September 3, 2013 at 10 AM, Sumas, Washington: Preston

"Oh, frick off!" I toss the extra box across the room and squint down at the sick cardboard cut on my thumb. This's complete crap. I hate moving. I never shoulda left Texas and I'm stupid and I know it and this's my punishment for being the dumbest human in the history of ever. And it burns. I fold up the box I came over here for and hold it in shape between my thighs so I can tape it. But my thumb's still bleeding. Why can't anything go right today? Or this year? Nothing's been goin' right since like November and now I hafta pay two months' rent out of pocket to break my lease and leave and I don't even get my security deposit back. And they had to send two repair guys out to fix the wall yesterday and they kept snooping around like they were looking for something to steal. And now everything smells like plaster and wet paint and debt and sadness. I look back down at my thumb and there's just a little bit of blood now. I suck it off and double tape the bottom of the box and walk over to start piling game cases and movies and recording software packages in the box.

It's not as big as I thought it was. Crap. When'd I get so much stuff?

Every time I move it's like my crap grows another twenty percent and it looks like I might need a bigger UHaul this time. I don't even wanna know how much that's gonna cost for a bigger truck, which'll need more gas to get the same distance, plus mileage and the little trailer thing for the dumb Prius I didn't even want. It cost like $3,200 the first time and I had a smaller truck and no trailer thing. At least I don't hafta pay to fly Dad anywhere this time - they don't even know I'm coming yet. I'm just gonna show up at Mom and Dad's house after I find a new apartment and get done unpacking. I feel dumb enough without having to feel bad about asking them to help me dig myself outta this gigantic ugly freakin' mess I made. And I thought getting rid of Hannah was gonna be the hard part.

I hope people were real into that whole SteemKar thing and tried to leave a whole buncha flamey comments on my vids or else I'm not gonna have enough money for a deposit on a new apartment or for Christmas presents for everyone. I'm so screwed right now. Why'd I hafta go and punch the freaking wall? What good'd it even do? I check my purply hand and it's still colors a hand shouldn't be but at least it moves and isn't swollen anymore. The scabs look like little baby dragon eggs and I should probably be more careful or I'll end up ripping my hand open again. I go over and grab another box to put the other third of plastic boxes in, and I guess the plastic dishes? Would those fit in here? I dunno, I'll find something. I think about it for a second and I guess I might as well go put some clothes in here. Clothes always fit everywhere.

I get down and start crawling around in the walk-in closet, feeling around in the little cubby holes under the shoe rack for goodies like a claw machine. Then the alarms go off again. I smack my head on the shelf and fall flat on my butt and little cartoon stars float all around me like I'm a Looney Tune. I can't even hear myself think over the dad gom fire alarms but I'm sure as frick not going back outside to stand for another hour while I wait for the fire department to get done laughing at us. I'm done singin' in the rain under the smelly dumpster awning like a circus monkey. I'm not gonna listen to their little cranky music box thing anymore - I'm just gonna sit here and pack and get the frick out before something's actually on fire. I bet the alarms wouldn't even go off if there was a real fire. Nothing works up here in hippie country.

Like two seconds later, the box's full.

When'd I get so many clothes? Where's this crap coming from?!?

"Ugh... I don't wanna hafta go out and buy more boxes..." These ones already cost me thirty bucks and I'm not even halfway done yet. I haven't packed up anything in my office and I just packed like... three shirts and a beach towel. Why do I even have a beach towel? This sucks and now my head hurts. I can't even record because the stupid fire alarms keep going off over and over again. I swear, I'm gonna go back to Texas and I'm never living anywhere else ever again. If I can't move in Dad's truck, I'm not moving.

---

September 3, 2013 at 6 PM, Sumas, Washington: Preston

"Two at left stairs. Rob, you hold the bridge, I'll do the spooder."

"Spooder frags, spooder frags, does whatever the fleep spooder frags does." I bounce off the pillar and button mash my way up the wall so I can parkour up and kill these noobs. This round's been going on way too long already. All the good players are back playing Black Ops II and all the noobs are on here trollin' around and hiding behind the kitchen counter. One of them gets smarter and tries to run but gets mowed down by Rob and the other one's... AFK? What in the heck's he doing? He was dain bread before I even got here.

"We win! Not big surprise." I hear him clapping sarcastically and a can of Fresca clinks down on his fancy new desk after he refuels. I really don't wanna go again and there's no way he doesn't know that. I'd rather play Minecraft. I'd even be up for chess at this point. "So what's next? You up for Micro Battles?" Anything but Ghosts, please.

"I think I'm going to call it a night already. But first... Preston, we need to talk."

"About what? We won. Not like it's hard when they can't even walk but that counts for something, right?" He sighs good-naturedly and it was at this point I knew I didn't wanna hear what he had to say.

