#all of my screen recordings of the radio show are stuck on a broken laptop sadly

[endlessfuckup]

R!

Sorry this took so long haha

R - Radio Show; What is the most iconic radio show moment to you?

Oooo this is a hard one

there are so many!

Not sure if it would be considered iconic

But....I think this is definitely a moment

Edit: bonus moment ✯

[deluxewhump]

Erik's Journals pt 9 (2023)

17. An Elemental Rust

Ruin is formal — Devil's work Consecutive and slow —

May, 2023

After the weekend in Virginia, I didn’t speak to Carlo for over a month. I was busy, truly, and part of it was my instinct to let out what I had reeled in, give him space and time and see if he would bite the proverbial hook again of his own volition.

I was not at all surprised when he texted me late one Friday night in early May. I was at dinner with two new colleagues, but it was informal. They were deep in their cups and loud - ordering dessert and speaking of something that happened ten years ago with the wet nostalgia that is often brought on by a few shared bottles of wine. I didn't wait to open his text.

-Max is leaving Monday to help open a new branch for Spartan in Albuquerque, he'd written.

I wondered for a moment what this had to do with me. Then I realized opening a branch of any operation takes time.

-How long does Max expect to be in the land of enchantment?

Three dots appeared almost immediately at the bottom of the screen.

-Could be 3 months

-Are you going?

He said he wasn’t. That he had summer classes and had to take them to graduate on time. And that he had to graduate on time, because he was attending Grad school there beginning the following January. Grad school, I thought. Carlo. How time flies. 

Funny he contacted me tonight. I’d just been thinking of him, sitting on my shaded back porch with a drink this afternoon. I’d remembered so vividly the time the men had clumsily broken his finger out in the warehouse and he came to me out there on the back porch, not knowing what else to do, pale and queasy with pain. That's what he did when he was in pain. He came to me for help, but would not complain of it outright.

-And will you stay alone there?  I probed.

A rhyme came to my head, a Dr Seuss-ism my mother used to say under her breath in her later years that had never left me, like the radio announcer that used to sign off by saying “and that’s all the news from lake Wobegon.” All alone, she’d say in her faded Swedish singsong accent. Whether you like it or not, alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot!

-Yes. Carlo answered me quickly. -Or with Jude sometimes I guess.

He guessed. I smiled. He’d drown right in front of me before outright asking for a lifeline.

All alone in those big woods? I wanted to tease.

-You have a room here always, Carlo. I typed instead, getting right to the point.

-Really?

-Did you even have to ask?

-I might take you up on it, if you mean it.

-I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to take me up on it. Come see me whenever you’re ready. I’m here.

He waited until Max had been gone a week to show up at my door with a bookbag and a suitcase. I gave him a room on the same floor as mine, pine floored with scattered rugs, a queen sized bed with fresh cream linens, a writing desk, an armoire, a dresser, bedside tables with matching lamps, and its own attached half bath. I didn’t want him in his old room. Too many conflicting memories, I’d imagine. I wondered why he’d waited a week, but remembered it was Carlo. He’d wait until he was sure he was lonely up there in the hills and sit and chew on the hurt for a while until he imposed on me.

“I don’t know why you’re avoiding me,” I said on his second night as he passed my study on near silent bare feet.

He backtracked and stuck his head in the open door. “I’m not.”

“You are,” I said, closing my laptop. “Like you don’t want me to remember you’re here and be bothered by your presence. Come in, Lo.”

He came inside. He was wearing a slate gray thermal and a pair of black jeans, barefoot and messy haired, with a thin black cord necklace that disappeared below the collar of his shirt. I saw him at once as he is now, this tall young man in my study, and as he was when he was sixteen and too skinny, both longing to be in my shadow and afraid of it. His eyes drifted over the bookshelf, the record player in the corner. He ran his finger over the spines of vinals I had stacked on the table. “Have I never seen these?”

“My parents. I inherited them. Too sentimental to throw them out.”

He looked at me, gently questioning.

“My father passed this past November. My sister and her lawyers handled most of the estate. I collected a few things.”

“I’m sorry,” he said politely. He sounded like he really was.

“Thank you. When do your summer classes start?”

“Monday.”

“Anything you're excited for?"

He grimaced. “Kind of. I’m a little nervous.”

“Why?”

“The summer classes are like, three hour blocks. You sit with the same people for hours. And the classes are always smaller. It's kind of weirdly intimate. I don't know. I still don’t feel like I really belong there. Like I’m a spy, or a hack. Me and my fake credentials.”

I tilted my head at him. “They are excellent credentials. I procured them myself.”

“Yeah,” he huffed. “Not doubting your ability to create a false identity. I just mean… you know.” He shook his head, dismissing himself.

“It’s not false,” I offered. “It’s as real as anyone else’s pieces of paper. Any other number. Anyone who isn’t a complete fool has a little imposter syndrome. It’s humility. And self awareness. It’s a good thing.”

He nodded. “I guess so.”

He didn’t believe me. I wondered where he’d be if I left him alone that night, with his sloppy drunk keeper looking to make a quick profit off him. I wondered what he’d be like if he’d been born into affluent easiness, not the kind I gave him as a pet but as someone’s son.

“Hey,” I said, in a voice that got him to look at me directly still, after all this time. “You were always my very best company. You’ve always been wanted here.”

He was quiet, deciding whether or not to say something. Eventually he did.

“I have a dream sometimes where everyone at school knows what I am somehow. What I was.”

“And what happens?”

“They treat me weirdly. Of course. It’s that feeling when you walk into a room and realize everyone’s just been talking about you.”

