Trigger Warning: We're getting into some heavy stuff here, but I don't want to spoil the chapter with summaries. I gave this story an M rating for a reason: if you feel you aren't able to handle it, I encourage you to click away. Please take a look at the story description for an updated list of warnings.
December 12, 2010 at 6 AM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston
"Ungh…" The moan coming from my mouth sounds pathetic even to me as I blindly reach over to the nightstand to try and find my phone. I forgot to turn the volume back down yesterday after binging on a butt ton of YouTube videos and I can already imagine Dad and Daka yelling at me for waking them up. I quickly turn off the alarm and check my notifications, a stupid smile creeping onto my face when I see that Rob posted two new videos already this morning. Even better, one of them is the PVP battle we recorded on Monday with Mitch. I scan the titles a couple of times and for a second I'm tempted to watch our video real quick, but a new notification pops up on my screen and it plays the dreaded Halo song I now hate because it only ever brings bad news: I have a trig test today that I totally spaced about.
Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap! How did I forget about this test?! Crap! I fly out of bed and get dressed as fast as I can, skipping breakfast and a shower because I really, really need to cram for this test. Math has never been a specialty of mine but I don't think I'm that bad at it. My grades are pretty good – I mean, I haven't earned anything lower than a B in two years. And I promised Mom and Dad I wouldn't screw up again. I gave up all the partying and sneaking out and staying out all night, and I brought my grades up so they would let me start YouTube last year. I'm so royally screwed if I don't get a good grade on this test.
"And here I was, telling Kenny not to blow it. Crap," I mutter, digging the study guide out of my backpack and checking to make sure I finished all the problems. "Only three more and I can check them with Kenny's stuff in second period and go over it some more at lunch. It'll be fine, this'll work out." This is why I hate the week before winter break. Seriously dude, what even are you? You serve no purpose but to screw up everyone's vacation and make everyone miserable and sad and stressed out for no freaking reason! And then we come back for like a week before we take midyear exams! What even is the point?
I wonder how Rob manages to record so many videos and go to school at the same time? Did he already graduate from high school? Does he go to college? What's his major? I shake my head and get back to work. I'm even annoying myself at this point. Why does it matter what Rob does during the day? That's so frickin' stalkerish and he probably wouldn't tell me, anyways.
"If I don't do this right now, I won't have to worry about Rob or Mitch or anyone else on YouTube because I won't be on YouTube. Come on, Preston, focus!"
December 12, 2010 at 5 AM, Quebec City, Quebec: Rob
The alarm on my phone sounds like a nuclear reactor but I can't be bothered to turn it off. Honestly, I doubt I could move if I wanted to, and I really don't want to. Exhaustion isn't even the problem: this thick grey haze is darkening my vision and clouding my mind, and I just don't have the strength to fight it. I stare at the phone's glowing screen, the only light in the pitch black hotel room, and I just sit there and wait for it to turn itself off. I was never really asleep, anyway. My eyes drift over to Procyon and I see that even my laptop has fallen asleep, the tiny white light pulsating like a heart.
'If I only had a heart.' Others tell me that I am a nice guy, that I am friendly and smart, that I can do anything with my life if I just give it my best shot. They are all wrong. I can't even will myself off of my creaky, musty bed to face the world, let alone try to change that world. I can't even control my own life: I didn't start YouTube for money, but I need the money so desperately now that making videos no longer has the same feeling or purpose it used to. No one really knows me or my motives. In my head where no one else can see, I am a devious, conniving bastard who analyzes everyone else like they are nothing more than mindless fruit flies, dissected on a glass slide to fit under the lens of my microscope. Life is just a game of chess and everyone else is just a piece in the game. I take pride in my wits, but they make me heartless and calculating, and I end up feeling colder than the ice conquering the roadways of Quebec. After all, that ice was once harmless, powdered snow, but over time it froze itself into a harsh, pitiless hazard. Am I destined to be like that snow?
