Chapter 25 #2
I imagine him beaming at me, like before he got sick. “You can do anything, Dakky.”
“Anything from Jackson?” Mara asks later that afternoon. It’s an hour before my stream usually starts. She raced over directly after work.
“Only this,” I tell her, showing her my phone.
His text reads,
Jack: I’ve decided I’m not doing anything until you make your move. You were right, beautiful. I refuse to be like your father. I’m not in control here. You are.
“Your response is a little cold,” Mara comments.
“Maybe,” I say, nodding. “Maybe it is. But it’s true, isn’t it?”
I wrote
Dakota: Do what you have to do. Protect your company and I’ll protect mine.
“I don’t know, hon,” Mara says quietly. “I think you care about him more than that message would indicate, honestly.”
She’s right. Her words hit me hard. But at the same time, I’ve got to be mature about this.
“I have to focus on this stream,” I say. “I can’t think about anything else.”
“Okay, but?—”
“Please don’t tell me to breathe again,” I snap.
She looks hurt. Probably because I’m being a bitch. I rush across my living room and pull her into a hug.
“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay.”
“No.” I look into her eyes. “It’s not.”
She smiles, squeezing my hand. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I need to get ahead of this,” I tell her.
“If I miss even one stream, the trolls will smell blood in the water. That’s what they want, these losers online, these lowlifes who think being with a man, choosing a man, means I’m either a whore or some silly brainwashed victim.
I need to make the world understand, I chose this, for better or for worse. ”
“Till death do you part?” Mara says, a teasing note in her voice.
I flash her a look, but she doesn’t let her smile falter. There’s something lighthearted in her gaze, like none of this is a big deal, that has me laughing hysterically. She laughs with me, asking in the chaos of it, “What are we even laughing at?”
“Nothing.” I gasp for air. “Everything?”
Once we’ve recovered, Mara helps me choose my outfit for the stream. “This is important,” I say. “If I dress too provocatively, they’ll think I want to be known for my body, not my personality and my gameplay. I mean, Mara, I’m great at the game.”
“I know, hon,” she says softly, squeezing my hand. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”
In the end, I pick a casual shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone. Not overtly provocative, but not too modest either. Mara sits beside me, but out of view of the camera, as the minutes count down to my regular stream time.
“I’m going to keep this short,” I say, attempting to slow my breathing.
“Show them you’re not intimidated,” she replies. “And remember, Dakota, you’ve got thousands of real fans, people who tune in for your humor, your house builds, your commentary on the game. Everybody else is a distraction.”
“Look at how many people are waiting for me to go live,” I say, turning the screen.
She gasps. “Whoa. Is sixty-two thousand viewers normal for a Thursday stream?”
“Not even close.” There’s a pit in my belly. “I don’t know if I can…”
On the desk, my phone vibrates. I’ve limited notifications on all my apps, only getting texts and calls. It’s Jack.
Jack: You can do this, Dakota. YOU have the control here.
A warm glow fills me. I show Mara the screen.
“See,” she says. “He gets it.”
“I think my comment really got to him. About him acting like my dad. It was cruel, though.”
“Was he acting like him?”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
She shrugs. “Maybe he needed a wakeup call. It seems like he gets it.”
I give her hand one last squeeze, then turn back to the screen, looking at my camera. I haven’t been this nervous since the first time I went live, at just twenty years old.
I click start stream and wait for the comments to flood in. I don’t have to wait long.
A tsunami of hatred pours in.
SlapMyBuns: Cock-hungry slut.
OmegaCosmos: Ugly bitch.
Primus29: Couldn’t get to the top yourself, so had to fuck your way there?
My loyal moderators ban as many as they can—each of these goes against community guidelines—but they can’t keep up. I stare in disbelief at them. So much hatred, and for what?
The chat is moving fast, comments flooding in. Some are supportive.
Ren135: We’re with you, Dakky!
OneWingedBat: We won’t judge you!
Somebody donates fifty dollars and sends a message in all caps.
TreadNorth5: WE LOVE YOU, DAKKY!
I clear my throat, sitting up straight. The words hurt. They cut. They shouldn’t—yet they do. But it’s not like I can crumble or cry, not if I want to salvage my stream. If the trolls see me upset, even for a single frame, they’ll never stop.
“Most of you have seen the news by now,” I say.
“It’s true. Jackson Cross and I are dating.
It started online, with innocent messages that turned not so innocent.
” I swallow, hating the fact they’re out there, our digital intimacy fodder for these people.
“I know some of you will never hate me for being human, with human needs. I know some of you will remember where this started, just a small stream in my mom’s basement, doing my best to be noticed, to be different.
Brick by brick, I built this channel, this brand, if I can use a gross corporate word. ”
“The chat’s turning,” Mara mutters from beside me.
She’s right. Having streamed for so long, I’m well practiced at staying focused while monitoring the chat. Hatred still pours in—it’s the internet, after all—but positive messages are coming in quicker. The mix is mind-boggling. I’m sure people weren’t designed for this.
KickinWood: We’re with you, Dakota!
Dr_Mantis_344: Die and rot in hell, slut!
Deckachek: We love you.
MyNameDoesntFI: We hate you.
SHoTGuN7776: You’re just a whore, plain and simple.
SpongeBodSquarePants: We’re ready to listen to you.
DooManiac: We support you.
ANNREN: We’re not abandoning you!
ohitsMATT: Go to Hell, trolls!
“Jack and I are simply two people who found it easier to talk to each other than we have with any other man or woman. I’m not some starstruck na?ve girl with a crush, and he’s not some predatory CEO. I know some of you want us to fit cleanly into these boxes, but we don’t. We make our own boxes.”
Mara smiles, nodding encouragingly.
“It saddens me that so many people want to see my business torn down. That’s what they’re toying with, by being so stubbornly convinced I must be X, Y, or Z.
And newsflash, X, Y, and Z don’t correspond to anything good.
It’s all ugly, vicious, and yes—I’ll say it—sexist. It’s petty, jealous, and pathetic.
For all the trolls out there, or for those petty people who think they’ve got us all figured out, let me tell you, in no uncertain terms… ”
I lean forward. On the screen, I look powerful, self-assured. If Jack’s watching, I’m sure he can see the tightness in my eyes, the anxiety tugging at my mouth. But no one else can. I look like an empress ready to start a war.
“I built this. Not him.” I jab my finger into my desk. “Not his company. Me. And no one—no matter how powerful—gets to decide what happens to my work except me.”
“End it,” Mara whispers from beside me. “Leave them wanting more.”
I click end stream, then sit back, my hands on my stomach.
“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” I murmur.
“You did it,” Mara says.
“You think so?”
“There will still be trolls, but I’m certain, Dakota. The good will outweigh the bad. And one day soon, the bad will just be a memory.”
My phone lights up. It’s Jack.
Jack: I am so proud of you.