THE KING OF THE GOLD SYSTEM GAMING

WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?

There’s a loud crash, and we jerk our heads to my bedroom as Leyla drops one of my pink Louis Vuitton suitcases onto the floor.

“That’s custom,” I whine, pushing out of Syd’s grasp to check on my luggage. I run my hands across the leather, searching for any scratches. “What did you do that for?”

“I’m helping,” she shrugs before walking into my closet. She begins to pick pieces off the hangers and heedlessly throws them at my suitcase.

“Leyla,” I grit out as a miniskirt narrowly misses my head.

“You can’t stay here. You’re coming home with me.”

“Aren’t your parents visiting soon?”

“There’s more than enough space.”

“Leyla—"

“Someone knows where you live.”

A chill breaks over my skin. I don’t want to think about that. I just want to go back to ignoring it and everything else about tonight.

“I’m not imposing on your parents.”

“Well, you’re not staying here.” She places her hands on her hips.

Leyla is always so carefree that I sometimes forget how stubborn she can be. We’re two sides of the same coin.

“She’s right,” Maker agrees as he comes to sit on my bed. “The security at this place is a wank.”

“Exactly. Even you’ve said before that the security here is sucky,” Leyla muses as she chucks a pair of platform heels on the ground.

I press my lips together and stare at the growing mound of clothes and shoes.

I don’t want to admit defeat, that I don’t feel safe in my own apartment. Part of me thought that maybe if I just stayed here and pretended that nothing ever happened that I could remain in my little bubble of ignorance. That maybe the world isn’t as scary as it feels.

The local police have my information now; they know I’m at risk of swatting, so they won’t be as aggressive the next time it happens.Ifthere’s even a next time. Maybe this Panther Hunter person will give up now? They’ve had their laugh. They’ve traumatized me on stream, live for tens of thousands of people to see. That’s normally the goal for these people. So, what more is there?

“Look, I get the concern, but I’m going to be fine. Really.” I turn my head to stare at the big grump leaning on my doorframe. “It’s like you said, you’ve dealt with this before. It’s not that big a deal.”

“That’s not the point I was trying to make,” Herson sighs.

“Why don’t you at least crash at one of our places tonight? Just for peace of mind. Aleks and Stevie are in New York again for the Hayes art show, so his room is free,” Sydney says, referring to the leader of The Gold System, Aleksander Knight (knownby his gamertag NightBlade32, a.k.a. Blade), and his girlfriend, up-and-coming artist Stephanie Andwell.

I see the silent plea in her eyes, but I still don’t give in.

“I’m serious. I’m fine.” I stand up and walk out of my bedroom and to the front door, opening it. It’s a touch rude, I know, but I can’t deal with any more of their smothering. I feel like I’m in the middle of a fire and someone is choking me at the same time.

It’s making everything ten times worse.

“Fine.” Sydney huffs, grabbing Maker’s hand and leading him out of my bedroom.

Herson has to practically pick Leyla up and carry her to make her leave.

“I’m not happy about this,” she hisses as he drops her by the door.

“I know you care, and I love you for that, but I just need some space. Please.”

Her eyes soften and the pity swimming in them makes me feel guilty all over again.

“Call me in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.”

She pulls me into a hug, and I squeeze her back, letting her know that I really do appreciate everything she’s done. When I release her, Sydney takes her place and pulls me close.

“Call us if anything feels off.”

“I will.”

She lets me go, and Maker gives my hand a squeeze and throws me one of his classic winks before leaving with her.

Herson starts to silently follow them out, but he pauses right after he crosses the threshold. I freeze as he looks at me over his shoulder.

“Don’t be a hero.”

And then he’s gone.

I shut my door, locking it and then double-checking that the lock is sturdy by twisting the knob an unnecessary number of times. Even then, it still doesn’t feel safe enough.

I brace my legs and shove my armchair across the floorboards until it comes to sit flush with the door. That’s a little better.

Numbly, I walk back into my bedroom and stare at the disarray of clothes and shoes on the floor that I can’t be bothered to deal with right now. I barely even have the energy to make it into my bathroom to throw my hair up in a shitty bun.

I bug my eyes wide in the mirror and use my knuckles to remove my bright blue contact lenses. My natural hazel eyes stare back at me as I take the time to double cleanse and remove my layers of makeup before painstakingly cleaning my lash extensions. The monotony of my routine seems to calm the buzzing hive in my chest by a fraction.

Trudging into my walk-in closet, I peel off my signature pink dress and hang it up before grabbing an oversized T-shirt to throw on.

I stare at myself in the mirror and let out a self-deprecating laugh. If my hair was its natural strawberry-blonde color, you wouldn’t even recognize me—but that’s the point.