Gamergate

"It's about ethics in games journalism," he types.

He is the perfect husband, he thinks. He picks her up from the town centre when she is heavy with shiny bags. The lingerie he buys her is tasteful. He never wakes her when he comes to bed. Doesn't pester her for it when he can see she's had a bad day. Doesn't laugh when she gets things wrong.  

At first she'd loved gaming sessions, shrieking in joyful frustration as another head shot sent her screen spinning.  “That’s not fair,” she’d say.  “That’s the rules of the game,” he’d say.  “But why?” she’d say and he’d laugh.

Now he can feel her, watching, listening, judging. She goes to her classes, her groups.

“I want us to talk,” she says as if she cannot see his headset is on.  This is his time, his space. “You know the rules honey.”

She is so beautiful.  He wants to have her in a way deeper than sex.

When her friends come over it is as if they leave him out of the conversation on purpose. He does not feel comfortable in his skin.

‘I must not lose control’ he thinks as he continues to type.