"Yes, we won. No, it wasn't hard. But did it hurt? Oh, yes, it hurt very much! You hurt my soul, Preston."

"Why? What do? What I do?" He chuckles nervously and takes another chug of fruity pop and my mind pictures him sticking his tongue in the little hole in the can like a hummingbird and he looks all sad because it's gone. I wonder if he's ever done that, like if it's the last can in the box.

"What is my name?"

"Your name's Choco. What kinda question is that?"

"I was just checking. I wasn't sure if you remembered who I was."

"How the frick would I forget who you are? You're like my big, yellow, feathery secret weapon of mass destruction and-"

"Preston. You're rambling again." There's a little pause and the nervous giggling comes back. "Do you realize that you just called me 'Rob' five times in as many minutes? This isn't the first time this has happened - this is just the first time I've brought it to your attention. I'm starting to wonder if I've been calling myself the wrong name all these years. It sounds like someone might be spending a little bit too much time playing the Yandere Simulator demo. Kappa."

"What you do in your own time's none of my business, dude. I don't wanna hear about you goin' around taking panty shots and crap. I'll just stick to no-scopes, thanks."

"My point being: I think it might be time for you to just... let it in."

"It's like he's trying to speak to me."

"In my opinion - and this is just my opinion - I think you should stop thinking about Rob and go talk to Rob. Just go talk to him. Just let the Poofless in."

"Dude, I just talked to Rob last night. Poofless is fine." He gives a deep sigh and I coulda swore I just heard him hit himself upside the head with his palm. That's what he gets for bein' a derp. "Why're you so worried about Poofless?"

"I'm worried about it because it's very, very real and, to be honest, I'm a little bit worried about you, Preston. Holding in your emotions like that isn't healthy."

"Like what? You're not making sense. I just talked to Rob like twelve hours ago and we have a recording date Friday after I get all my crap re-unpacked. We're cool."

"I... I'm just speechless."

"What? What'd I do? Is he like mad at me or something? Did the Bacca tell you to do this?"

"He doesn't have to tell me to do it! Preston, for fleep's sake, record yourself living your life for a day and see how long you can go without thinking about Rob, talking about Rob, or refreshing Rob's Twitter profile. I don't mean to be prying here, but I can see you have it open in three tabs on your computer right now."

"I do not!" Why's he spying on my computer?!? He can do that?!? Is that part of his job description now? I know a Bacca who's gonna be hearin' about this soon.

"Click on your tabs and check them. I'll count with you." I click on the first one: a big ugly bug on Wikipedia. I don't even need that anymore. Close. Second: COD forums. Third: funny YouTube videos. Fourth: Rob's Twitter. "One." Gotta close that. So what if I was reading his tweets? I read everyone's tweets. Fifth: Pandora but it's frozen. Close that, too, dumb RAM sucker. Sixth: Google calendar with my recording schedule with the dates with Rob and Choco filled in. Kenny'd be on here, too, if he'd wake his butt up and send me a list. Seventh: some Minecraft PVP video Rob sent me. Eighth: new headphones on Amazon because my left earbud doesn't work anymore. Ninth: Instagram with the picture of Rob and that Jake guy above the cut but Choco doesn't need to know that. Close, close, close before he notices. Tenth: the server hosting company's pricing page Mitch sent me. Eleventh: the t-shirt printing site Rob used to use for merch. Twelfth: a picture of a big spider. Thirteenth: UHaul prices and phone numbers for moving people. Fourteenth: apartment listings in Dallas-Fort Worth. Fifteenth: Rob's Twitter. Close that. "Two." Sixteenth: Rob's Twitter. Close. "Three." Seventeenth: More UHaul crap. Eighteenth: Facebook. It updates when I click on it and I see Rob posted something a few minutes ago. He's awake early today. "Technically, it was four and a half, but I only said Twitter and we'll say that Facebook post was pure happenstance."

"I'm not a yandere. I'm just checkin' on him to make sure he's okay." It's not like I'm watching him do crap on his computer. Dumb bird's a yandere, stalking my windows like a creepazoid. And it's not like I can explain myself real well because I can't tell Choco about Rob's depression and him hurting himself and not taking his pills and losing his shizz. So what if I look like a creep? I'm not gonna be a bad friend and tell all his secrets or just let him hang around with this weird emoji-face cheater guy with his coffee and his drugs and his derpy dog without watching him to make sure he's not going outta his mind on crack and who knows what else. Plus, his jokes are kinda funny. Sometimes.

"He's almost thirty. I'm pretty sure he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself." Another can of pop pops open in the quiet. "I'm not going to say anything else about this for now, but I really think you should talk to him about it. He'll understand, Preston. You two have quite a long history together."

"But there's nothing to talk about! He knows I follow him on Twitter and Instagram and he's the one who added me on Facebook! I don't get what your problem is."