I stood, rounding my desk and going to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. He watched me take a record out of its sleeve and place it on the track, lower the needle. Edith Piaf filled the study with her songbird French, scratchy and somehow removed in the way an old record sounds, frozen in another time.

“That’s why I kept you out of that damned trial,” I said, looking at the dusty record jacket, the list of tracks. “Only a private investigator could find out who you were, your ties to me. And are any of your fellow students in the business of hiring PI’s to stalk their classmates?”

He smiled sadly. “No, Sir. But Jude knows. And Stella Abend. And some of Max’s friends. And one of his ex-girlfriends, Elle.”

“A rather long list. Still,” I said, feeling it my duty to reassure him. “I doubt any paths will cross where it becomes common knowledge. I would say what does it matter if they do, but I understand your desire for privacy. It’s not anyone’s business.”

He lay his head on my shoulder. I reached up and placed a hand on his hair.

“I just didn’t want you to be sick of me.”

I let my smile creep into my voice. “So you admit now you were avoiding me.”

He didn’t answer.

“Lo,” I said, turning to pull him close to me. He lay his cheek on my shoulder, gave me some of his weight to hold. I held him. “I’m honored you want to be here. That you trust me like you do now.”

“I always did,” he said softly.

Either he was taking back what he’d said last fall when he’d said he’d always been a little fearful of me, or he was talking about something more general. Or perhaps faith and fear could fit in the same hand.

“Was that Martin Olsen on the phone earlier?” he asked.

“The very same.”

“He did a speech at MVU my Freshman year.”

“They’ll really let anyone have a podium for an hour,” I said dryly, aware of the poor quality of the joke. “What was he speaking about?”

He shrugged. "Can't remember. I left. I really don’t like him.”

“He's given you no reason to.”

“I always got the strong sense he wanted to fuck me. Or beat me. Both.”

I laughed at the unexpected crassness, pulled back and held his pretty vulgar face in my hands. His skin felt cool, so I knew my hands must feel warm to him. I held him only for a moment and let him go. “I never let him anywhere near you.”

“I feel bad for his pets. Does he still have pets?”

“I think so. Don’t think too hard on it. And he’s more talk than action. He gets bored of them quickly, and then it’s business as usual.”

He pouted. “I used to be afraid you’d let him borrow me.”

Why this? Why now? I knew why. Because he wanted me to sweet talk him. I took the black cord necklace out from under his shirt collar. On a delicate metal loop was a small brass pendant, like an old minted coin, hexagonal and containing something illegible on each side, some Arabesque script or hieroglyph. I put it back inside his shirt against his hot skin.

“I’d never let anyone borrow you,” I said in a hushed tone. “You were mine. For me. Forever. I’d never let anyone else hurt you.”

His eyes were low. “Anyone else?”

“I don’t deny I’ve hurt you. Sometimes it was for your own good. But I protected you, too. I’ll protect you now. You know I want you to have your freedom. You’re a good pet, but it’s a waste. You have more to give the world than that. The world has more to give you.”

“Max would not be happy if he knew I was here.”

Throwing chips on the table to land as they may, I see. In anyone else I would be annoyed at all this fishing and driving, but in Carlo it was exactly what I wanted from him. I got the sense he was only like this with me.

“He'd think you were in some kind of danger here. You and I know you’re not. You can trust your instincts, Carlo.” I brushed my knuckles against his cheek. “You’re home here, too. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“It would disappoint him,” Carlo told me. I listen to what little bits he gives me about his secretive relationship with Max. My gentle and generous talk had melted his protective caution about his other life. “He’s like a dad. But also only thirty-four. He was only five years older than I am now when I met him. I think of that sometimes. It trips me out.”

“Do you want him to be like a father to you?”

Carlo rolled his eyes. “Sometimes. Yeah. I love him. But there’s things I can’t ever make him understand. You know what things.”

“And what am I like?”

He fixed his dark eyes on mine, wondering what he could say. “You’re my master,” he said quietly, afraid of the power in those words.

“You’re not a pet,” I reminded him, though I was pleased.

“Doesn’t seem to matter. I’m still your pet. Right? Am I wrong? Is that only in my head?”

“You will always be my pet,” I told him, knowing he wanted to hear it. “You were my only. I don’t take the responsibility of that lightly. I never did.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you. For just saying it. No one will just say anything. I feel crazy sometimes.”

“No,” I said with the neat finality of authority he craved from me. “No, angel. You’re not anywhere near.”

18. Rules of Thumb

June 2023

When I returned home last night, Carlo was unmistakably sulking in my living room, and I made the mistake as to being curious why. He’d seen me get out of the car with Tatiana and put her in a cab, I soon discovered. He was more interested in a confrontation and getting a reaction out of me than hiding why he was upset. Look at me, his eyes said as they followed me, his shoulders and jaw set in the same agonized way. Don’t ignore me. 

Tatiana, or Tanya, is my current kept girl, if you’ll allow me the euphemism. I first met her when I got out of prison, needing some quick company and having few scruples about where I got it from. 

Tatiana, with her Slovenian accent as thick as her short hair, cut and curled like a doll. She’s small, five three and slender, with cheeks like apples she brushes with pastel blush, her brown eyes and brushed dark brows giving her a deceptively open, asking appearance, which she pairs with vintage coats and short dresses, ballet shoes or sometimes absurd rain boots that must be some sort of fashion statement in her mind. She only wears silver jewelry, says gold made her look too tan. She looks like somebody’s daughter, like a college girl still at twenty-six.

