Sub-Chapter 1:
["So, Rheena... Ready for round 2?"] Tuesday 8:32 AM
["Rheena?"] Tuesday 9:55 AM
["Come on, Rheena"] Tuesday 9:18 PM
["Don't even think for a second you can just ignore me, and not give me a rematch"] Wednesday 6:05 PM
["Rheena, you bitch. Answer meeeeee!!"] Thursday 2:27 PM
I swear it felt like I sent her a hundred texts, and though it was really just a handful, her silence was still just as irritating. Not just the silence though, the fact that, as far as I could tell, she didn't even read the messages I sent. Instead, they just sat there, all sad and pathetic, with the normally bright blue checkmarks next to them grayed out and lifeless.
I know what you're thinking: 'oh god, single white female, obsessing over a one-off'. And while you're thinking that, you're picturing me eating carton after carton of Ben & Jerry's ice cream while waiting for a reply that will never come. I don't blame you though, as that's kinda what I felt like.
But really, think about it. Day one. Day fucking one in the emerald city, I found myself defeated, punished, and then ignored. Lame! Lame I say!
But hey, in the sexfighting game, that kinda stuff just happens, and actually, more often than you'd think. It isn't my style, but for others, after just one match, the thrill is gone. They trash talk, threaten, meet, and in one glorious confrontation, purge every ounce of sexual interest they have in you - win or lose, they're done.
For me, yeah the first time is great and intense, but the second time, and the third, the fourth and the fifth are just so awesome. When you have learned every inch of each other's bodies; every fetish, every trigger, every special little spot that makes your opponent squeal. God, that's when sexfighting is just ... incredible...
But as common as the 'cum-n-go' routine was, I couldn't help but want a second chance. Not just to come out on top, but to feel Rheena's body against mine again. To lock lips, press breasts, and cross thighs with my caramel-hued doppelgΓ€nger.
Why? Well, duh! Because it felt so good when we did it the first time! Plus, I just wanted to knowβ needed to know, if that smokey-eyed beauty's victory was just the first in a back and forth war of sexual attrition or legit proof that she was just straight up better than me. But as day after day passed without her texting me back, I began to at least try to forget about her, and my hopes for a round 2. After all, I had something else to focus on, my upcoming first day at my new job.
New, not only because it was going to be MY first day there, but in that it was EVERYONE's first day there. It was a new business venture, from those two twin billionaires whose names were on everything now: the Bowmans. And though I did know who my employers would be, I really didn't have a lot more info than that.
It was had something to do with entertainment, live audiences, and television. And though I knew those bullet points, I didn't know anything else. Was it ice skating? A cooking show? A talk show? I had no idea, but whatever it was, I was ready for it - at least I thought I was. At least, that's what I told Ms. Windgate, the dean of my alma mater, Penngrove University.
"Trust me," she said, "the pay will be good. The job security: excellent. And the perks ... well ... suited for a graduate of this institution." Was it oddly secretive? Yes. Overly dramatic in a comically Penngrove way? Sure. But too much of both to take a chance? Not even close.
So I told her I'd take it, marched out of her office, drove home singing excitedly to Taylor Swift's newest hate-track, and that night, started to pack. I remember it was only about a day later that an overnight envelope arrived with a moving bonus, a check with more zeros on it than I had ever seen before. Zeros that got me to where I was, not only to the other side of the country but one restless night away from clocking in. You know, if clocking in was even what we were going to do. I didn't know, but not too very long after that moment, I would.
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Sub-Chapter 2
"Excuse me," I said with a smile. "Sorry. Excuse me." I repeated again and again, as I - as WE sorted ourselves into the leather and metal chairs placed in rows in a large conference room on the 30th floor in downtown Seattle. And when I say 'we,' I mean myself and about 15 other women, most of us young, but with a few more mature ladies scattered in there. There, as we each looked for whatever seat would give us the least amount of anxiety, I listened, wanting to know if anyone knew exactly what kind of job we were lining up for.
But, everyone seemed to be just as clueless as me. "Do you know?" "No." "Hmm, I wonder what it could be..." They whispered and muttered, as I remained quiet. Not wanting to insert myself into anything, before I knew the landscape and my role in it.
I seemed to be alone in that tactic, except for one other girl. She, like me, was a blonde, though platinum to my strawberry, and sat in the back row (though on the opposite side) silently. Unlike me though, her gaze was confident, piercing, and almost predatory. Her sapphire-blue eyes seeming to capture me, every time I happened to catch a glimpse of them. A glimpse I seemed to seek out again and again, until after she caught me staring at her for like the fifth or sixth time. That was when I had to stop myself by just staring blankly at my phone.