In times like these, I wish I could just turn my mind off and wake up after the fog has passed, when life can go on like normal. I want to sleep through it, however long it will take, even if it means never waking up again. Even after eleven years of suffering from major depressive disorder, this monster still flattens me every time it reveals its ugly face, and I still have no control over myself during my episodes. I have made so many stupid decisions, I have hurt so many people so much, I have hurt myself so much… And every last second of it is my own fault. I know this all too well, yet I still have no power over my own body and mind. I am too weak. I look down at my hands and try to move a finger, and the movement feels more like trying to push a freight train. I am a modern-day Sisyphus trying to push a boulder up a mountain, but my torture is even worse; I know what it feels like to make it to the top of the peak, only to watch it all come crashing down again and again.
No, the worst part of it all is trying not to think about what caused all of this in the first place. Was it Nessa, Mike, and the drama with the guys at Machinima that caused my depression, or did I cause everything to crumble? Did my fall from grace trigger my episode, or did I bring all of it crashing down on my own head? What did I do wrong? Why did it have to happen? Why do I have to feel this way? Why does it have to hurt so much for so long? I just want all of it to end but if my last three escape attempts were any indication, I am not even capable of finding my way out of my own mental maze. I am so worthless, so incompetent, that I can't even manage to kill myself.
'This is why you don't have a job,' Mitch's jibe echoes in my head, and I would smile if I still had control of my face.
'You understand me more than you know, Mitch.' The alarm finally stops and I stare at the generic picture of the aurora borealis on the screen until the backlight turns off. I have twelve hours to pack up my makeshift home and make it to Montreal for dinner, and I can hardly move a finger.
December 12, 2010 at 1 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston
After the most stressful math test of life, English lit is nothing. We're reading freaking Romeo and Juliet aloud in class again and I didn't bother to volunteer for a part. I'm so over this play I can't even think about it without gagging. I thought the fourth time was bad, well… We'll just say the fifth time wasn't the charm. I was almost tempted to pull out my phone and my ear buds and watch stuff from my YouTube subscription feed under my desk, but I know I'd start laughing and blow my cover. I end up staring at my textbook and pretending to follow along, memorizing the last line of the page so I'll know when someone says it and not look like a complete space case. It works for the most part and it's a win-win situation: the teacher thinks I'm reading the play and I get to think about whatever I wanna think about. And I've been thinking a lot about my recording with Rob yesterday.
Even though I know basically nothing about him, he seems like a really nice guy and I had a blast working with him after we got through all the awkwardness. There's just something magnetic about him that draws you in and makes you feel… warm. I hadn't laughed that hard in weeks, and I enjoyed hanging out with him so much that nothing else seemed to matter (including a huge trig exam). I thought the whole thing would've been really stressful like it kinda is with Mitch and the other big YouTubers, but he seems so calm and collected even under the over-the-top acting that he just puts you at ease. Rob is a person, not just a character, and the fact that he's the same person whether or not he's recording makes him seem genuine and trustworthy, even if some of his jokes are a little strange and go a little too far. He's like one of five people I've met on YouTube so far that I can stand spending more than twenty minutes at a time with, and I'll admit I was kinda disappointed that he couldn't stay a little longer in the Skype call last night. I think if we met in real life we'd be friends, and I could definitely use a few more of those.
The best thing about being friends with other YouTubers is that they just get you – they get what it feels like to hit a sub milestone, and why you sometimes have to stay up all night to make sure your videos are ready and will upload the next day, and how stressful it is in May and June when you have to juggle school and videos with no time and no sleep but you still get fewer views. They get it and it feels good. But somehow, Rob seems to get it even more, like he already worked out the formula and he's just waiting for everyone else to catch up. He knows what he should say and what he can't say, and he somehow says it all while making it hilarious. MrWoofless is the kind of YouTuber I want to be and the kind of friend I want to have. I wanna have an epic bromance with this guy and it isn't even for the views. He just gets life. He feels 3D when most of the other YouTubers I've worked with barely seem 2D. He's funny and relatable and witty and sarcastic, and it feels like he's sharing a part of himself with you when you watch his videos, like you've known him forever and you're in on the joke.
