Elsie’s Dangerous Obsession: A Gamer Girl’s Twisted Secret Life

Monday Mornings Smell Like Instant Ramen

The apartment reeked of beef-flavored noodles and cheap deodorant. Elsie stretched out on the carpet, her headset sliding off one ear, her pink hair a tangled mess. She hadn’t moved in hours—except to alt-tab and type “gg ez” in the post-match chat.

"Hey," she called out lazily, not taking her eyes off the screen, "Liam, you home?"

No answer.

She frowned, chewing her lower lip as her eyes darted toward the door. It was past ten. He was usually back by now.

“Brooo…” she whined, dragging the ‘o’ out until it felt like a mosquito in a quiet room.

The door finally clicked open. She perked up instantly, kicking away a half-empty can of Monster as she scrambled to her knees.

He Brings Groceries, She Brings Guilt

Liam stepped in, holding two bags of groceries and looking half-dead from work. His shirt was half untucked, and his glasses fogged slightly from the AC inside.

“You said you were out of milk, right?” he asked, walking straight to the kitchen.

Elsie followed, socked feet sliding on the laminate floor. “Yeah, but like, I didn’t expect you to go now. I could’ve… ordered something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “When’s the last time you left the apartment, Els?”

She blinked. “Define ‘left.’ Like, past the door? Or—”

“Outside.”

She shrugged. “Thursday? No—wait. That was last month. So… October?”

Liam sighed, too tired to argue. She watched him put the groceries away, then leaned against the fridge, arms crossed under her oversized hoodie. “I missed you,” she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I was at work.”

“Still,” she pouted. “The place gets all echoey without you.”

“Elsie…”

She tilted her head. “You hate it when I say stuff like that, huh?”

He didn’t answer. That was the usual sign: yes.

She Presses, He Flinches

Later, they sat on the couch watching a trashy reality show. Well—he watched. She just watched him.

"You know," she said, draping her legs across his lap, “normal brothers don't take care of their sisters like you do.”

“Normal sisters don’t trap their brothers in guilt loops,” he said, voice flat.

She smirked. “You’re just mad I’m smarter.”

“You’re just mad Mom asked me to look after you, not the other way around.”

"Maybe I like being looked after."

Silence fell like a blanket over them. The kind of silence that prickled.

She leaned in closer, whispering with that weird, saccharine tone she used when she wanted something. “You know I could leave, right? Move out, stop bothering you, stop being in your way. But you’d miss me. Admit it.”

He stared ahead at the TV. "You're not in my way."

“Liar,” she sang, smiling in that offbeat way of hers.

He moved her legs off him gently. “I’m going to bed.”

She let him go. She always did. Until the next game.

The Game Is Rigged, And She Knows It

She waited until after midnight. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of her PC and the occasional creak of floorboards settling.

She crept to Liam’s door and knocked—lightly. No answer. She opened it anyway.

He was asleep, curled up in a fetal position like he always did when stressed. The room smelled like soap and old books. She stepped in silently and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Y'know," she whispered, "you could've ended this anytime."

He didn’t stir.

“I mean it,” she said. “You could’ve said, ‘no, Elsie, get therapy, leave me alone, grow up.’ But you didn’t. You never do.”

She reached out, almost touching his hair—but pulled back last second.

“You’re still here. And that means I win.”

Her voice cracked on that last word, but she smiled anyway.

“Night, bro.”

She got up and padded back to her room, crawling into her gaming chair like a spider returns to its web. The blue light lit up her face as she put on her headset and joined a lobby.

"Ready to carry, boys?"

In the background, she could still hear Liam turning in his bed.