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336 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 25, 2022
The game is simple, in theory, but in practice it always gets messy. The tenant is the pawn. The landlord is the player. The family is the audience. We observe from a distance, talk it over at private dinners.
Everyone is playing a game all the time. It only matters when you're losing.
I don't want to play. It's different when it's them, when it's something I see at a distance. Something I am aware of, but can easily ignore.
The most important rule was no interference—not because anyone was afraid of losing but because rich people can't deal with any conflict they didn't create. In fact, it's almost impossible to "lose" the game because the players have all the advantages, and the tenants have no idea they are being played with. It's very much like hunting. You don't walk into the forest and punch a deer in the face. You have a gun, a deer stand and a bloated sense of your own virility.
The trouble with living a hard life is that you start to see the world differently. Your mind and your instincts and your outlook are forever altered by negative experiences. You expect bad things to happen. When you're crossing the street, you imagine every car veering to hit you. You plan escape routes in tight alleyways. You think, What would you do if that man—that one, right there—suddenly punched you? Would you hit back? What weapons are at your disposal? What are your emergency exits, safety nets?
Oddly, this leaves you less prepared to deal with bad things when they do happen. You have become accustomed to not trusting your instincts. You are so used to telling yourself that it is all in your head that you can't tell when it's not.
I would rather be in a rich person's hell than a poor person's heaven.
And I am so fucking close.
I stop to check my reflection in the full-length mirror. Sometimes I am scared by how beautiful I am. Every inch of me is buffed and primed. My face hangs exactly right. My muscles are taut and organized. I am scared because I don't want to lose it: the shaped nails, the tip of my nose, the sapphire glow of my eyes. I am sad because I want everyone to see it, but I don't want to see them. I want them to know how lucky I am but I don't want them to have access to me. It's a real problem.
Everything is shallow with Graham: his looks, his thoughts, his actions. And there is something so attractive about that, the lack of depth. No hidden parts. No secret baggage.
...there is something about having things to lose that makes me afraid in a different way. I used to be numb, accepting everything that came, but now I feel almost more vulnerable.
I want to tell him I am just like him now. Except I earned it. I earned it the same way every rich person does: by stepping over a body.