September 9, 2012 at 5 AM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

When Preston said he had met a girl, he wasn't joking. I guess some deluded part of me was hoping that he was kidding around and trying to get Mat to stop being a smartass. I didn't think much of it at the time and I shouldn't be thinking about it now, but I can't make myself stop. The thought of him being with her really irks me, like he just walked up and slapped me in the face so he could make her laugh. It hurts like hell to see him smiling with his arm around her, and to see all of the favorites, retweets, and comments on their first photo together. She seems nice and they look happy together, but something keeps telling me that she'll never really love him; I have enough experience with that to last a lifetime. Out of everyone I know, Preston is the one who deserves this happiness the most, so why would I wish that happiness away from him? Why do I wish that he had never met her? It was such a stupid coincidence, him walking into the coffee shop at the same time as her, and him not having his headphones in for once so he could hear her drop her phone. How could everything have worked out so perfectly for her? On the other hand, we all know that long-distance relationships don't last, especially ones with someone you randomly met at a coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon. They barely know each other.

I have no right to be angry or bitter about this, and jealousy isn't becoming on anyone. The fact that I'm envious of her at all is just pathetic. I knew that I never had a chance with him and we would never work out. I need to let this go before it eats me alive and makes me even more soulless than I already am. Preston is my best friend and he will never want us to be anything more than that, regardless of what happens with this Hannah girl. He's even willing to pay to fly up to Canada to see her every few months, even though he has never flown up to see me or any of his other friends after we have known him for two years. Knowing Preston the hopeless romantic, he'll end up marrying her in a year or two and he'll ask me to be his best man, unwittingly adding insult to injury. If he asked me... I don't know if I could do it. As hard as I try not to feel anything for him, all I've managed to do is make the problem worse. I can't deny it: I love him. I love him, and the only thing in the world that I want is for him to love me back, but now she 's taken away any chance I ever had of that happening. Maybe him finding her was for the best because it will keep me from doing something stupid. I would be better off suffering in silence than trying to push myself on him.

'What makes you think that he would want you in the first place? You saw how he reacted with Mat – he screamed and ran away.'

'Mat was teasing him and he lost his temper. How else was he supposed to react?'

'Well, the truth would have been a good start.' I sigh and scroll through his Twitter feed, refreshing to see if he tweeted anything new, but he hasn't. He's been spending much less time on his phone and Twitter since he met her, and even our Skype calls are shorter than they used to be; he leaves shortly after we finish recording. I know he has someone else he's recording with and he has his new girlfriend to talk to, but why is he ignoring me like this? This is the first time since we met that we have gone more than three days without talking to each other. I would be perfectly happy if our friendship went back to how it was a month ago, even if he had Hannah the Heartthrob on the other line. 'I just want my best friend back.'

'Who am I kidding? He was never just my best friend. I had feelings for him from the very beginning, even before we officially started working together. Why do I always have to be such an idiot?'

'Isn't that what Dar asked when he was thirteen, when Mom grounded him for the first time in his life? At least someone was honest enough to point out the truth.'

'Everything negative about me was Darryl's 'truth.' If Preston and I drift apart like Dar and I did, will he always come back to haunt me, too?' The thought of losing Preston rips my heart apart, as if him disappearing from my life one day would be the same thing as him dying. I would actually mourn if I never saw him again.

'He would be much better off if he walked away, especially now that you have nothing left to offer him. You barely have more subscribers than him now and he actually makes more money than you do. You have nothing left that he wants; all you can do is bring him down and stress him out. If he turned around and walked away, you would be the one dying, not him.'

'He wouldn't just leave, would he? He wouldn't just use me and throw me aside when there was nothing left to take. The hacker situation proved that to all of us.'

'That was before Nooch cut open your chest and rubbed your feelings in Preston's face like wet dog shit. Why would he want to spend unnecessary time with you after two days of putting up with that? Every conversation you have with him is awkward, even during recordings. Why would he go looking for drama when he could avoid you and not have to deal with it at all?'

'Is he trying to avoid me, or is he just too busy to spend as much time with me as he used to?'

