Games had come a long way since back then, it was true. There were all sorts of ones to play. But, somehow, I found myself playing the first game I'd ever tried, originally doing so simply because it was a game version of the book series I'd been obsessed with. And it was one of the ones with all the walking. It was interrupted by short bursts of action, but was overall, more of a game about your own personal mission for your character than epic battles.
There were flashier games. But those flashy games also came with a lot of flashing on the screen that I knew from experience didn't agree with my misfiring brain.
I'd only ever had a seizure once while filming playing my game. And that had nothing to do with the game, and everything to do with the fact that I had lived in a shitty area of town, and the cops were constantly around, and on that particular night, they'd camped out directly across from my window, their red and blue lights flashing.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up on the floor with my leg turned at an unnatural angle from being stuck under my chair, and my brand-new headphones crushed from the impact of landing on the side of my head.
It was one of the many reasons I had decided to get out of that area.
There was no controlling the lights, the noise, the stress that could so easily cause an epileptic fit. Even though I was taking my oil, and was trying to control them as much as possible.
And it helped. It did.
Sure, the prescription meds worked better. But they made me slow and tired; they gave me headaches that refused to go away. I'd been forced on them at twelve, and needed to take them until I could make a decision for myself to get off of them.
And I did.
But there were—even on the meds—break-through episodes. The key was trying to avoid the triggers that brought them on.
I could do that with things like moving out of the city, getting away from all the cop cruisers, fire trucks, and ambulances, from the traffic and headlights. I could get away from the noise, from the sheer amount of stimuli that came with living near so many other people.
I couldn't control, though, the unexpected visual triggers. Or the hormonal ones that could make a completely random seizure sneak up on me just because I was close to or on my period.
It wasn't like it had been when I was younger, when I seemed to be having seizures every week or two. I could go months now. Especially when I was careful.
Which was what I was going to be from now on.
Careful.
Not just about avoiding music videos with epilepsy warnings, but about who I associated with.
I mean, I had enough issues without adding on an association with criminals.
So I sat my ass down in my gaming chair. I reached for my headphones. I announced that I was going to go live while I played.
I didn't do live videos often since it was impossible to monitor the creeps, but sometimes I needed real-time connections with other human beings, even if I had never—and would never—meet them face-to-face.
"I know, I'm a wreck tonight, guys," I told the people trickling into the chat. "I had a seizure and nearly drowned in a pool. Everything is cool now. I just need to play for a bit before turning in."
A bit turned into four hours. It wasn't until my eyes were so swollen from exhaustion that I was forced to call it a night. Well, an early morning.
I didn't need to keep any certain schedule, so I figured I could crash for a solid couple of hours if the dreams stayed away. That would allow me to get the recovery my body and mind needed from such a crazy day.
I would have gotten that rest, too, had my doorbell not started ringing incessantly just a couple hours after I finally passed out.
"Ugh," I grumbled, sliding off the bed, tossing my wild hair out of my face as I tried to remember if I had a delivery scheduled. "I'm coming," I roared at the door, small-eyeing it as I got closer, as I reached to undo the locks. "Keep your panties on," I demanded, pulling open the door.
"Well," Huck said, looking somehow fully rested even though he couldn't have gotten much more sleep than I had, "I seem to have your panties right here," he told me, lips twitching as he produced the pair I'd been wearing the night before—which were, thankfully, halfway cute. If a hot man was going to wave around a pair of your panties, you didn't want it to be your old granny ones. Or the ones with holes or weak elastic that you kept meaning to toss, but never got around to.
"What are you doing here?" I grumbled, not being much of a morning person. When I did manage to catch some sleep my body might have needed it, but my mind struggled to adjust to being awake again, making me slow and grumpy for at least an hour after getting up.
"You're pleasant in the morning, huh?" he asked, giving me that infuriatingly charming smile of his.
"You woke me up," I accused.
"It's one in the afternoon, babe."
"Oh, gee, sorry, I didn't realize outlaw bikers were the early bird sort," I said, turning to walk away, making my way toward the kitchen, going right for the coffee pot. I considered just heating the old pot from the night before, but decided to be a halfway decent host and make a new one, so I could offer a cup to Huck. "What?" I snapped when I found him staring at me, seeming like he was trying to hold in a smile.
"Babe, you're a fucking wreck," he declared, chuckling.
"Gee. Thanks. What do you want?"
To that, I got another laugh. "I was bringing you back your clothes, babe. Remy cleaned and dried them for you."
"Oh, ah, thanks. I will get yours back to you. You know... when I'm done with them," I added, waving down at my borrowed outfit. I didn't exactly know why I hadn't already changed out of it.
"Nah. Keep it," he said, shaking his head. "Wouldn't be able to wear any of it again without thinking about putting it on you."
"You're not supposed to mention that," I told him, trying to make my voice disgruntled. You know, to make up for the fact that heat bloomed through my body at the mention of that particular memory.
"No?" he asked, head ducking a bit as he moved closer, dropping my clean clothes on the counter. "Why not?" he went on, getting closer. "Can't stop thinking about my face just inches away from your pussy?" he asked, stopping when his toes touched me, towering over me.
It was too early.
I was under-caffeinated.
I had no defenses against the sudden onslaught of desire through my body.
"Was that why you were up so late?" he went on as my body started to hum at his proximity. "Couldn't stop imaging what it would have been like if I had just leaned forward a bit and run my tongue up your pussy?" he asked, looking down at me while my mouth opened and closed dumbly a few times, not willing to admit the truth, but also not finding the right words to lie with. "Hate to disappoint you, babe, but I can't eat you out this morning," he told me, cocky smirk tugging at his lips as he moved back a few steps.
"I, ah, I don't want that," I told him, finding the words a lot more convincing on my tongue than in my head.
Again, I got that arrogant chuckle. "Oh, babe, you sure as fuck do. You might not want to want it, but that is a different thing completely. But whatever you gotta tell yourself. I'd show you just how much of a lie that is if I didn't have shit to do. Which brings me to, yeah, that," he said when I heard the front door opening and closing, then footsteps leading down the hall toward the two of us. "Seeley is going to hang with you today."