Chapter 1: Level Up and Let Down

I was only twelve years old when I got my vampire. Even now, I sometimes wonder if that’s the right way to put it—like she was a pet, or a prize. But back then, it felt that simple: one day I was just a kid, the next, I had Ivy.

At the time, I didn’t really get what any of it meant. I was just a kid in sneakers and a Marvel tee, and all I knew was that having her around made my math homework a breeze and let me ace tests I barely even looked at. Back then, Ivy was my secret weapon—part tutor, part cheat code, all mystery. I didn’t ask too many questions. Why would I? Hell, I didn’t even think to.

I blink at the sunlight, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Today is my eighteenth birthday.

And I want to try something a little different with Ivy first—something that feels more like growing up, even if I have no clue what that’s supposed to mean yet. The morning sun peeks through the blinds, painting stripes across the living room carpet, and my heart thumps with this weird, fizzy anticipation. Ivy’s beside me, her presence humming in the air.

"Go, go, go!"

"Run faster, or I’m toast—hey!"

"Boss, wait for me, boo-hoo..."

"I’m dead!"

I let go of the mouse, the screen now gray—game over—and slump back on the couch, totally drained.

I let out a groan, stretching my arms over my head until my knuckles cracked. The couch cushions sagged under me, like they were sharing my defeat. My eyes stung from hours of blue light and adrenaline. "Seriously, though, if you’d just moved a little faster, I could’ve turned it around!" I complained, half-laughing, half-serious.

She crossed her arms, her dark lipstick perfectly matching her mood, and arched a brow so sharp it could cut glass. The leather jacket squeaked as she shifted, her boots tapping out an impatient rhythm on the hardwood. Her eyes, sharp and sly, narrowed in mock judgment. "Seriously, is this what being an adult looks like to you?"

I shrugged, playing it off like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Isn’t pulling an all-nighter gaming what being an adult is all about?" I shot back, a grin tugging at my lips.

She rolled her eyes and smirked, dropping her voice to a playful whisper. "Only a dork like you would spend his eighteenth birthday at home grinding ranked matches—with me right here, no less." She nudged my shoulder, lips curling into a teasing smile.

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, most guys would kill for a night alone with me." She paused, rolling her eyes for effect. "And you? You’re yelling at a phone screen. Unreal."

I grabbed my mouse, rolling my eyes at her drama. The glow from the monitor flickered across our faces, and I shot her a mock salute. "You’re on, partner. This time, just try not to die in the first five minutes, rookie."

Barely two minutes later, I got knocked out again—game over, again.

I let my head fall back with a groan, the mouse slipping from my fingers. "Seriously? You can help me with homework, cook, handle chores—how are you this bad at games?"

I stared at her, completely baffled.

Ivy looked genuinely offended, her mouth falling open in protest. She twirled a strand of her midnight hair around one finger, cheeks tinged pink. "Hey, I never said I was perfect. Besides, who needs video games when you’ve got real life to play with?" she shot back, but the way she looked away made me smirk.

In my memory, Ivy was supposed to be good at everything. But when it came to gaming, she was the total opposite of the perfect image she always projected everywhere else.

Honestly, there was something kind of endearing about it. The all-powerful, centuries-old vampire, totally owned by a bunch of pixels and a laggy connection. It made her feel… more human, somehow. Like she could actually mess up, just like the rest of us.

"One more match. I’ll jungle, you support me."

I shot her a determined look, cracking my knuckles for emphasis. "Alright, this time, we’re not losing. No excuses." I flashed her a challenging grin. Bring it on.

As soon as champ select started, some player with a username straight off a Twitch stream hopped on mic, instantly picking a fight for the jungle spot.

The headset crackled to life with a voice that sounded like it’d had one too many energy drinks. Great, just what I needed. "Hey, first pick—can you let me jungle? I’m a streamer, huge carry!"

Her voice was so shrill it sounded pinched. It grated on my nerves, making me wince.

I winced and mouthed "yikes" at Ivy. "Sorry, I’m a carry too."

I typed back, deadpan, and instantly locked in jungle.

I didn’t even wait for a response. My fingers flew across the keyboard, locking in my champ before she could blink. No way was I letting some wannabe influencer push me around on my birthday.

"Wow, you’re mean! If you don’t let me jungle, I’ll feed!"

She immediately picked a jungle champ too.

I could practically see her pouting through the screen. "Just great," I muttered.

This round was doomed from the start.

The game had barely begun when the streamer ran to mid tower and gave up first blood, then started spamming chat to leak my location.

I watched in disbelief as her character kamikazed under the enemy turret. The chat blew up with question marks. My grip tightened on the mouse. "Here we go," I muttered. Ivy rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

"Yo, yo, yo, so that’s why you wouldn’t let me jungle—carrying your girlfriend, huh?"

"Not that impressive, though. You can’t even carry your girl—so bad!"

The voice on the other end was pure poison, every word meant to needle. I could feel my jaw tighten. Ivy, for her part, just snorted and flicked her hair over her shoulder, like she’d heard it all before.

…

She just wouldn’t shut up. I typed back: "Use your brain, Sherlock!" Then muted her.

I hit mute with a dramatic tap, savoring the blessed silence. For a second, it was almost peaceful—just me, Ivy, and the low hum of the game. My shoulders loosened a notch.

Finally, peace and quiet.

But she kept feeding, giving all three enemy lanes a huge advantage. Plus, she wouldn’t stop leaking my position, so both Ivy and I were falling behind.