'Why not both? Why spend time with you when he could spend time with someone he actually likes?' I sigh and glance over at the clock and see that it's 5:51 AM. I pull my phone out and put it on my desk in front of my keyboard, waiting for Dad to call me before he goes to work. I need to put on a show long enough to make it through the phone call, then I can text Mom, take my pills, and crash until it gets dark out again. My life has become very simple since I flew back home from PAX: I record and edit videos, and I sleep. Nothing else matters anymore. I suppose that's a good thing; I don't have to worry about not having money for food when I'm not even hungry.

'We were so close... but now we're so far apart. What did I do to make him push me away like this?' I look back at my monitors and watch another small hoard of zombies stumble toward me in the cobblestone hallway of the EXP grinder, not even blinking when they tumble off of the ledge and into the block of lava below, one by one until all of them have disappeared.

'If only it was that easy. If only I was that brave.' I look down at my arms and examine the flawed, intersecting lines on my skin that I have to wear every day like a scarlet letter, the marks now a permanent reminder of my repeated failures. The second line down from my wrist on my right arm is still crooked even after all of the times I have tried to fix it.

'As usual, Rob-a-Dob-Flob can't even have one job.' I have cut into that spot so many times that I can't even feel the pain anymore. Maybe if this low drops a little lower, I can convince myself to try to fix it again. No one would notice such a small cut, even if the scar tissue thickened again. It would only be two or three centimeters long and it would be healed by the time I had face-to-face contact with anyone who knew about the problem. However, that would mean going to the store to buy paper stitches, rubbing alcohol, and bandages, and I don't even have the energy to go downstairs to get the mail in the lobby of my apartment building. It would be pointless to try to fix a broken vase without any glue.

'Why can't I snap out of this? As awful as it is to admit it, I've been jealous of other people's partners before, but it's never affected me or hurt me this much. I have to let him go. He would be happier with her.'

'You mean he would be 'happy' with her. He could only be miserable with you. Look at yourself – you can't even make yourself happy. Like Mom used to say: you have to love yourself before you can love someone else. You can't even stand looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror.' I check the time again and see that it is now 5:56 AM. Time drags by so slowly when you have nothing to look forward to. All I have coming up is the family get-togethers around the holidays that I doubt I will attend, and PAX South in March if I can even afford to go. Hopefully Mitch can put his new business plans into action before I end up out on the streets again, or worse, on Mom's couch.

'No one deserves to have to put up with my shit. They do so much for me already, and I give them nothing in return. I am a twenty-seven-year-old child, making messes everywhere and throwing temper tantrums. Even my friends have to babysit me.' I watch a zombie with an enchanted chainmail chestplate amble toward me, oblivious to the lava void below. It falls, its green, pixelated head moving upward to stare morbidly at me as it falls. I watch it hit the boiling lava and I imagine the soft hissing noise its body would make while it grunted, its health slowly ticking away as it sunk into the chamber below, waiting for me to climb down the ladder to slaughter it and its accomplices. Just as the poor monster disappears into the holding pit under the lava, my phone vibrates and Dad's typical troll face pops up on the screen. I let it ring a couple of times while I collect myself and force myself to smile, then I answer it.

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September 10, 2012 at 4 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston

Talk about a boring day. I open up Skype to see if anyone's online to record with or even just talk to. It looks like everyone's still got their lazy butts in bed. Well, not everyone. I know Mitch, Jerome, and Nooch are supposed to be in class right now and Hannah's at work, so I can't talk to any of them. Kenny's just lazy and he's definitely still in bed. I don't know Vikk well enough to bug him like that. And Vince sleeps in the afternoons because he works the night shift stocking stuff at some video game store in California. I scan the rest of my list and... Wait, Rob isn't on my first page of contacts anymore.