And more than that, he really doesn't seem to give a shrimp what anyone else thinks of him. I don't think I've ever seen someone get called gay or queer or a fag as many times as Rob does, but he just doesn't give a single fudge. He does whatever he wants to do and he doesn't change himself to make everyone else happy, even when hundreds of people are calling him names and telling him to kill himself. Not only does he not care, but he incorporates the haters' comments into his videos and makes it part of his character and his jokes just to spite them. If they tell him that making his base in a flower biome is gay, he gathers an inventory full of flowers and puts them all through his house for the next episode. I can't imagine how good it must feel to just let go of what everyone else thinks about you and just do whatever the frick it is you want to. The less he cares, the more highly I think of him and the more I wish I was like him.
I wonder what he thinks about me? I turn the page in my textbook and try to prop my head up at a different angle to look like I'm still paying attention. He probably thinks I'm a complete a-hole after our first two recordings. I really jumped the gun and screwed that up. I feel more and more guilty every time I think about it, and the fact that Rob still uploaded one of the videos and even offered to record with me again just makes me feel worse. If it'd been me, I would've deleted the videos and pretended he didn't exist from that point on. I need to make it up to him somehow and show him I'm not a total jerkwad, and the best place to start would be to actually give him credit for the first two videos we did together by adding his name in the title and his character in the thumbnail. After this god-awful class ends, I have to go home and make that right at the very least. If you wanna get out of a ditch, the first thing you have to do is stop digging the hole. Someone up front says the cue and I turn to the next page, trying not to roll my eyes at the cheesy illustration of a sword fight that someone had already drawn mustaches and eyelashes on. Memorize the phrase, space out, turn the page, rinse, and repeat.
What does Rob look like? This has been the question of the day for three days now and I still don't have a clue. Yesterday I found out that he used to record on another YouTube channel with some guys from Machinima, but the channel and all its videos have been removed. After a ton of Google searches and some more lurking on YouTube, his Minecraft skin is still the only clue I have and that isn't a very good clue. He might have brown hair and he might like the color blue, and he might look like a humanoid instead of something from Halo, but that's all I've got. For all I know, he could weigh six hundred pounds and be confined to his living room, or maybe he's like sixty years old and retired from the army or SWAT or the FBI. He could be some kind of online cop looking for pedophiles or something. Maybe he's a pedophile.
This is getting too weird. You didn't think this kind of stuff about Jerome before he started doing facecam. How likely is it that Rob's a six-hundred-pound retired pedophile cop? I have to cover my mouth to keep myself from laughing and Kenny gives me a weird look from across the room. I grin and point down at my book and he nods, not entirely convinced. What the heck is wrong with me? He's probably just a regular guy who just moved into his own apartment and is getting ready to go back to college or something. There's nothing weird about that. I'm still a little creeped out by the whole 'MrWoofless the Invisible Man' thing, but I don't know what else to do to learn more about him.
Wait… Mitch and Jerome know him, too. It'd be too awkward to ask Mitch after what happened the other day, but Jerome could help me out. We could play a couple rounds of Party Games on Hypixel and I could casually pump him for some more info. This might work. What's the worst that could happen? We both know Jerome's gonna kick my butt at all the games, but I'll get a heck of a lot more information from the Bacca than I did from that stupid Wiki page. I smile to myself and turn to the next page, counting down the seconds more than ever.
December 12, 2010 at 1 PM, Quebec City, Quebec: Rob
I stuff the last box into the trunk of my car and slam the lid, relieved to have found a way to fit it all so my parents wouldn't see that my car has basically become a mobile home. I return to the hotel lobby to turn in my room key and pay for my final day, and the expression on the owner's face makes me even more determined to find somewhere else to stay after I get back from Montreal. I caused zero trouble while I stayed here, I paid every last cent of my bill on time, and I even refrained from redecorating their hideous room with cranberry juice to get rid of the sight and smell of it. I also look like a normal human being now: I shaved and washed my hair, and I can guarantee that my clothes are cleaner than his. I briefly consider that he might know of my twice-daily vending machine raids, but I am sure he would have evicted me if he knew. I smile as I leave, knowing I will never have to spend another night of my life in this hell hole of a hotel.