She cuts on-the-nose pink and bridal white ribbons and sews them onto blouses, ties them in her hair. For all her coquettish outfits, her oversized bags full of sunglasses and chapsticks and cash, her flat girlish chest that doesn’t fill out the cups of her dresses and is somehow all the more enticing for it, she has not an ounce of silliness or daydream in her. I chalk it up to being first generation, that old world melancholy that sometimes runs to pessimism. 

None the less I grew to like her, and call on her weekly now. She is easy to navigate and impossible to truly know. Her superficiality is agreeable to me. She’s sleepy but soft in bed, not trying to impress like so many others in her line of work. Something about them is hard, painted, antiseptic. Theatrical. Tanya lets me pull her tights down in the first five minutes and fuck her bent over my desk and not think a thing of it, but she also allows me into her studio apartment, lets me touch every inch of her soft pale skin and put her pink parts in my mouth until she begins to quicken, quiet and dreamy as the real thing, which makes me want to feel the honey warmth of her coming on my tongue, under my persistent fingers. 

I wanted nothing more from her than what I was already getting, exactly how I was getting it. In return I got her personal cell, and every time I texted now she answered in a hurry. I am as easy for her as she is for me. We fell into an easy symbiosis, and she was skilled enough to not allow it to become stale and transactional. 

Carlo had seen me with her, and that’s why he was out of sorts. His jealousy was mildly surprising to me, until I realized it for what it was. 

“Is she your girlfriend?” he finally blurted, following me to the coat closet and down the hall to the dark kitchen.

I pressed a glass to the fridge dispenser, smiled at the innocence of the question as I watched it fill with water. “No. Just a girl I see from time to time.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is she a prostitute ?”

“Don’t be self righteous. It’s ugly.”

He pulled his head back in sharp surprise. “She's a whore, you pay her for sex, and I’m ugly?” 

“More ugly words. Why don’t you think of your next ones carefully?” I said in warning. I realized too late that may have sounded as if I was defending Tanya in some way, instead of simply objecting to his crass outburst, which would only add to the perceived insult. 

He pinched his mouth closed as if to take my advice  but opened it again. “I’m not your property, I can say whatever I want.”

“You want to be my pet when it suits you and not when it doesn’t. Surely you see the hypocrisy in that.” 

Anger turned wounded, as it always did with him. The double edged sword. “Do you love her?”

I laughed again, I couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was my fault, for doing what I did to him. For the scar of pethood that was both noose and umbilical cord. But I hadn’t made him a pet. I had bought him as one, saved him in my own way.

Did I love her, he wanted to know? Doesn’t he know by now, how men love? Has he not been loved by enough of us, not yet loved enough himself? Men will either love you at once— immediately— or never at all, I could have told him.

“No, Carlo,” I said instead, possessed by a true and cruel point I suddenly wanted to drive home. “Just as I haven’t loved any of the others. Did you really think I was celibate all this time because I didn’t touch you?” 

His mouth went slack as he exhaled, absorbing the blow I’d just dealt. He dropped his eyes. I shouldn’t have made him feel stupid. 

“Lo,” I said, gentle and stern and with as much patience and mercy as I could summon, which was always more for Carlo than for anyone else. “You can feel any way you need to feel about that girl. But she’s just that. She’s not my pet. She’s not mine at all. You are. She doesn’t belong to me and I don’t want her to. Do you understand the difference?”

He nodded sharply, perhaps just to stop what he’d started. He didn’t resent my relations with some woman— nameless to him and until today, faceless. He was afraid. Afraid of being less than her. Of having given so much to me and it still not being enough. Of being a pet, of not being one. Second guessing his guilty pleasure of sleeping in the bed I gave him, lying to everyone he claims to love and slipping back to my house, my arms, the very place he knows he should want to leave forever, the mausoleum of all his troubles. And me, the master, the patriarch, the oppressor, the only one who can give him the absolution he starves for out in the bleak world beyond my gates.

And what do I get from all this? Pleasure, I think. Pure, unfiltered pleasure at how loosely and yet deftly I still exerted control over something I had let free. It’s sweeter when it comes back to you. When the fetters are gone and still it turns up at your doorstep craving your touch. 

“I don’t know her last name,” I told him. A lie— but a harmless one. “I don’t know what to order her in a cafe. I don’t know if she's ever broken a bone.” 

Did I imagine his left hand twitch, as if from sudden awareness of the broken finger I'd once set with my own hands? Did I see the softening of the muscles around his mouth? 

I lowered my voice to a confidential, hymnal murmur, used his own uncouth word back at him. “You are not a common whore, Carlo.” 

His eyes were shining when they lifted to mine, irises nearly as dark as his pupils but for flecks of light like unbraided copper wire. “So, just a common pet?” he asked, quiet in the voicing of it— afraid to give it power. 

“There’s never been anything common about you. Pet or citizen. I’ve known that since the moment I laid eyes on you. Have I ever let you believe anything else?”

“No,” he whispered as reflexively as if I’d tapped his knee with a rubber hammer. 

“Then don’t insult yourself with comparison.”

Next

[sweetnestor]

Stone Cold | november pt. 2

university au + platonic + romantic + angst, teamiplier + jack

sequel to: Story of Another Us | also on ao3 | previous chapter

Bella’s song choices: This Town by Niall Horan, The One that Got Away by Katy Perry

Holidays didn’t really mean anything to me. Holidays meant family time, and I didn’t have any family, not since I was eighteen. For the most part, I was over it, and mostly okay with cutting ties with my relatives. However, there was still apart of me that went downhill due to the emphasis of family time during the holidays. That, mixed with the reopened wounds of losing Mark (thanks, YTU Homecoming), created a nice little episode of depression for me to fall into.

