Stalemate // The Queens Gambit //Benny Watts x OC

Nine: Autograph

    Me and Benny ended up playing thirteen more games before I finally called it. We ended mostly in draws, anyway, so it wasn't much fun. I asked if he wanted some coffee before he left, mostly so I wouldn't have to be alone just yet, and I was glad when he agreed. After making it I handed him a mug and we sat on the couch facing each other.

"So how are you doing?" He asks hesitantly. I was hoping he wouldn't, but I guess it was kind of inevitable.

"I'm.. not as bad as I could be, I suppose," I start carefully, then frowned slightly. "It's not what I thought It'd be like."

Benny gives me a confused look. "what do you mean?"

"I mean, I always assumed my parents would die before me, but any time I thought about it I imagined it feeling more.. violent, I guess. And at first it was, but right now, I don't know, it feels more like I'm floating through space and any time I try to breath, I just get more nothing. If that makes any sense."

"It does. And it sounds shitty."

I scoff and nod. I didn't realize until now that a few tears had appeared. I quickly wiped them away and took a sip of my coffee. "Anyway, let's talk about something else." I try to sound as okay as I possibly could and I think Benny picked up on it. He took a deep breath in through his nose and his gaze drifted to the carpet, then back to me.

"Well, you're obviously great at chess. When did you first learn?"

"Hmm.. I think I was about eleven. I was staying with my father for the weekend and he was playing with his wife. I watched the whole game, completely confused and totally fascinated at the same tome. Afterwards, I asked him to teach me and he did. Since then I've been playing and studying. We still play at least one game when I visit."

"Sounds like a good way to learn. Do you visit your dad often?"

"No, but we always see eachother at least once a year. He's usually busy with work, so I understand."

"What does he do?"

"He owns a coffee company with his friend. Carlisle and Barbosa Coffee Co." there was a spark of recognition in his eyes as I said it.

"I have a friend who loves that brand. Says it's one of the only tolerable things America makes."

I smile a little. "where's your friend from?"

"France. But she works as a model so she travels a ton."

I almost loose my breath at the mention of France, but I push through. "A model, how fancy."

"Yeah, she would disagree. She's always said it's insipid work filled with insipid people." He mimics a French accent and I laugh softly.

"Well, probably beats sitting in a diner at midnight, playing the same game of chess over and over with a different sap every time."

"I've been meaning to ask- what happened at the U.S open in '65?"

This was the question I was dreading. But again, inevitable. I hate those kinds of questions.

I sigh loudly and trace the rim of my glass. "Well.. honestly, ever since I started playing I felt like I needed to be the best. If I got something wrong, if someone beat me, if I couldn't figure something out, it would drive me crazy. Which is a trait I've always had, but with chess it was so much different. It's a battle that requires every part of your brain, and if you mess up it means there's still a part that's incompetent. When I played in the open, I destroyed every opponent before they even sat down. I had trained so long and so intensely that I was convinced I would win, but I now know that kind of mindset isn't welcome on the board. When it came down to me and Logan Winters, I was too cocky, I guess. I hadn't studied the night before and I was overlooking important pieces. Near the end, I was making so many mistakes I wanted to scream. I couldn't get out of it and I knew that, but I still wasn't letting him win, so I kept going. Even when he offered a draw as a compromise because he could see how much it was getting to me, I wouldn't take it. I would not leave that seat until I had won. I was just so close.. "

I knew he had heard about the rest after that. How I had to be dragged away, kicking and screaming. A nineteen year old who still lost like a five year old. When he didn't say anything, I continued.

"I couldn't go back after that. I locked myself in my room and studied and trained 24/7. Barely even eating. I've worked on myself and I'm way better now, obviously. you've beaten me countless times without it resulting in any tantrums. But there's still a little part of me that kicks myself every time I make a mistake and won't stop until I'm good and bruised."

I finally looked up at him and he was studying me intensely, brow furrowed, lips pursed, silent. I was completely mortified when I realized I had just rambled about myself for at least five minutes. I'd never told anyone any of that. And though it felt good to, I wasn't sure if he'd really wanted to know that much or if I wanted him to know that much.

"Why don't you go back? Now that you're better on both accounts, you could probably win it."

I looked at him for a minute and actually thought about my words so I didn't end up talking so much again. "Well I'm not sure about winning but thank you. I would go back, but it was so embarrassing. Everyone would know I was the same girl and they'd all ask about it and.. No, I can't go back. I'd just be a pathetic laughing stock."

Benny's hand came to mine and I stopped making the small circles around my mug, glancing to him. "You're not pathetic, Adelaide. If you went back, yeah some people might remember you, sure they may talk or ask about it. But chances are, they'll be excited for you to be competing again. If you don't want to try again, that's your choice. But you can do it."

I felt my chest constricting as he spoke. No one had ever told me I could do it if I wanted, not like this. I didn't know how to respond so I just stared. He squeezed my hand a little and I squeezed back, hoping he understood how grateful I was. For everything. After that though, I knew I had to say something or else it would be awkward. I cleared my throat and forced a small smile. "Thank you." I said as sincerely as I could.

"No problem," he said in a low voice. "Well..I should go. Thanks for playing and talking with me." He set his mug on the table and stood, grabbing his coat and hat, flipping it onto his head with a flourish of his wrist. I stood too and opened the door for him.

"Of course. Thank you for staying," I paused and, for god knows what reason, hugged him. "Seriously, thank you." I repeat. He doesn't really know how to react for a second but then hugs me back.

"You're welcome." He replies and we finally part. Again, I have to wipe my eyes. Crying this much was getting really annoying. He smiled at me sadly and then looked like he just remembered something. He grabbed a pen off a shelf and walked over to a small book case in the corner. He pulled out a book, scribbled something in it, then put it back. I frowned as I watched him, totally clueless. He walked out the door and turned back to me.

"If you need anything, or if you just want someone to kill an afternoon with, don't hesitate to call." I tilted my head in confusion, as I didn't have his telephone number, and he chuckled. "Bye, Adelaide."

"Bye, Benny."

He turned on his heel and walked to the stairs. Once he was out of sight I closed the door and went over to the bookshelf, looking through the books to find which one he'd written in. I spotted one and knew it was the one since it was the one he'd written himself. I pulled it out, opened it to the first page, and laughed out loud. Sure enough, in the corner was a number and under that in fast, sloppy handwriting:

I usually don't do autographs, but for you I'll make an acception.
- Benny Watts