In my car, I quickly check the traffic conditions and my bank account before I leave, and I am relieved to see that the direct deposit from my YouTube ad sponsorships has been credited and cleared. I slowly drive away from the hotel, searching for the nearest gas station to fill up my nearly empty gas tank, the result of a frantic search for somewhere, anywhere, far away from Nessa and our old apartment. I spot a Qwik Stop three streets down and a familiar hunger courses through my veins; I need something to make this deep, grey emptiness go away. I only have two alternatives: smell like Krakatoa's ass, or wrap my arms up like an ancient pharaoh and hope no one notices. I decide to go with the more socially acceptable of these sins and plan to drop in at the gas station's store to buy breakfast and a pack of cheap cigarettes. Either way my parents are going to disapprove, but I am sure they would prefer a little smoke to a lot of blood.
'Besides, smoking a few cigarettes is less likely to land me in the hospital in the immediate future. The last thing I need right now is to make them start worrying about me again.' If it took five antidepressant pills to get out of bed this morning, it might take the rest of the bottle to get out of bed after a few days of cutting. 'It is still a blessing they can't see what goes on inside my head. Their nightmares might end up worse than mine. They are too good for someone as broken as me.' I stop the car and take my time getting out, cleaning out the week-old trash and preparing myself to deal face-to-face with actual people inside the store. I feel a fresh wave of gratitude for my past self's foresight as I wait for my gas tank to fill, knowing that if I had not paid cash for this car I would have no vehicle at all. Right now, there is absolutely no way I could juggle a car payment on top of everything else. 'Perhaps a little impulsivity is a good thing.'
The fuel pump clicks off and I replace the nozzle and the gas cap, both my stomach and my lungs growling for relief. I cross the parking lot and troll through the little convenience store, the clerk watching my every move as I grab a root beer, a bag of hot Cheetos, and a pre-heated breakfast sandwich to tide me over for the three hour trip. I buy a pack of wanna-be Marlboros and a good lighter, stopping outside the door to get a quick smoke in before I begin the journey home. After all, no one wants ashes and cigarette burns all through their new car, even if it is only a cheap Hyundai. I relish the smell of the smoke and hold the last breath of it as long as I can, crushing the stub out in a gaudy orange ashtray outside the storefront. I pick out my dark blue sedan from the line-up of cars and slowly walk over to it, the last whisps of smoke billowing through the cold air behind me. Three hours and two hundred fifty kilometers and I will be home eating real, fresh-cooked meals and evading fake, self-centered relatives. After this little trip, I think I might try to find somewhere else to live: I can't stand living in Montreal or Quebec City anymore.
December 12, 2010 at 3 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston
I'm a free man now. No homework, no tests, no projects, no chores, and no worries. Hakuna matata, mother fudgers! Tomorrow's the last day of school before winter break starts and we're just gonna watch movies and stuff our faces all freaking day. I have so much free time now that it's not even funny, and I'm gonna waste every single second of it and it's gonna be great. Plus, I get Friday alone at home when everyone else has school or work, so I can stay up all night and sleep in 'til four if I want to. There are so many games and so many videos and so many possibilities that I can't even fathom it right now. I decide to procrastinate a little bit on editing the footage from yesterday and I log in to YouTube the minute I get to my room to shoot the Bacca a DM. Jerome hasn't been online for a while so he should be back on soon.
"inb4 he fell asleep as soon as he got home and won't wake up before tomorrow." I snicker at the very real possibility and send him a message challenging him to some Party Games, knowing there's no way he could resist a free pass to kick some butt. I won't bother recording it because I don't need the footage, and it wouldn't be smart to post gossip about another YouTuber online where the world can see it. I don't wanna start World War III – I just need to play Twenty Questions with my main Bac. "How am I gonna do this without looking like a complete weirdo?" I could ask how he and Mitch met Rob and how they started recording together, and about why his first channel got deleted. That seems normal enough and I could get a ton of info from just my first two questions. With any luck, I won't have to ask much more and risk looking like a complete psycho stalker. In the end, I'm only doing this so I can figure out if I should be recording with him or if there's some huge backstory to the whole thing I should be aware of. This is actually a very real concern, and it wouldn't be smart to keep associating with him if it turns out something went down. The fact that Machinima dropped him and removed all of his content looks really suspicious and really bad on Rob's part.
