40. Chapter 38
Emery
“Urgh.” I drop my head onto my open textbook. “I think my brain is fried.”
While my room is empty, my virtual room is filled with over fifty people right now. The gifts have been flowing in for the last hour, just like the day before, but I’m only interested in one of my viewers.
Turning my head on my textbook pillow, I watch the feed on my phone. It’s weird to see a mirror of myself, but with the chat flowing over the video feed, it is somewhat easy to ignore.
When I don’t immediately see a comment from EyesOnYou, I reach out and scroll up the chat to see if I missed anything, but nope. No messages since his first hello. I click on the viewers icon and scroll through the list of active watchers, and he is still there, watching.
It is so weird to think these people watching me study and take notes, do an assignment, whatever, they could be anywhere around the world. Absolutely crazy, if you ask me. Why would anyone want to watch me study? Yucking someone else’s yum isn’t my thing, but I don’t understand this one.
I click out of that menu and figure an hour is enough. My brain is toast, and I’m reclaiming my spot on the couch tonight, regardless of who is out in the main living area or what they might be doing.
“Okay, I’m going to log off for the night. I hope you have a great evening,” I say with an overly bright smile, like I actually give two fucks about all these people, wave, and then hit the End Live button. It takes a few seconds before my screen swaps over to my dashboard.
My eyebrows whizz up into my hairline when I see how much I made in gifts tonight. Just over a thousand SugarLife dollars. Damn.
My phone vibrates with a SugarLife notification, and I click on the banner at the top of the screen, which takes me to my messages.
EyesOnYou: How did it go with your homework? Did you get it all done?
I bite my bottom lip. How honest should I be here?
Like, should I tell him that about what happened to me last week?
That I was in the hospital? In the past, I’ve said whatever was needed to keep myself as safe as possible, even if my choices were limited and shitty.
Safety and survival were my main concerns.
I’m safe and mostly thriving right now, so my answer can be whatever I want it to be.
Maybe I could be truthful with this internet stranger.
Not like, fully transparent or whatever, but maybe more like someone I can talk to about things.
A safe space. And besides, it’s not like I’ll ever meet them in person.
Releasing my lip from between my teeth, I let my thumbs fly over the screen, typing out whatever they like.
Me: It was fine. I’m mostly playing catch-up because I had to take last week off for medical reasons. I’m fine now, just a bit behind.
I chew the skin next to my nail on my index finger while I wait for a reply, which isn’t actually all that long. Several messages from other accounts come through, but I swipe all those notifications away, uninterested in talking to anyone else.
EyesOnYou: I’m happy to hear you are fine now. Is there anything you need?
Me: No, I’m good, thank you. It’s just a wrist thing now. I saw my doctor today, and she said it’s healing well. Only need to wear my brace for the rest of this week.
EyesOnYou: I did notice the brace. It’s good to hear that it is healing well. Do you have any more follow-ups for it?
I pause before I respond, a little alarm going off in my head. Is it odd that they want to know so much about my wrist? Or is this a way to form some sort of connection?
Is there really any harm in sharing the information? If I’m being honest with myself, a part of me wanted to word vomit all over Derek in the car and tell him everything Dr. Everett told me. To make sure someone other than myself was looking after me.
To know that someone else cares.
But I kept my mouth shut and didn’t spill a single word. He already had the opportunity to be in my life, to have unrestrained access to everything about me. But he violated the one boundary I’d given him. My one rule.
So, his all-access pass has been revoked.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down, realizing I must have zoned out thinking about Derek.
EyesOnYou: Don’t feel that you need to answer if that is too personal a question. I am interested in knowing anything you would like to share, but there is no requirement to share anything. Simply watching you while you complete your schoolwork is enough for me.
I bite my lip. I really want to share with someone. Oakley is back in the dorm now, but she came home during my live stream, and so did Xavier. So, if I go out there and tell her about my wrist, he’ll get the details whether I want him to or not. Which means so will Derek and the others.
EyeOnYou, it is.
Me: No, it’s okay. Sorry, I got distracted for a second there. I have a referral for physio. I have some time between classes tomorrow to make a call to book it. Hopefully the wait isn’t too long.
EyesOnYou: Maybe two weeks or so would be my estimate.
EyesOnYou: I’m glad you are following the doctor’s orders. It shows that you are responsible and capable of looking after yourself.
My throat tightens as I read their last message.
All I’ve ever done is look after myself.
Me: I like to think so *smiley face* I actually have to go now. My roommate is back, and we made plans to hang out together tonight.
A tiny white lie, but I’m done chatting for tonight. And because I apparently have no self-control, I send one more message.
Me: Same time tomorrow night?
EyesOnYou: Yes, that works for me. See you then x
I lock my phone and flop back flat on my bed, allowing myself exactly twenty seconds of whatever this waffly, buzzy, but exhausted feeling is to flutter around my body.
Then I shove upright, close my laptop, and put both it and the textbook on my desk next to the white box with the polka dot ribbon, plug it in to charge, and scoop up my phone before heading out to the living area.
As expected, Oakley is home, but she must be in her room and on one of her calls, which means I’m confronting Xavier solo. All I can see is the back of his curly, sandy brown hair from his spot on the couch. The TV has hockey playing on it with barely any volume.
Fine. I can do this.
But first, a detour.
With all the confidence I’m able to drag from the bottom of my soul, I all but stomp into the kitchen, grab a tub of cookies-and-cream ice cream from the freezer and a spoon, then head toward the couch.
Without a word or even a glance in his direction, I plonk my ass down on my usual cushion in the corner of the couch, snatch up the remote, change the channel, increase the volume, then pop the top on the ice cream before settling back into the couch.
Like the universe is rewarding me for my bravery or some shit, my favorite reality show is just starting, and it’s an episode I’ve never seen before, which, yay.
The dark shadow next to me doesn’t shift, at all. He merely continues to work on the laptop balanced on his legs, socked feet crossed on the coffee table, and with those stupidly adorable nerdy little glasses.
Just a lampshade.