Jack had showed me pictures of me, him, Tyler and Ethan in one of the photobooths from homecoming. I was handsy in the photos, having my arm around Jack and making kissy faces at Ethan. I didn’t remember any of it, and I would usually be mortified. But instead I just felt a crushing emptiness, a lack of emotion. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to avoid Ethan and Tyler like the plague now because of my drunk self, but I only found it strange that I couldn’t properly feel the anxiety. I would rather lay in bed than panic, and it was happening more and more as the month went on.

In fact, when I wasn’t making videos or taking Jack to school, I was just in bed. Away from the holiday hype, away from life. The only time I had energy was used up on binging Mark’s videos. Didn’t really help my mood, to be honest.

I watched him and Tyler in “the new office,” which was this white, fancy loft. Mark was gushing about finally getting the office together, having a place for all of his friends to record and hang out. He explained that Tyler had moved over here to help him schedule things and make sure he got things done. Naturally, he kept up the “I’m a douchebag and I’m completely extra” persona, putting his brand new diamond play button on display and then demanding YouTube for a new one when he broke it. I wondered why neither of them had mentioned Ethan before checking the description and seeing that the video was posted in October.

In another video, Mark’s beard was completely shaved off. It was shocking to see his naked face, but it wasn’t shocking to see him spend a good twenty seconds mocking the fans asking why he would ever do such a thing. Then he played the new app, PewDiePie’s Tuber Simulator, which I knew all about. (What do you think I did while I lied in bed all day?) Of course, Mark being even more extra, claimed to have shaved because in this game, he only had ninety nine thousand subscribers. Back when he actually did have that many subscribers, he didn’t have a beard. It was just some form of pretentious symbolism that I used to find endearing. Then he mentioned that Chica didn’t recognize him after he shaved, and it made my heart ache. If there was anything I missed more than my ex-boyfriend, it was my ex-boyfriend’s dog.

After two videos, I was plagued with tears and devastating heartbreak. As selfish as it sounded, he looked a lot happier than when he was with me. All I ever wanted for Mark was his happiness, but I didn’t think I wasn’t going be apart of it. I had let my guard down, and life came around to bite me in the ass. I didn’t have him here anymore to get through to me and my difficulties. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to find someone like that again, given how hurt I was last time. Mark was able to tear my walls down, and in the end, he was also able to break me.

My phone suddenly beeped on my nightstand. The only person who texted me these days was Jack, and that was only when I had to go pick him up. I shut my laptop and grabbed my car keys and then my phone. I was just about to speed out the door, but I properly read Jack’s message.

“Ready to go! Is it okay if we give Ethan a ride home too?”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Ethan? Sweet, little Ethan with the cute glasses, who I drunkenly hit on at homecoming? No. Never. Must avoid. Do not intervene.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll be right there,” the anxious side of me responded. I mean, I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t want him to hate me. He was cute, after all.

If I wasn’t clenching my jaw during a bout of anxiety, then it was chattering like I was cold. My hands were glued to the steering wheel as I drove to campus, and my eyes were probably bugging out of my head. I parked in front of the main office, practically frozen in my position. I felt like if I moved, bad things would happen. Why couldn’t I have crashed on the way here? Then I wouldn’t have to do this…

“Stop,” I whispered to myself right before I caught my two passengers walking over.

Jack got in the front, Ethan in the back. I took a quick glance at the latter through the rear view mirror. I also tried not to fumble on my greeting, since my voice got so shaky.

“Where is your place at, Ethan?” Jack asked. Thankfully, he knew he had to do all the talking.

“Actually,” he replied, “could you drop me off at Mark’s office?”

Oh god, the dreaded office I spent an hour crying about. Nope. What if I see Mark? What if I see Amy? Hell no, Ethan can just walk.

“Yeah, of course!” I replied. Anxiety works in stupid ways.

Jack input the address into his phone and then we were off. He quickly relaxed into his seat, probably tired from his long day, and then he reached over to turn up the volume on the radio. Of course, I didn’t say anything about my irrational insecurity of letting other people hear what music I listened to. I mean, I was fine with Jack, it was just the guy in the backseat I was worried about.

“Isn’t this the guy from One Direction?” Jack wondered, nodding to the little screen on the radio where the song and artist title was displayed.

“Yup, he’s making his own music now,” I said. “They really are going their separate ways.”

“I like this song,” Ethan spoke up.

It wasn’t until I heard him quietly singing along did I take my first internal sigh of relief. However, I held my breath when the next song came on. An instrumental from-

“Harry Potter!” Ethan exclaimed. “Nice!”

“You have no idea how often Bella listens to these soundtracks,”Jack told him.

“No way! Which movie’s your favorite, Bella?”

Easy question. I could do this. Deep breath, and, “The fifth one.”

“Mine too!”

Oh thank god.

After that song finished, another instrumental played. This one was from a video game. Like before, Ethan perked up.

“You’ve played Undertale?”

“I know it doesn’t look like it, but I play a lot of video games in my spare time,” I told him.

His next statement threw me off. “Where have you been all my life?”

I laughed nervously, my stomach flipping over. Was that petty revenge for homecoming? I was already embarrassed enough about it!

“She’s been stuck in her room playing Undertale,” Jack answered for me.

Okay, seriously? I was glad I was driving, that way I didn’t have to look at either of them.

“Y-Yeah, video games and makeup are the only things I’m good at,” I added, and that made them laugh.

“I think you told me that at homecoming,” Ethan said.

That’s right, I probably did. I probably also told him some dark shit about me, and now he was just being polite. But there was a chance that he knew. It didn’t matter what it could be, it was just the possible fact that he knew about something I didn’t like to talk about that scared me.

