“Ryan,” Lynda says, lying back on the couch with closed eyes.
“Yes, love,” he responds, lying next to her, holding her hand.
“Are we still in the game?”
“Yep. We have to wait until we fall asleep.”
“How long has it been?”
“Three… four minutes perhaps.”
“Ryan.”
“Yes, Love.”
“What did you say about my father? I mean outside the game.”
“Oh, yeah, he is a tall, handsome Senator. A big shot in Washington, DC. And if the game launches successfully, he’s gonna be filthy rich too.”
“Yeah. I mean when you said he wants to turn off the game. Doesn’t he know that I’m in it?”
“Yeah, that part sucks a bit. He is apparently a major shareholder in the company that produces the game, and his job is to have it prepared for the release on time. So…”
“Even if it imprisons her own daughter in the game?”
“Well, he’s the kind of man that… he is… sort of… he’s an asshole.”
“Bastard,” she spits.
Ryan laughs, his eyes still closed.
“What’s funny?”
“That’s what your mother called him. Bastard.”
“You know I never met my real father. I mean my father in the game.”
“Yeah, your mother, I mean your mother in the game, said he disappeared before paying even the first child support check. You were two or three?”
“One year and eight months and four days,” she says, sorrow in her voice. “That is what my mom tells me. She never told me any story of my father though. She wanted me to have a blank picture of him so that I could fill it up with my imagination.”
“How far did your imagination go?”
“Very,” she says, holding back a sob. “Very. I even imagined that he’s from a different planet, and had to abandon his daughter in order to save the galaxy.”
“Nice! Such an artistic imagination,” Ryan says, trying to change the depressing tone of the conversation.
“And now I have to face reality. A bastard that chooses money over my life.”
Opening the corner of his eyes, Ryan peeks at Lynda when he hears her sob.
“Hey, come on now,” he says, kissing her face on the tears. Opening her eyes, she leans forward, hiding her face with her palms. “It’s not that bad,” Ryan continues. “You have so much to look forward to.”
“Do I?” she snaps, giving him a sideways look. “What is my rating in real life?”
“Rating?” he sneers. “Rating is just part of the game. The game ecosystem leads to the rating system to keep the players motivated. It means nothing.”
“So, in real life, there is no rating for actresses,” she says, turning to Ryan, her sob stopped.
“There is, but only for actresses… and professors… and engineers, and Uber drivers, and… Yeah, pretty much for everything.”
“So, what’s my rating?” she asks with a serious face, staring right into Ryan’s eyes.
Ryan knows that look. The eyes demand the truth, and any amount of sugarcoating would just make them madder.
“You don’t have a rating,” Ryan lays it on her, unfiltered. “You’re just a senior dropout. You left shortly after breaking up with me.”
“Did I? Why?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan gulps, a resurfaced pain knitting his brow. “You never told me.”
“You’re not a jerk in real life, are you?”
“No-o-o-o-o-o. No, I’m not. Swear to God. I’m not.”
“Then, why did I break up with you?”
“I don’t know.” His heart beats faster.
“You do know. Tell me why.”
“I don’t know,” he insists, breathing heavily.
“Why? Why? Why?”
“I don’t know,” he shouts.
“Why? Why? Why?”
“Maybe because you are a crazy, spoiled bitch who doesn’t give a shit about other people’s feelings,” Ryan bursts out and regrets that right away.
“I’m sorry,” he says when he observes the hurt on her face. “I didn’t mean that.”
Now it is Lynda who breathes heavily, her eyes shooting glares of fury at him. Feeling melted under the fire of those stares, Ryan, without thinking, holds his arm up, protecting his face from her glares.
“You know what?” she says finally, standing up. “I don’t think I want to play this game anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s why we are exiting it,” he says, lowering his guard.
“I mean your game.”
“I don’t have a game. This is the game. This life is the game.”
“A game in which I’m a winner,” she says, firm and proud, looking down at Ryan.
“A winner!” Ryan exclaims, letting out a flickering sigh that is too tired to roar its fury. “What is that you are winning?”
“8.2 rating—”
“For god’s sake, Lynda,” he says in a begging voice, his voice tight. “That is just a meaningless number in a made-up game.”
“You’re upset because you’re losing.”
“Look at yourself. Which one of us is the loser here?”
“You are,” she spits, her voice hardened with an unbreakable certainty. “I have fans. Many fans. You’ve got nothing. And you’re jealous of that.”
“Lynda, listen to me,” Ryan pleads, holding her hand. With a gentle push, he unsuccessfully invites her to sit back with him. “For the love of God, listen to me. Real life is not about fans or ratings.”
“What is it about then?” she asks, pulling her hand back.
“It’s about… Ah… It’s about… How would I know? In real life, I’m just 16 years old for God’s sake. It’s not about made-up ratings in stupid games. I know that much.”
“In here,” Lynda says, leaning forward. Her hand under his chin, she tilts his head up, looking down into his eyes. “I’m 23 years old, 7 years older and wiser than what you claim to be in real life. Baby, I advise you to save your time in pursuit of meaning in life, either in its original copy or its replica in this game, as you claim it. People keep jumping from a game to another until either they die or get lucky and find a game that they are good at, getting good ratings. Then, they make up bullshit about how meaningful the particular game they’re winning is.”
Using his sleeves, Ryan wipes her spit from his face. Lynda leans back, standing straight.
“Well,” she continues. “I’ve found my game. And this life is it. I am somebody here. I cannot give this up, going to your life, where I am nobody and I have nobody but a bastard father.”
“You’ll have me,” Ryan says, his voice hoarse.
“I dumped you once. How do you know I won’t do that again?”
“I cannot know. I take that risk.”
“I won’t. Taking risks is for losers who’ve got nothing to lose. I have a good rating to maintain here, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to do that.”
“You cannot go back to porn,” Ryan shouts, his voice trembling. “You just can’t. I won’t let you.”
Jumping over the couch, Ryan dashes to the kitchen counter. Reaching over the standing knife block, he picks the smallest. His hand shaking, he points the knife at her while staying put by the kitchen counter.
“I’d kill you,” he says as his sob bursts out. “I swear to God, I’d kill you and then I kill myself.”
With an indifferent face, Lynda slowly steps toward Ryan. Tilting her head, she gives him a condescending look.
“You couldn’t even kill the spider. ‘I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.’,” Lynda says, mocking his male voice. “Give me that, tough guy.” Using her two fingers, she pulls the knife out of his grip with almost no resistance.
Ryan jumps when she stabs the knife on the counter. His knees wobbling, he holds a grip on the counter to stay upright.
“You think life is like your video games, killing people with a button.” Leaned forward, she releases the weight of her scornful gaze on her boyfriend.
Ryan crumples down to the floor, trying in vain to silence his sob. Her index finger rises before his face, pointed at him, almost stabbing him in the eye.
“You’re nothing but a pathetic geek, who crawls into video games to escape reality. While I’m a star, and I’m gonna have it carved in history. My agent has it all planned out already: the most sexual intercourses in a day.”
Hearing a high-pitch beep, Ryan presses hard against his ears.
“920 men, at least. It’ll be in the Guinness World…”
“I want out. I want out. I want out. I want out,” Ryan mutters before he passes out.