Game Over | 18+ ✓

IX

A/N: I know I previously said I would publish the last two chapters at once, but I'm taking too long to write Chapter 10, hence I'm hoping I could publish 9 first as a little peace-offering.

I am so sorry I was gone for so long. The truth was, I lost the interest to write. I went through such a slump in July 2020 that not only did I give up my hobby, I gave up managing my online business too. I spent months doing nothing productive—just sleeping, eating, and an unhealthy amount of time living in the fictional world of the hundred over books I read. It wasn't until the new year that I decided enough was enough, and I really needed to stop wasting my life away. Naturally, I had to start with my business first before I could dedicate the time to writing. Now that three months have passed, I realized more so than ever that my progress is almost coming to a decline. I hate myself this way, and I truly do not want to go back to who I was previously. My business isn't settled yet, and I typically spend only six hours a week writing nowadays. Some days I could spend hours only managing two paragraphs. It really sucks, and I hate that I can't write as well as I did before, but the only thing I could do is to keep trying and beg for a little more time.

Chapter 10 is now approximately 60-70% completed, and I promise I'm going to keep working on it. There is no cliffhanger on this chapter, and I hope it'll satisfy you from all the cliffhangers I left on 8. Thank you, I love you all, and I'm so sorry once again.
-

"Come again?"

I glanced in annoyance at my office's doorway. "You fucking heard what I said."

Oscar strutted into the room three-quarters the size of his despite the blatant warning on my face. Though we were all on the top floor of our building, he never really had a reason to enter mine since with his ginormous-sized ego, he always did make his minions go to him instead.

His eyes did a brief scan of my space as if he was expecting a booby trap. "Pardon me; I thought I misheard you. You said you're not coming?" He raised a skeptical brow, running a hand over the leather chairs across from my desk.

"I'm delighted to inform you you do not require hearing aids."

Having dealt with my crap for more than a decade, he was seasoned enough not to have a reaction to my comment.

"You were the one going on about feeling ostracized, all that bros before hoes nonsense, and now that we're making time, you don't want to come?"

In my defense, I had said that as a joke, and that was months before Ian's wedding when he was too pre-occupied to give a shit about anything other than his soon-to-be bride, whereas good ole Oscar was about fed up with my attempts at playing third-wheel in his relationship.

I am man enough to admit I was lonely then.

We had spent over ten years of our lives together as a trio, for crying out loud. Business aside, we practically functioned like we were built from the same Build-A-Bear workshop. We were partners, and when the women came into their lives, I felt like I was replaced—as pathetic as that made me sound.

When Vanessa entered the scene, I had Oscar, so I wasn't the odd one out. Sure, Ian tamed himself. Whatever. He still made efforts to hang out with us, and to our advantage, Vanessa didn't have an issue with the nightlife. She became our fourth musketeer, which was cool. I was fine with that, albeit that meant having to filter myself whenever I tasted sex in my mouth.

But then the following year, Oscar met the love of his life, and the dynamics between all of us changed. Ian was making efforts for the both of us before, but now that Oscar had someone to warm his bed every night, they obviously decided they'd rather stay home and shag their brains out than entertain my bullshit.