Thankfully, Jack kept the conversation going. He had more things to talk about with Ethan than I did. I just continued driving, torn between wanting to remember what I told him and wanting to repress it forever.

Finally, we reached the destination. Jack said goodbye to Ethan, but I barely got a word out. I didn’t even hear him leave the vehicle. My mind had gone from my drunk adventures at homecoming to the fact that I was several feet away from my ex-boyfriend, and that I didn’t have any tequila to help me cope.

Everything was so different now. Mark was off doing bigger and better things. He had a team of people helping him. As soon as his old editors/friends left, he quickly replaced them. Then, he replaced his girlfriend. I couldn’t help but wonder if all of this stuff would be happening for him, had he not broken up with me. Was I just not good enough to be apart of his new team? When did I stop being good enough for him?

“I think Ethan likes you,” said Jack, inadvertently snapping me out of my thoughts.

“I miss Mark,” I admitted.

At first, it was silent in the car. Then, Jack tried breaking the tension. “Two types of people.”

I stayed quiet as I put the car back in drive and took off down the road. Now that I had said it out loud, I could feel cold, crippling emotions rising up my throat. But I had made a promise to myself not to fall apart anymore. Mark had already left me, there was nothing that could be done about it. Why did I have to keep whining about it?

“Why would Ethan like me?” I wondered.

“‘Cause you’re great,” Jack replied. “You were really forward with him at homecoming.”

“That was drunk me. He’ll be disappointed to see that I’m nowhere near as fun or flirty while sober.”

“Hey, you’re fun. You’re flirty and cute. You just need to get more comfortable. Remember how quiet you were with me?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

I hesitated.

“Bellers,” Jack pressed, “you need more people in your life. I know it’s hard for you, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least talk to one other person.”

I was fine with just him. I didn’t want to guilt him into just being my only friend, though. I also got the feeling he was growing tired of me, and that’s why he was telling me this.

“I’ll get better one day,” I said.

~

The next day was a little difficult. Almost as soon as I woke up, the anxiety hit me. I knew why. Two words: Election Day.

Normally, I was one to talk about this and push people to vote. I mean, I did in the months leading up to this day, and I even went to vote myself early in the morning. But after that, after taking Jack to school, and after checking my Twitter feed one time, I couldn't bring myself to say or do anything more. It was like the Bella from the ranting tutorials had died and left me behind.

I had plenty of things to distract myself. Brush my teeth, do laundry, eat, take a shower… I just couldn't be bothered to do anything except stay in bed. I really did need to shower, too. I could almost smell my boob sweat and unwashed hair.

I can just do it tomorrow, I thought to myself.

Naturally, when the election results came in, I kind of wanted to die. Jack was there to talk me down and comfort me while I hysterically cried on the floor. Later on, I checked Twitter again to find some people using this event to be spiteful. Stay alive out of spite, be who you are out of spite. He wants us dead but we're not going to give him the satisfaction.

I couldn't find it in me. Jack had to talk me out of taking down my LGBTQ+ and Latina pride videos. I was ready to give up, and I probably would have had it not been for Jack telling me otherwise. It just felt hopeless.

As the days went on, I didn't feel my depression lifting very much. Of course, I told Jack I was fine, and continued giving him rides to campus. More often than not, when I came to pick him up, Ethan was with him. I made more trips to Mark's office than I would have liked, but Ethan was very sweet and I didn't exactly want to stop seeing him. I just couldn’t pluck up the courage to meet up with him outside of my car.

“Onward my Baller!” Jack called like it was nothing.

Ethan giggled from the backseat. “Baller…”

“Bella, Baller, Bellers, Tiny Nervous Ball,” Jack added. “She has the best nicknames.”

I managed to crack a smile. Tiny Nervous Ball was a new one.

The car ride was generally quiet. I wasn't in the mood to start a conversation. I only kept my music playing softly in the background.  Katy Perry’s The One that Got Away didn't feel very comforting, though.

“Hey, Jack,” Ethan spoke after a while, “where do you get your hair done? I need to redye mine soon.”

“Oh, Bella does it for me while I'm here,” he replied.

“You do hair?”

I wanted to groan out loud and whine that I didn't want to talk! Just leave me alone! Let me wallow in peace! Stop being cute! Stop making me soft!

Jack answered for me. “She's incredible! She styles hair, cuts, colors. We made a video together where she dyed my hair!”

“No way! That's cool!” Ethan exclaimed.

Oh god. I felt it coming out my throat, I couldn't stop myself. This was only going to go one of two ways.

“If you want, I could do your hair for you,” I offered. “That way you don't have to search around for a stylist who'll charge you a ridiculous amount.”

“You'd do that?” Ethan asked.

Even Jack was giving me a surprised look. Oh honey, I know.

“If you want, it’s up to you,” I told him with a shrug.

“I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know.” I heard a smile in his voice. Or I was just reading far too into it. Did this mean he was definitely going to talk to me again? Or was that a very gentle rejection?

“You won’t find anything better than Bella,” Jack added, making me blush.

“Yeah, I’ve got a feeling.”

As much as I liked cute guys and cute girls saying nice things about me, I didn’t understand why. Why me? What did I do to deserve praise? More importantly, why did it have to be someone who works for my ex? Of all people! It felt like I couldn’t get away from Mark, even when I tried to move on.

~

It went on like this for a while: a sad haze clouded my mind, and it was getting harder to contain it. I tried to pinpoint the emotions towards Mark, but it didn’t really connect. I tried to link it to the election, and that didn’t feel right either. I felt like I was trying to keep myself together with tape that was losing its stickiness.