"You know what? That's fine. It looks like my work is done here, so... Ciao for n-!" The call ends even faster than he's talking and I'm all alone. I think. Unless he's watchin' me again. I unplug the webcam just to make sure. What crawled up his butt and made him all stir crazy? I go through all my tabs again and I check to see what Rob posted on Facebook when Skype dings and there's a new Choco meme waiting for me: there's a big guy with the fappy face pushing two little stick people's heads together and he's screaming 'Now KISS!' in bright red. And there're arrows he drew pointing at the little stick people: an orange one that says 'You' and a blue one that says 'Rob.'

I close outta Skype and close the whole browser window and reach over and unplug the cord to the router. He can stare at that now. Who the frick does he think he is, scrolling through my computer and sittin' there and judging me like he knows what's going on? I hate when Daka does bullshrimp like that and Choco's not even my brother. He can take his stick figures and go sit on 'em for all I care. He's got a lotta gall, calling me gay when I'm the reason he even has the job paying for his apartment and his college and his Fresca. He'd still be living with all the sad bugs in his mom's dark fricking basement if I hadn't helped him. Doesn't he have better things to do than spy on me? He's even worse than the government.

And why'd he hafta use the fap face? It's bad enough he's talking about me kissing Rob's hairy, prickly, smoke-smelling derp face without me having to think about what Choco thinks about that. That makes it worse, and I didn't think that was possible until like two minutes ago. Ugh... I don't wanna kiss Rob. Me not wanting Jake the Butt Snake to kiss him isn't the same thing as me wanting to kiss him. He's my best friend - just my best friend, that's it! - and I don't want him to get hurt. Or at least not hurt more than it already does? (Wouldn't it hafta hurt? Why would he even wanna do that?) It's none of my business what they do together in bed as long as he doesn't screw Rob over. In ways he hasn't already.

Oh, God. Why did You let me see that? Why's that even in my mind? Is this my punishment for what happened with Hannah? Seeing him laying on the bed with his legs like that while Smiley's...

Why do we hafta make so many sex jokes? Why do I know what his moans and kissy lips sound like? Why does he make those noises at me when he tries to parkour? And now I can see him makin' derp faces and his thing's bouncin' all over the place and how do I make this stop I don't wanna watch this happen I bet this's what the dog thinks dotheymakethepoordogwatchtoo? That's just gross! And he's like all hairy everywhere and bristly and rough and scratchy. Why would you wanna feel that on your face? Does it feel twice as bristly since they both have beards? Do they get the little hairs in their mouths when they kiss and hafta stop and pull 'em outta their teeth and stuff? Do they hafta pull other hairs outta their mouths, too?

Now that's something I don't wanna see. Or hear. Or think about. I've seen Rob choke half to death on French fries. I don't wanna think about him chokin' on the Snake, too. Why would anyone ever do that, either? It'd be like getting strep throat if he did that in his mouth and he got him sick from bacteria or something in it. Hannah only cheated on me with one guy I know of and she had that infection and I bet Mr. Rollback Prices Smiley Guy's cheated a whole lot more than that. He looks like he would. And even if he hasn't yet, I bet he's still snaked around in more guys' underwear than I even wanna know about.

I bet he fires his butt assault rifle more than the whole Canadian military put together. Canada has a military, right?

I bet he tastes like five different people when he gets home at night to kiss his trash-eating dog. And Rob.

I bet he gets full-blown AIDS.

I hope Mr. Know-It-All goes and lets the doctors fondle him like he told me to. What would he do if he got AIDS and started spreading it to people like on planes and at conventions and stuff?

Or to me?! I just found out he even has a boyfriend and I hugged him and glomped all over him and shared a room with him and... we shared food! And he had Smiley's spit in his mouth! I stole his ice coffee at the convention after he was suckin' on it with his guy-lips and it went in my mouth! Can I get AIDS from that?

I Google it on my phone. Screw Choco and the Bacca and everyone else watching me right now. I might have AIDS. I had two guys' spit and who knows what else in my mouth and I swallowed it and he didn't even tell me. The coffee wasn't even good!

Google says no. Not in food and drinks, not by touching unless there's blood or fluids I'd never touch anyways, not in the air, not on furniture or toilets unless there's blood or other fluids, and not by kissing unless there's blood or other gross things no one should have in their mouth.

So I guess I'm good? I'm okay, right? What if he had Smiley's stuff in his mouth and he drank his coffee and backwashed, then I was dumb and sucked it back up the straw and swallowed it? Did I have Smiley's tadpoles dancing around in my mouth?

Google looks like it says no. But I don't know.

Should I ask Rob?

I bet he'd get mad at me. I bet he doesn't think his dumb smiley bed-warmer might have AIDS. I fudging hate that guy and I don't even know him.