Sublimity ? Leon Kennedy

I'm on my fifth coffee. 

Gunfire echoes through my dark apartment, the sparks from the tv casting dim shadows on my walls, and my face, the controller clasped securely in my grip, fingers fiddling with the stick and buttons. I move, shoot once and shoot twice—pulling on the back buttons of the controller, my eyes straining as it burns a hole in focus of the game. 

I grit my teeth, switching to a sniper rifle as fast as I can, gunfire ensuing around me in the city I was at in the game. In real life, I reach my hand out next to me, grasping the half finished iced coffee in the corner of the couch and bringing it to my mouth, taking a swig before putting it down again.

Zombies close in on me, snarling and growling. I shift the angle towards them and press the shoot buttons, aiming right at their heads, their flesh exploding into smithereens from the blast. I smile in satisfaction, continuing to run away to the clear path. 

Amidst the sounds of the videogame, a familiar ringing goes off. I ignore it, wishing it would just go away as I cross a wonky bridge in-game, Leon, my character, moving quickly and swiftly through the rickety wooden bridge. 

But the ringing doesn't stop.

The bridge abruptly collapses and I gasp, Leon falling all the way under, right into a horde of zombies. I drag my gaze away from the game to the arm of the couch, my phone violently vibrating against the mattress. I quickly look back to the game, Leon taken aback as a zombie claws at him from the horde. Nonetheless, my fingers aren't fast enough, the zombie's teeth digging straight into his neck before I can even whip out my gun. 

“You. Are. Dead.” The screen flashes with bloody letters. 

“Fucking great.” I huff, the phone still going off on the couch. I throw the controller over the coffee table, snatching my phone and sliding to answer. “What?” I hiss.

“Hey, Illa! What's up with the attitude? Did Elliot text you again or something?” Beatrice's voice washes over me like a reality check.

“Bea—No, I was just . .” I shake my head, glancing over at the game over screen. “Doing some chores.” 

“Doing some chores you say? Don't tell me you're playing Resident Evil again? I told you to put that shit off during the weekends! Hangout with us! Gina and I are going out to the jazz bar in town. You should come. It would take your mind off of your apartment for once.”

I lean back against the couch, stretching my numb limbs on the floor. A wave of guilt hits me. Beatrice is always urging me to go out on the weekends to experience real life, but I always decline.

But . . A jazz bar. Sounds like my kind of thing: under dim sparkly lights, no loud music, just vibes with my med school friends. It's almost good. 

I look down to myself, still clad in my pajamas this morning and my hair sticking to my head. A jazz bar. The idea doesn't seem too good anymore. “Uh . . I don't know, Bea.” I stutter. “It's too late in the night and I've got a couple of projects to finish for neurosurgery.”

“Illa, finals are over.”

“Yeah, but . . I wanna study early for the next semester.” I chuckle awkwardly, fiddling with my shirt. 

“Yeah I know you are, but this is crazy. You haven't done anything important since Elliot fucked you over and we're all worried.”

“Bea, I'm fine.”

“I know a psychiatrist if you need one.”

“I don't need a psychiatrist!” I chuckle. “I'm doing fine, I'm fine, I'm on my fifth venti latte.”