I continued with my routine: waking up around seven, taking Jack to class, then going back home and waiting to go pick him up. Eating or personal hygiene were optional. The only time I didn’t feel as sad was when I talked to Jack and Ethan. But even then, it wasn’t fulfilling enough. I still felt empty. I still felt like nothing.

My followers wanted me to say something inspiring and empowering following the election. I did eventually tweet out something mildly motivational about being proud of my Mexican-ness and queerness, because that was the only thing that still had some truth to it. Sure, I was a piece of shit stuck in a rut, but I was still bisexual and Mexican, and those weren’t bad things.

I couldn’t even find it in me to rant in a makeup tutorial. I wasn’t sure what I could say that didn’t sound hopeless. Why should I give advice or be empowering when I couldn’t do it on my own? Why should I pretend like I wasn’t crying on the floor of my living room?

Jack made attempts to pull me out of this funk. Usually it was just us going to the movies (happened only once - turns out I get panic attacks in dark, crowded rooms), or playing Mario Kart on the couch. Aside from the movies, playing games did help a little bit.

“Got any Thanksgiving plans?” he asked during one of the races.

“Nope,” I replied. “Not since I was twenty.”

“What about Christmas?”

“Not since I was eighteen.”

The game suddenly paused. I nearly jumped, having been so focused on the race. I turned to Jack, who was giving me a look.

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “It’s not a big deal! I don’t care about Christmas or Thanksgiving or anything! I’m… mostly at peace with it…”

“And you never…” he trailed off. “Or, your family hasn’t tried to contact you?”

“Nope. And that’s fine. They can’t accept me for who I am, so why bother?”

“Well, yeah. I understand that. But… they’re still your family. They’re your blood.”

I’ve heard that plenty of times. Usually, I’d grow irritated at the people who would tell me to stick by the people who raised me and gave me life. But this was Jack, so I figured I could go easy on him.

“Biologically, yes,” I told him patiently. “But that’s it. If they believed that being of the same blood meant anything, then they would still be in my life. But I don’t feel obligated to go back to them just because I’m related to them. Family is the people you choose to surround yourself with who love you unconditionally. And as of this year, you’re my only family.”

Jack nodded. “Well, in that case, we’re definitely having a family dinner for Thanksgiving.”

We decided to cook, which meant grocery shopping had to happen. The fridge had been practically empty since Halloween, so after dropping him off at YTU on the week of the dreaded holiday, I plucked up the courage to stop at WalMart. It was an early Tuesday morning, surely there wouldn’t be many people. After sitting on the car for ten minutes, I got out and grabbed a cart.

I sighed in relief when I found the store lacking in shoppers. It got easier as I walked around and grabbed the things I needed. I couldn’t remember the last time I went grocery shopping before Jack came along. Usually, I stuck with the corner store at the end of my street or McDonald’s. But for the things we had planned for Thanksgiving, I had to make the extra trip.

Naturally, after gathering all the food items (plus some extra sweet snacks for Jack’s late night cravings), I made my way to the cosmetics department. I decided to treat myself, since going to a public place was so stressful. This was going to be my reward for accomplishing this alone.

I was setting myself up for cosmetics. I was getting more excited the closer I got. However, I slowed my tracks when I saw a spot of blue from the corner of my eye. Then, I stopped and took a step back, glancing in the hair care aisle. As soon as I mentally confirmed that it was in fact, Ethan, I dashed forward to the makeup.

From there, I tried to get my mind off of it. I distracted myself with pretty nail polish colors and poor quality eyeshadow palettes. I started throwing different forms of false eyelashes into my cart, along with press on nails, maybe a mascara or two. Looks like this week’s video is going to be a haul.

A male voice called my name, but it wasn’t the voice I had been anticipating. I turned and saw Tyler standing at the end of the aisle. I screamed internally, half wanting to run, and half hoping to god I wouldn’t say something stupid.

“Hi,” I greeted, pushing my cart over to where he was.

“What brings you here?” he asked, smiling. “I thought you had classes at YTU?”

“Oh no, I took the semester off,” I replied. “I’m just, uh, shopping for Thanksgiving.”

“Cooking for your family?”

Ugh.

“Just me and Jack, actually. I feel like a single mother, taking him to school, feeding him, y’know?” I joked, trying to avoid the family stuff.

Tyler laughed. “Yeah, I definitely know. I live with, uh-” He was cut off by Ethan coming around the corner, nearly bumping into him.

“Ahh, sorry!” he said, before landing his eyes on me. “Hi, Bella!”

“Hi,” I greeted, smiling while tightening my grip on my cart. “I-I, uh, thought you’d be i-in class or something?”

“Oh, no. I go in later in the afternoon,” he said. “What about you? Got any classes?”

I shook my head. Speaking was very hard all of a sudden. “Took the… took the semester off.” Please don’t ever ask why. I never came up with a decent excuse.

“Oh, okay. Hey, I’m actually glad I ran into you,” Ethan said. “You said you’d be able to dye my hair? Does that offer still stand?”

A sudden burst of… something, surged in my chest. So he hadn’t rejected me before?

“Yeah, of course.” Ah, shit. “Whenever you’re available.”

“Wait,” Tyler said all of a sudden. “I’m sorry, Bella, I don’t mean to sound rude or disrespectful, but uh…” He turned to Ethan. “Do you think Mark would be okay with… this?” He gestured between me and his friend.

I rolled my eyes. Normally I’d agree and get plagued with paranoia and guilt. Given how Mark reacted when he realized just how close Jack and I had reacted, I was a little weary. But mostly, I felt a little spiteful.

“Mark can mind his own business,” I said pointedly.