"When did that happen?" I scroll to see if he's even in my contacts at all, and he's like a third of the way down the second page under Caleb and Landon's avatars. How long's it been since I talked to him? I click on his profile page and check the call records. Our last call was on the fifth. We haven't seen or talked to each other in five days now. I check my sticky notes for recording times and we don't have any time scheduled to record together, not even next week. I look back up at the PAX group photo of everyone he has as his avatar and I hesitate for a few seconds before I click on it to call him. This is gonna be all kinds of awkward but I can't ignore him forever. I wait and wait and wait for him to pick up, but the call eventually cancels itself. He's usually awake by now and he's always online all day so he can hear it go off, so why didn't he pick up? Is he mad at me? I dig my phone outta my pocket and check our texts – nothing since the fourth, and that was just him saying goodbye when I went to make myself dinner. I open a new message and start typing:

Me: Knock knock, anyone home?

I go check Twitter and Facebook and the comments on my YouTube channels, and it's almost five o'clock when I look at my phone again. He still hasn't answered. He's always awake by now, so what's going on? I check his accounts real quick and he's been uploading videos but that's about it. The last non-video-related post was from the day after PAX when he got back home and the only tweets he replied to were about when videos would be uploaded. It's like Rob disappeared but MrWoofless is still here. What the fudge is going on? I try to Skype him again but there's still no answer. I try calling his cell phone and it just goes straight to voicemail without ringing. I call his house phone and it rings and rings and rings...

"Come on, dude. Pick up the freakin' phone. Please pick up." It just keeps ringing and every ring makes it harder and harder to breathe. Where is he? Is he home? Is he okay? When was the last time he talked to anyone? Was I the last person he talked to? When did he record today's videos and how long have they been scheduled? Did he hurt himself again? Is he in the hospital? Is he dead?

That just stops me right in my tracks and I hang up the phone when the call finally goes to his answering machine. Is Rob dead? Was he having problems again and I didn't even know about it? I should've known, I should've been there to talk to him about it and help him. What kind of friend am I, forgetting to talk to him for days on end? That's just it: a friend wouldn't do that. Are we still friends? He didn't try to talk to me, either. So he really is mad at me. Well, if he's still okay and he isn't dead or MIA or something, there had to be something I can do to patch things up with him. Was it something I did?

"Of course it was! How stupid can you be?" He's mad about how I acted at PAX after Nooch started trying to play wedding planner. I know it wasn't his fault and he tried to tell Nooch to stop, but the whole thing just really, really pissed me off and I ignored both of them for most of the rest of the trip. I was still mad at them when I got home and I guess I spaced out asking Rob to record again after we did that Battledome with the BenjandBac, Nooch, and that Vikkstar guy. And since he wasn't on my calendar... I forgot to call him. I literally forgot that my best friend existed. Can I do anything but screw things up?

But what if he really is dead? What if he took a knife and started cutting his arms open five days ago but no one's talked to him and he was still posting videos so no one noticed? What if his body's been sitting in his apartment for five days and no one's found him yet? What if he wanted to talk to me but he was too afraid to call me because he thought I was still mad at him, even though it was a really stupid thing to be mad about in the first place? If he's dead, I killed him. What would I do if I killed my best friend? What do you say when you just walk away from someone you know you can't just walk away from? This is the guy I had to nag every day so he'd take his pills on time, and I just slammed the door in his face and left him on his own for like a week because of a stupid joke. What the hell is wrong with me?!

I click on Skype again and try to call him one last time before I get ahold of Mitch to ask him to go check on him. I'd rather have a big misunderstanding than a dead Rob. The call rings and rings and rings...And he finally picks up. The webcam's on even though it looks like he didn't want it to be – his hair's really messy and it's so wet I can see it dripping down on his blue t-shirt. He has a big wad of toilet paper in his hand that he's pressing against the right side of his jaw, and there's a huge spot of blood soaked through it from where he'd already tried to make it stop bleeding. And he really doesn't look happy.

"Yeah?"

"Hi."

"Hi." He sounds really sarcastic and he peels the paper away from his face, cringing as it sticks to his cut. He looks down at the giant dark red spot on the toilet paper and I watch as another trail of blood immediately starts streaming down his face like a thick, pulsing river. Is this what it looked like when he used to cut his arms? "Shit."

"Sorry, I didn't know you were busy."

"Why did you think I wasn't picking up?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It's... it's been a while."

