fumbling in my dresser drawer till I find my fluffiest pajama pants. With a groan of pleasure, I slip the soft fabric over and up my legs. It feels like Heaven. A white tank-top later, and I have Heaven perfected. I shove my bare feet in slippers that have always been a little too big and busily throw my hair up in a messy bun on top of my head. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I acknowledge how flushed my face looks...how—

Free, I decide, smiling at the glass.

I pull a few strands of hair out in front of my ears to frame my face before sticking a hand under my pillow. My fingers curl successfully around the edges of my cell phone.

The first order of business?

Food.

Rainer wasn't the only one who was starving. We'd barely eaten, except for a bit of jerky here and there, and my stomach is grumbling worse than an earthquake.

Luckily, I have the place on speed dial for emergencies such as this; they're open 24/7 for a reason. My fingers work quickly over the dial pad, and I wait for the ring tone.

"Hi, I'd like to place a delivery order please"—I try to keep my voice clipped and older-sounding...like an adult who simply got hungry for pizza at 7:00 in the morning—"A large pepperoni...yes, extra cheese please and ranch on the side. ...Extra ranch too," I amend quickly, changing my mind.

I give the nice lady my address and phone number, and hang up, my eyes wandering around towards the ceiling, wondering what to do next.

...If Dormouse was here, he'd tell me some stupidly awesome statistic about delivery pizza...like how long it takes...or a tale about a delivery driver...

But Dormouse isn't here. I bite down my own bitterness.

Shove it down.

Why is my brain thinking about The Game when I'd wanted so desperately to come here—to get away from it all?

Distraction.

That's what I need.

I change from my slippers to fuzzy socks and slide down the hall in them, towards the couch—ice skating where the floor isn't covered by carpet. Goran used to tell me I was going to break my face, but he can't lecture me or stop the pirouettes now! I fall in a happy tangle of arms and legs on the plush couch, reaching for the remote.

The screen buzzes to life under my direction.

And I let the dancing silhouettes on the screen and flashing pictures take me away from my mind—absorb me.

And it feels good to just lay there.

Forgetting.

Forgetting that I'm trying to forget.

My phone vibrates on the coffee table, nearly making me jump.

Unknown number.

Fear races through me until I remember the pizza.

God, why are you so jumpy, Rosabella? I lecture myself, Stop being paranoid. It's just the delivery guy.

I pick up.

"Hey..uh..." some guy with a thick accent stutters, "Pepperoni pizza?"

"I'll be right down," I quip, already grabbing up the money I'd laid out and swinging out the door and down the concrete steps which are freezing through even my thick socks. I see a man's silhouette through the slit in the metal door and heave my weight against it to open for him.

"Pizza?" he asks.

I nod.

"...Yep, or else I'm just keen on letting complete strangers into our building," I jest. The joke comes off flat and awkward even as it leaves my lips, and I'm left shifting my weight between my socked feet, feeling more than dorky.

Joy would have some comeback in this situation—why am I thinking about the pink-haired girl?!

I try to smile and focus on the moment, but it seems impossible. Is it just the smell of the pizza wafting towards my nostrils or fucking everything???

"Today's my birthday," I tell the pizza delivery guy as I hand him the cash.

Wait...I just told the pizza delivery guy my...how desperate am I?

He looks equally mortified, "Err...cool, should I keep the change?"

Dying of the shame dyeing my cheeks scarlet, I grab the pizza box and dash upstairs. I'm glad Rainer fixed the door because I slam it shut behind me, breathing heavily against it like I've just evaded a dragon—

Would I stop thinking about this shit???

I'm safe!

I'm back in New York!

I have pizza!

I have myself.

That should be enough.

The pizza box is warm on my palms, and the cheese-and-meat smell overpowers me, making me salivate. I navigate back to the couch, crossing my legs and putting the box right in my lap like a warm, greasy blanket.

Who needs a plate when they don't have dad?

Goran would have squawked and complained if he'd seen me eat straight out of the box, but today is my birthday. I have no cake and a fake dad in custody in a game world. ...Oh, and a dead dad. ...But that isn't going to stop me from enjoying this.

I open the box.

I let the smell of it wash over my nostrils.

Melted cheese.

Plump, thick-cut pepperoni.

And I dive in. My fingers latch onto the greasy crust, pulling a piece away from the masses—dripping with cheese.

And I dangle it sloppily over my wide mouth.

And cheese tastes like Nirvana.

And home.

And safety.

And everything I'm lacking.

Oh God, it's so good!

And I eat.

I gorge.

And, as I gorge, I begin to feel. I slip into it without noticing at first...

How I need to fill this hole inside me because...

There's pain there.

And sadness.

Dad.

He wasn't Dad.

He was my real Dad's brother.

He'd lied to my face.

He'd deceived me.

Had he loved me?

What was I going to do without him? Here, on my own? How was I going to survive? Would I have to hide again? So they wouldn't take me into child services? I'm turning 18 today. Does that mean I'm an adult and can be on my own?

My fingers try to look it up on my phone, but they slide all over the screen from the grease.

And, so, I give up and just eat more.

Worrying.

Feeling emotion crash over my head.

Feeling...

Feeling sick.

I look down and realize I've eaten clean through over three fourths of the pizza. The TV plays loudly in the background—a jarring, grating noise.

And my fingers slide over the remote; I have to turn it down... I don't even care about the show anymore; it's just chatter.

The pizza smell is sickening now. It makes me want to hurl as I lean over it. I throw the box to the side, desperate to find some other distraction.

Because my mind's thinking about The Game again. Callen had said that Goran had to pay for his crimes. What did he do?

I can't help it; I need to keep my hands and mouth busy. Somehow, I find myself standing in front of the freezer and reaching for the pint of ice cream I know is tucked in the back.

Mint chocolate chip.

This should soothe my bloated stomach.

Using one hand to swing the refrigerator door closed, I reach for a spoon.

And I sink back into the comfort of the couch with my prize.

I hadn't chosen this.

I was the victim here.

Goran had tricked me.

And, now, I was alone, and hardened by the world, but mostly just alone.

Just fucking alone...

A tear slides down my nose, dropping into my pint of ice cream. I watch the salty liquid absorb into the freezing treat.

I look around at the nearly empty pizza box on the couch armrest...the discarded napkins balled up around me and on the floor. The place is suddenly a mess...

I'm a pig. Adults are gone for one second and I can't even keep it together?

I'm a cow—eating till I'm this stuffed?

I'm—

More tears come, and I can't stop them this time.

They pour down my face.

They downpour so hard I have to set the ice cream down and sob into my knees, pulling myself close in a hug it seems I can't give myself.

I don't know how long I sit like that—balling. ...But, when I look up, the shadows on the walls seem bigger even with the light streaming in from outside.

And I'm done with today, even if it's my birthday.

I'm so done.

Dragging my exhausted limbs, I creep down the hallway and into bed.

Pulling the covers way over my head.

And hoping tomorrow will look better.

...Even though I know it won't.