“She’s not wrong,” Ethan added, letting out a nervous laugh.

~

Thanksgiving was about as exciting as it could be when you’ve lived my life. Jack and I made enchiladas, since it was different from what we normally had, and it was the only thing I knew how to make. It was like any other night, except we decided to eat at the dining table instead of the couch. Oh, and my Twitter feed was flooded with people talking about how much they loved their families. Good for them, I guess.

I usually never tweeted anything regarding the holidays. I never spoke of my lack of festivity, even though I was frequently asked about it. This year, since I publicly talked about my family situation, I figured people would be able to put two and two together. I was sad enough already, I didn’t want to have to explain it again.

“So uh,” Jack said after we finished eating. “Mark invited me to have dinner at his house.”

My heart sank at the sound of his name. Figured he would try to take back the friend I stole from him sooner or later.

“Oh,” I said, continuing to scroll on my phone to dull the feelings.

There was a tense pause. “I don’t think I’m gonna go.”

“How come?” I asked, anxiously pulling up Instagram.

“Because we’re having our Thanksgiving.”

I smiled. Sure it was just a small dinner, but it was better than being alone. But I still felt a pang of guilt. “I mean, if you really wanna go, no one’s stopping you.”

“Nah, he’s got plenty of people. He doesn’t need me.”

I could tell that that wasn’t the real reason, and I would have pressed the subject had it not been for the photo I saw on my feed. Apparently, I must have followed Ethan on Instagram while I was drunk at homecoming, because firstly, I was surprised to see him pop up. Secondly, the picture he posted was of himself, Tyler, Amy, Mark and Chica sat on a couch in what looked like that fancy white office of theirs. “Spent Thanksgiving with these lovely folks!” the caption read. They looked happy, despite the silly faces they were making.

Maybe Mark was treating the team better than his last editors. They seemed happy in their last livestream. Mark was gushing in his last vlog about how happy was to go and meet fans at the park and make videos with them. I couldn’t help but feel selfish. Why couldn’t I have been apart of that happiness? Why wasn’t I good enough? What about Amy made him want to drop me and immediately start going out with her?

That’s kind of obvious you dipshit, a stupid voice in my head said.

“Let’s take a selfie, Baller,” Jack said, taking me out of my sad string of thoughts like always.

I nodded and moved closer to him. I put on my best smile as he snapped a few photos. Thank god I decided to put on makeup to mask my sadness today. At least I had that to feel thankful for.

“Beautiful,” he said after. “These are going on Instagram.”

I chuckled. “People are definitely going to think we’re dating.”

“When do they not think we’re dating?”

“Excellent point. Jackella five-ever.”

He laughed. “Oh, I wanna put that in the caption but I don’t wanna come off like I’m being mean.”

“I’ll do it then. Send me one of the pictures.”

As predicted, our Instagram comments had a bit of speculation. I was good at ignoring it most times, but given the holiday today, my patience was wearing thin.

“Septiishu broke up and then Jack moves in with Bella??? Coincidence???” Yes, it is.

“Bella definitely cheated on Mark, it only makes sense!” No it doesn’t.

“She has like a million personality disorders, so she probably cheated out of self destruction!” Okay, that’s a little too far.

I didn’t want to publicly address anything. But now I was left with no choice.

@bellasanti: A reluctant/unnecessary thread: no, I never cheated on Mark. Nobody cheated on anybody.

@bellasanti: I think it’s funny how he’s the one going out and about with someone new (right after dumping me lol), yet i’m apparently the cheater lmao

@bellasanti: as for Jack, he’s my roommate and also my friend. Please stop trying to find deeper meaning than that.

@bellasanti: yes, we both happen to be in similar personal situations. It’s all a coincidence, I can promise you that.

@bellasanti: Today, I saw someone speculate on my mental health and why it supposedly played a role in my breakup. That’s going too far, and I’d appreciate if yall didn’t do that lol

@bellasanti: maybe I don’t want to talk about everything that’s wrong with my head. Doesn’t give anyone the right to treat it as a “mystery” or to “theorize” about it.

@bellasanti: that’s all. Have a lovely day lmao

Needless to say, I had to delete those later on.

~

“You sure you don’t want me to pick you up?” I asked Jack the next afternoon as I parked in front of YTU.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied as he grabbed his backpack from the floor of the car. “If I finish recording early, then I can take the bus. Don’t worry about me, just have fun with Ethan.” He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks went red. “All I’m doing is dying his hair, he’ll probably be bored!”

Jack chuckled. “Trust me, he won’t be bored. He went looking for you at homecoming. I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

“Ohmigod, shut up!” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, even if it was true.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be home in a couple of hours. If you feel panicky, then call me.”

I nodded as I watched him get out of the car. He waved goodbye before shutting the door. I almost expected to see Ethan coming, but then I remembered he didn’t have classes on Fridays. Plus, it was still Thanksgiving break, so there weren’t any classes in session anyway.

For a moment, I sat there in silence, my hands on the steering wheel. Then I imagined stepping on the gas and crashing into the side of the main office building. I also thought about voluntarily banging my head against the wheel until I bled profusely.

“Shut up,” I whispered before putting the car back in drive and heading back to my place.

I didn’t want to keep Ethan waiting when he got here, so I got everything prepared in the meantime. I threw a plastic cover on the floor to protect the carpet, and then moved on of the chairs from the dining table over on top. I covered the chair with a plastic trash bag and the seat with a towel. After that, I rushed to the bathroom to 1) grab the dye, bleach, and mixing bowl and 2) lean over the toilet because the nerves were upsetting my stomach. That was when I decided I wasn’t going to survive this on my own, so after putting the hair stuff in the living room, I went to my bedside drawer in my room.

