Page 303 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Odious.

Fucking.

Men.

I know it is those five deplorable Evots’ faults.

It is a fact that this room smells deliciously coppery with the tang of blood, but unfortunately, with the air inside my helmet filtered to optimum freshness, all I can scent is cleanliness. A complete contrast to the entire contraption right now.

“Player 25: Eliminated.”

25 . . .

Slowly, I turn around.

Player 29 is collapsed on his knees, sobbing his too-pure heart out. His Avri suit is unsullied, unlike the bloody masterpiece made of mine.

I tilt my head, studying the boy with reluctant interest. He is . . . sad. He is sad that a girl from his third school died.

Why is he upset? Was he friends with her? More? I was under the impression he had never had true friends before the men who bonded me, and certainly nothing more than that. Was I mistaken?

Something . . . repugnant and slimy and green slithers through me.

My teeth smash together.

I do not like it.

Shaking myself out of the appalling state, I put my head back on how it is supposed to be, reminding myself I am always right and there is no need to doubt my intelligence; Player 29 has not had a romantic relationship before, and it would not matter if he had.

I. Do. Not. Care. Not about him, not about anything except escaping the horror of my daily life, one way or another. I just need the boy to stop wailing because it is embarrassing for him to be one of my Bonds at this moment in time, and the sound is highly unpleasant for my sensitive ears. Evots are truly repugnant with their softness.

Alby.

His head whips up, his sob pausing mid-cry. The last of his tears continue to streak down his face in a way that rudely attempts to prod at my gut, and I kindly tell it to fuck off.

Ez . . . Ezla . . . ? His voice sounds scratchy even in his thoughts, as if he does not know how to separate any part of him from the pain coursing through him that he is unknowingly flooding the bond with, drenching me in it.

And I take it all.

Just like I always do.

The men I am bonded to are blissfully unaware that they are constantly pushing everything they are thinking and feeling down the bond. Unlike me, who quickly figured out how to block them out, they have not cared to. Or maybe they tried and failed miserably. With them, either is equally as likely.

I never comment on the bursts of pain, the fire of arousal, the bitterness of anger, the sharpness of fear . . . I am unbothered.

Most of the time.

Just like I am unbothered by the majority of things.

Nothing can touch me.

Yes, I respond to Player 29.

You . . . you said my name.

I did.

Did he think I did not know it?