But he seems like a good guy. What happened? While I wait for the Bacca, I start editing the footage from last night and I end up having to watch it a second time because I'm laughing too hard to actually edit. It's like a roller coaster at Six Flags – it goes from tense competition to good-humored teasing and back, and no one failed at life or offended anyone. It was fair and fun and friendly, and if he's willing to work with me again, we could both benefit from a recording partnership. He could be the Jerome to my Mitch and we could form an awesome alliance against the BenjandBac and compete with them at PVP and stuff.
"He just needs to work on his parkour. I mean seriously dude, that was awful the other day." On the other hand, he still beat Mitch by a landslide so … He's not the worst, either. "And I definitely don't wanna face him in PVP until I get some more practice in. I think I need to lay off the parkour and learn some new battle strats." I could do some off-camera practice rounds with some random people on a server, then invite Rob to join me or challenge me or whatever. Win or lose, I need to improve. In my defense, I've only been doing Minecraft for a little over five months and I'm still learning. My PVP isn't that bad, but when bows, TNT, and other projectiles come into play I'm about as useless as a Creeper in a bedrock room.
I could use some help with my lack of building skills, too. Rob isn't that great of a builder either, but at least he's creative and he has the patience to finish stuff and be content with whatever it looks like. Whenever I try to build something, I just nuke it and live in a hollowed out hill so no one can make fun of the big, square cobblestone Alcatraz I always end up with. I'll admit that I'll never be perfect at everything, but if Rob and I are gonna work together, we should both be at least decent at everything and be able to complement each other's skills.
"But how am I gonna persuade him to keep working with me?" I save my editing and go back on YouTube to fix the titles, descriptions, and thumbnails on the first two videos I recorded with Rob, hoping he somehow didn't see them before. It was a really crappy thing for me to do but I don't know what else I can do about it besides not do it again. "Should I apologize to him?" I reopen my editing software and stare blankly at the spikes in the audio. I hate apologizing to people. I'm so bad at it and it never really solves anything. It just makes you look weak and stupid, like you're admitting that you don't think the other person can get over it or something. Everyone makes mistakes and does stupid things, but if we just sat here apologizing for every little freaking thing nothing would ever get accomplished. It's better just to move on and not do it again. You shouldn't have to announce all of your mistakes into a megaphone when both people know what you did was screwed up and you change it.
But what does he think? This is where it gets fuzzy – I don't know him well enough to figure out if he's ticked off at me or if he's over it. He apologized to me for interrupting the recording but I didn't think I needed to apologize to him at the time and I didn't think it was necessary yesterday since he agreed to record with me again. This is where I always get in trouble with people: I think I know how they think, but I don't actually know how they think and I make assumptions about what they think and try to be one step ahead of them. The bad thing is, this only works in video games and it makes me look like a complete douche when I try to figure out real people. I lose my cool and I act in the moment without thinking it through all the way, which has landed me in a ton of trouble in the past. As Mom likes to remind me, I'm a typical Taurus. I sigh at the stalemate between my mind and my conscience and I fiddle with my webcam and replace its battery while I check to see if the Bacca logged on yet. No such luck.
"It doesn't make any sense to apologize to him. He seemed fine with it and he didn't say anything about it, and he even posted one of the videos. Maybe I'll DM him an apology if he doesn't post the parkour vid, but there's no point looking like a complete idiot when he doesn't even care about it."
But is he passive aggressive about this kind of thing like Mitch is? Is it a Canadian thing? I groan and put my head down on my desk so I won't have to see his Minecraft skin in the thumbnail anymore. Guilt is the worst feeling ever and I seriously don't know what to do here. I don't wanna look like an a-hole or he won't record with me, and I don't wanna look like an idiot or he won't record with me. He either won't like me or he won't take me seriously. I go back to YouTube to see if Jerome signed in yet, but he's still MIA. I guess I'll just see what I can learn from the Bacca before I make a decision. I hope Rob's cool with it because I suck at sorrys.