“Hello Xanax my old friend,” I sang, pulling out the orange bottle. I hated having to take it, but it was necessary.

Once I had it down, I heard a knock on the door. Just on time.

The boy was wearing his glasses when I answered the door. It rang a bell to that night at homecoming. He was also wearing an orange jacket over a black t-shirt, which stood out to me for some reason. Maybe it was the fact that he’s got a cute face… ugh.

“Hey! Come in!” I greeted.

“Hey! Thanks for doing this,” he told me, stepping into the apartment. He looked around at the space, and then I felt like I should have cleaned up some more. He was judging my living space. What if he reported back to Mark what I slob I’ve become over time?

“Yeah, no problem,” I replied, praying for the Xanax to kick in. “Come, sit!”

I led him over to the chair in the living room, where he sat down. At least now I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I could do this.

After wrapping a towel around his front, I ran my fingers through Ethan’s hair. Listen, I know that was supposed to give me butterflies or make me blush, but I was a woman of hair care and beauty. I was noticing how much of his roots were showing, not to mention how dead and dry his ends were. I felt like I was being tested at cosmo school again, and I had to give him the right treatment.

“Can I, like, trim your hair after?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t pushing too far. “Just to get rid of some of the dryness?”

“Um, yeah. You know how to cut hair too, right?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

My tiny shred of confidence was enough for Ethan to approve. With that, I put on my gloves and began the procedure. Doing this type of thing was calming. Or maybe it was just the Xanax doing its job.

“Have you ever worked in a salon or something?” Ethan asked me after a while.

“Yup. It was my first job, actually,” I said, brushing the bleach over his roots. “I, uh, worked for this really nice lady. She gave me the head start on everything beauty related.”

“Huh, that’s cool.”

It was quick to get all the bleach in the right places. Next thing to do was play the waiting game. I placed a shower cap over Ethan’s head, and then removed my gloves.

“Okay, so,” I said, wanting to be a decent host/hairdresser, “it’s gonna be a while for the bleach to kick in, so you wanna play some Mario Kart to kill the time?”

Ethan’s face perked up, like he wasn’t expecting that. “Yeah!”

I set up the consel and gave him a controller. Soon enough, Baby Peach was kicking Toad’s ass. I was far more relaxed now that I was doing things I enjoyed, and that Ethan was having a good time.

“How are you so good at this?” he wondered after the fourth race.

“I have more free time than I like to admit,”I said, giggling at his frustration.

“Do you play Overwatch?”

“Hell yeah. I suck at it, but still.”

He smiled. “Me too!”

We kept talking. I hoped to god I was actually entertaining enough and that he wasn’t just being polite. I didn’t want him to get tired of me. I actually liked the time I had with him.

Eventually, it was time to rinse off the bleach and hope I didn’t damage his hair too much. If I didn’t have a sink low enough to wash his hair in, I wouldn’t have done this. However, the sink was in Jack’s bathroom, and all I could think about was what I had done in here only four months ago. I knew this routine well enough to get it overwith quickly, so I didn’t fall into a deep pit of fogginess and panic. After that was done, it was back into the living room for the blue dye.

“So… are you liking LA so far?” I asked, wanting to take my mind off my suicide attempt and wanting to keep talking to Ethan.

“I haven’t seen much of it, actually,” he said. “Well, I’ve been to this one park a few times with Mark and Tyler. But that was to make some videos, so I didn’t see much of that either.”

“Oh okay.” Right. How did I forget he works for Mark? How did I forget he’s friends with Mark, and probably Amy too? “I have a dumb question. Or, two actually.” Don’t do it Bella.

“What is it?”

“Is he treating you happier?” Nope. Two questions in one. At the same time. Well, now I have to call it quits. I’ll never be able to talk to Ethan again. I had one goddamn chance.

“Um, what?”

I took a deep breath. Thank god I was standing behind him so I couldn’t see the look on his face. He probably thought I was an idiot.

“I mean, is Mark being nice to you?” I asked sheepishly, my cheeks heating up.

“Oh, well yeah. He’s great. He’s a good friend and a good boss,” Ethan said. “Why do you ask?”

Word fumble. “Uh, it’s just… I-I saw, uh, the way he treated his last editors and like, I know he’s owned up to it now… I, uh, just wanted to s-see if anything’s changed with him. That’s all. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s a valid question. Are, uh, you guys still friends?”

No more falling apart. “No. It’s probably for the best. Judging by his vlogs, he seems a lot happier.”

Ethan was quiet for a second, the mood changing completely. “Must’ve been rough.”

Before I could try to change the subject, I heard my phone ring on the dining table. I would have ignored it if it didn’t continuously ring with notifications. I swiftly apologized to Ethan as I put down my mixing bowl and took off my gloves. I grabbed my phone, thinking it was Jack asking for a ride home. But my stomach sank when I found a Twitter DM from fucking Mark.

“Seriously??” Sent with screenshots of my angry thread that was now deleted. Of course, it was bound to get to him.

He sent another message. “Listen, I understand you’re angry. Be as angry as you want, yell at me whenever you feel like it. But please, do not involve my fans or yours in this anymore. It’s not a public matter anymore. I know you don’t deserve to be accused of something you didn’t do, but the only thing we can do is look past the bad things. We can’t stop anyone from starting rumors. Again, I’m really sorry about everything, and if you ever want to talk it out with me, you know where to reach me.”

I twisted my neck from side to side, making the bones pop. My blood was boiling, even though he was kind of right. There was a string of things I could have said to him, most of them involving Spanish swear words. But what response did I go with?

“K.”

_______

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