Real Life Sucks!

8

Rory had a secret. A double-super-secret that no-one, not a single soul in the entire world knew. Not that he knew many people to tell, anyway. With his duvet wrapped about him like a cocoon, he played the game, but not with Pithea, or Ginny, or with a new character that he still dithered about creating. No, he played the game on his double-super-secret account. An account he only used in the most dire situations. Or when he felt like it.

The character, Chi-Kin Mass-ah-lah, was not near as high a level as his main characters, but she was fun. A sorcerer, versed in lightning magic, she had a ruthless streak that Rory played when he felt angry enough to spit. Or when he fancied a change. There were no hard-and-fast rules when it came to the game. That was a lie. There were many rules, many of them of his own making, but it comforted him, at this time, to feel a little rebellious. Why not?

His favourite tutor from university was dead. His life ended by his own hand and Rory couldn't understand it. Nothing made sense anymore. If Doctor de Vere could fall foul of his personal demons, what hope was there for Rory? The Doctor, though prone to similar problems as Rory, had appeared as in control of his life as anyone. He was stalwart. Reliable. Stable. All things that could fail to describe Rory in every single definition. Dead. Suicide.

-+-

"There have been times where you tried to take your own life. I'd like to discuss that, if I may?" The therapist had deliberately placed her notebook to the side. Rory knew this was a ploy. A way to make him feel safe to speak.

"Uh-huh." Back to you, therapist lady!

"The last time, you took your sister's sleeping tablets. What led to that?" Her crossed legs, hands resting upon her lap and slight tilt to the head annoyed Rory. It came across as practiced. Rote. "Can you tell me? What brought you to that point?"

"Chicken nuggets." She didn't even blink at the non-sequitur. Another annoying thing, but it didn't look like she was going to let it go. "Look, chicken nuggets, right, there's supposed to be twelve in the bag, but there was only ten. Two larger than usual ones, yeah, but ten, not twelve. And the tv remote had broken and I couldn't sleep the night before because of a party next door and Rebecca had broken my favourite lamp and ... and ... look, it wasn't one thing, it was everything, yeah. The whole world hates me and I don't blame it. I agree with it. I'm worth hating. I'm a ... I'm just ... I'm a waste of oxygen, is all."

He knew she wanted to write that down and he silently dared her to. Write down how pathetic he was.

-+-

The game wasn't performing its one and only function, to entertain him. Well, one of its functions. To Rory, the game gave him a release from the real world, it allowed him to dissolve away the real him, the sad, lonely, overweight, ridiculously ginger him and showed him a vision of a different life. A life where he didn't have to count the steps to the kitchen from the living room, every time, and have to retrace his steps if the count was off.

It gave him a respite from real people, with all their complicated emotions that said one thing, but meant another, that, secretly and no-one would say why, really meant something completely different. Where expressions were made that Rory knew, knew in his soul, were not even remotely connected with what they were thinking. Smiles when they were angry. Blank, blinking eyes when they understood exactly what he said, but pretended not to because they'd seen someone on tv, or in a movie, do the same and they had little personality of their own to express how they felt.

That was why he liked people that didn't play those games. Alice, for certain, showed every pinched, ready-to-explode emotion on her face, annoyed at everything. Katie, too, he had found out, but her face exuded happiness and giddy excitement. The only time Katie faked her expressions were for fun and Rory didn't mind that. It had purpose. Doctor de Vere. He never hid who he was and what he thought. He understood.