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Phew.

“Are we in danger?”

There he goes again chomping on that damn lip, avoiding the question and distracting me.

“Are. We. In. Danger?”

“Yes and no.”

I see we’re getting nowhere quick.

“Did we really go back in time?”

“You mean time travel?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Yes, sort of. Next and final question.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Well, unless you want the lizard that’s staring at you to close in on us, I suggest this be the final question.”

Goose bumps prickle my skin, and just like that I’ve lost my ability to ask any more questions.

Rennix uses this as his opportunity to guide me to the next door, or level as he put it before. Not by hand. Likely because he knows I’ll stomp and fight him the entire way there. He does it by bending and placing his arm behind my knees and scooping me up in one fell swoop, leaving me speechless…for once in my life.

The slow-motion destruction we’ve witnessed thus far has sped up, forcing Rennix to run with me in tow.

Dust and debris fill the air. I tuck my head into his chest for some reprieve and close my eyes.

He begins to speak and with my head resting on him I can feel his heartbeat accelerate. “Because I know you still have questions. Yes, this is a simulation. Actually, it’s more of a continuous time loop meant to keep us in 2006.”

He continues but my mind has drifted and unexpected hope is blossoming in my chest.

I’ve accomplished what every millennial has not-so-secretly yearned for since realizing being an adult sucks… I’ve time traveled back to the good old days. I don’t care if it doesn’t make a lick of sense. As long as I get to live in early 2000s bliss without student loans or responsibilities weighing me down, reunited with my best friend. My luck is finally turning around. I can feel it. I can fucking taste it.

“That’s amazing,” I interrupt him.

He stops and places me carefully on what’s left of the floor to stand. “This place was only meant for one person.” There’s such shame in the way he says it.

Already knowing the answer, I ask anyway, “Meaning, just you?”

All he offers me in response is a nod.

I don’t like this. Not one bit. With a shaky voice, I ask, “What happens if I stay?”

My gaze falls from his, down to his Adam’s apple. It bobs rhythmically, contorting the ink stretched across the column of his throat, that reads Game Over. I study his body language, purposely avoiding the one telltale sign that will potentially tell me what he might not want to. Time slows, making seconds drone on to feel like years while we stand inches apart with the ball in his court.

His chest rises and falls, air audibly leaving his mouth where I wish words would instead.

“What happens if I stay?” I repeat, and another time it goes unanswered.

Rennix reaches for my hand and without hesitation, I grab hold of it.