"I know." We sit in silence for a minute while he waits for the bleeding to stop, hissing in pain as he peels it off of his skin again and causes another stream of blood to gush out. "I'll be back in a minute. This is just turning into a giant mess." I don't know if he's talking about his cut or the Skype call, but I definitely agree. He turns the light on and I watch him walk down the hall to the bathroom in his tight black boxer briefs, and he comes back wearing shorts with a whole roll of toilet paper and a wet black rag.

"Sorry I bothered you. I was worried about you 'cause I hadn't talked to you in a while. If you want, I'll go and leave you alone."

"No. No, it's fine. I just haven't been having a very good week, and this hurts like hell on ice skates."

"What happened?"

"The house phone went off and it scared me, so my hand slipped when I was shaving and I cut a fucking mole. It feels like someone just rammed a toothpick through my face." He makes a really pathetic face as he peels another wad of toilet paper away, and he rolls his eyes when he sees it's still oozing blood as fast as ever. He folds the rag up and holds it up against his cheek, leaning his jaw on his hand like he always does to put pressure on it. Us sitting here looking at each other might not seem like much but I'd rather have a ticked off Rob than no Rob at all. "Thank God for facial hair – this is going to leave one hell of a scar."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault. It was bound to happen sometime. You should see my great-uncle Benny's face: he looks like he made out with a shark." I try to fight back my laughter but it breaks through, anyways, and he smiles a little even though it makes him flinch. "You always laugh at my pain."

"Because your pain is freaking hilarious." He raises his eyebrows and we just sit there and look at each other for a minute. "I'm sorry."

"I was the one who derped. What are you sorry for?"

"Not talking to you in forever. And the whole thing with Nooch." He snorts and brushes his wet, curly hair off his forehead.

"Don't blame yourself for what Nooch does. You can barely blame Nooch for what Nooch does." I start chuckling again and he looks at himself on his screen and runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up in the front like a total dork. Is this how he always fixes his hair? Like a complete pleb? "And I can take care of myself. You don't have to worry about me so much."

"I know you can. But everyone needs someone to watch out for 'em and help 'em out every now and then. You've got me and I've got you."

"That doesn't sound like a fair deal to you." He looks so sad when he says it, like he's convinced I don't care about him. Okay, no. Nooch can be whatever kind of jag admiral he wants – this weird, crazy, gangly, nerdy freaking Canadian derp face is my bro and I wouldn't just abandon him over a couple really bad jokes. I'm gonna make it up to him. Somehow.

"Naw, dawg. I get the better end of the deal. I do a lot more stupid stuff than you and you always save my butt anyways."

"Everyone wants a piece of that Perston booty, eh?" Even though it's still kinda awkward between us, the face he makes is hilarious. I start laughing at him and he laughs at me laughing at him, and I laugh even harder when he yelps like a dog and pulls the rag away from his face. "Why is that funny? You are so cruel to me."

"Not my fault you're a drama queen." Crap. That's a line that didn't need to be crossed again. Me and my massive freakin' mouth...

"Bro, if I'm the drama queen, what the hell is Mitch? Is he the drama dictator?"

"Naw! He's the dic-tater-tot!" That broke open the dam and now I'm laughing so hard I'm crying and I can feel the hiccups coming, and he's sitting there with that dumb troll grin on his face while he tries to clean up the bloody mess that ran all the way down his face and his neck. Watch, he'll start whining like a little kid when he finds out it stained his precious blue t-shirt.

"Now he's turning into poutine. Fair enough. I guess I should tell him that I found his ketchup." He looks at his face on his screen and his eyes widen in annoyance. "This is stupid. No, this is actually stupid." He holds the black rag back up against his cheek and I see the side of his face is bright red and starting to swell up. Even though it really sucks that he's bleeding to death and he's gonna look like a chipmunk, it's great to talk to him again. I never realized how much I'd miss this guy until he just disappeared for almost a week. That's why I've felt so bored and alone the last few days: the BenjandBac and Kenny and Vince and Hannah are all awesome, but none of them get me like Rob does. He knows exactly what to do and say and he can make me feel better even when I feel like complete crap. I seriously don't know what I'd do without his dumb derpy face.