Every time I tried to make a play, she’d ping my location like she was working for the enemy. Unbelievable. I could feel the frustration building, my fingers drumming on the armrest. Ivy shot me a sympathetic look, her fangs peeking out just a bit—a sure sign she was annoyed, too.

A few minutes in, I noticed over a hundred people had started spectating.

My chat was blowing up. The little eye icon in the corner kept ticking higher. Suddenly, it felt like the whole world was watching me get trolled on my own birthday. I swallowed, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

As soon as they joined, they began spamming the chat, mocking me—saying I deserved it for stealing the streamer’s spot, blah blah blah…

The insults came fast and furious—memes, laughing emojis, even some weird ASCII art. Ivy scowled at the screen. "These people have nothing better to do?" she muttered, her voice icy.

I’ve played a lot of games and seen all kinds of weirdos, even run into streamers before.

But none as nasty as her.

There was a special kind of venom in her words, the kind that seeps under your skin and festers. I’d never seen someone so determined to ruin a stranger’s day for fun. It made my stomach twist.

"Ivy, look her up."

I unmuted her, then started doxxing her in chat.

Ivy’s eyes flashed with something wicked, a glint of mischief and vengeance. She whipped out her phone, fingers moving faster than humanly possible. Within seconds, she had a dossier pulled up. I started typing, my heart pounding—not from fear, but from a weird sense of justice. Still, a tiny voice in my head whispered, Are you sure about this?

"Cheryl Patterson, forty-three years old, 196 pounds, full-time streamer, lives in Building 5, Apt 7W, Century Gardens Apartments, Brighton County. Her driver’s license number is…"

I pasted every detail Ivy dug up about the streamer into the public chat.

The chat exploded. I could feel the collective intake of breath, the digital gasp that comes when someone crosses a line. Did I go too far? I knew it was wrong—doxxing’s a big deal—but in that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know she couldn’t hide behind a screen.

Usually, that’s enough to shut up even the most toxic players.

But not her.

When she saw her personal info posted, she didn’t stop—instead, she started flaming even harder.

Her next messages were pure filth. Every line was more vicious than the last. It was like she’d been waiting for an excuse to let loose. My jaw dropped.

Calling me every name in the book.

Nothing but filth.

Ivy’s eyes narrowed, her hands balling into fists. I could almost feel the chill in the air. "Insult my boss, huh? Now I’m mad!"

She stood up so fast the couch springs squeaked. Her cheeks puffed out in that cartoonish way she did when she was genuinely pissed. The air in the room got colder, and I felt the little hairs on my arms stand up.

Then she snapped her fingers, loud and sharp.

The sound cracked through the living room, sharp as a gunshot. Ivy’s eyes glinted, and for a split second, the air felt charged, electric. I shivered. Whoa.

At that exact moment, a scream erupted a thousand miles away in Building 5, Apt 7W, Century Gardens Apartments, Brighton County.

I couldn’t hear it, obviously, but I knew. Somewhere far away, the streamer’s world was about to collapse.

The streamer’s heavy beauty filters vanished in an instant.

On my screen, her avatar glitched. Then, in real time, the sweet, fair-skinned, cute girl on the stream morphed—her features sagged, her skin lost its glow, and suddenly she looked every bit her age and then some. The chat went wild.

It was brutal. No warning, no mercy. One second she was everyone’s online crush, the next, she was just… real. The mask was gone.

Immediately, the ten thousand-plus viewers in her livestream started flooding the chat.

"WTF, what is that?"

"You call that ‘just a little less filter’?"

"Give me my money back…"

"Top supporter just got scammed!"

The comments flew by so fast, I could barely keep up. No way I could read all that. Ivy watched with a satisfied smirk, arms folded like she’d just scored the game-winning touchdown.

…

The barrage shredded her. She tried to recover, but no matter how she fiddled with her expensive beauty cam, it was as if it had shut down for good.

She frantically mashed buttons, adjusted the lighting, tried every filter she could—but nothing worked. The illusion was broken, and there was no fixing it.

In her panic, her black gaming chair knocked over the backdrop behind her.

The crash was loud enough to be heard through her mic. The backdrop—a cheap vinyl cityscape—toppled over, revealing the mess behind it. I felt a pang of secondhand embarrassment.

Instantly, everyone saw the room behind her—cobwebs everywhere, trash all over the floor.

It looked like something out of 'Hoarders' or one of those cable shows. Fast food wrappers, dirty laundry, a half-eaten slice of pizza on the floor. The chat lost its mind.

The comments got meaner, nastier, more relentless. Ivy just watched, stone-faced.

She had no choice but to end the stream in shame—the whole thing lasted less than ten minutes.

The feed cut out mid-sob. Silence settled over the living room. I exhaled, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and guilt.

"Ugh, lost again. I’m done, I’m done!"

I set my headset aside, flopping back onto the couch. My eyelids felt heavy, and my brain was fried. Ivy flopped down next to me, her leather jacket squeaking.

Honestly, though, that mess was just a blip for me.

After that, Ivy and I played nine more matches—and lost all nine.

By then, dawn was breaking outside.

The sky outside the window was turning pale pink, the first birds chirping. My eyes burned. Ivy yawned, showing off her fangs in a way that was both adorable and a little unsettling.

My eighteenth birthday ended in a streak of losses. Some birthday, huh?

Not exactly the epic coming-of-age I’d imagined, but… it was mine.

"Are we finally going to sleep, Boss? I’ll make the bed!"

Ivy, thrilled, hugged me and kissed me, then dashed off to the bedroom.

She practically skipped down the hallway, humming a tune from some old Billie Holiday record she’d gotten obsessed with last month. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched her disappear around the corner.