*
“What’s up guys, it’s Ethan here. Mad Man Maddox back once again, and I still can’t believe you guys let that stupid nickname catch on, but I kind of love it. Happy Friday night! You know, in case you’re also going a little stir-crazy right now and need a reminder of what day it is . . . I’m joined tonight by a few beers and, obviously, Call of Duty. I was hoping to be playing everyone’s favorite— Animal Crossing: New Horizons, but unfortunately, doesn’t seem like I can broadcast live from my Switch, so you’ll have to stick to my YouTube channel for that. Don’t forget to subscribe at emaddox, and I’d say find me on Twitter, too, but to be honest I mainly just retweet TikTok videos so it’s not even worth it.”
It takes me a couple of minutes to get into the flow of my Twitch stream because I’m still thinking about the perfect way to propose to Charlotte, but I fall into the familiar rhythm of a video game and talking to some of the fans watching along, responding to the comments they’re posting in the live chat.
For the first time all week, I forget that the world is a shitshow right now, how scary everything is, how out of sorts I’ve felt these last few days. At least for a little while, everything feels totally normal.
It feels like I can breathe again.
I spot Charlotte’s name on the live chat and laugh.
“My girlfriend’s watching along tonight too. You’ll probably spot her in the chat. Everybody say hi, Charlotte. Hi, Charlotte! ” I say for them, in a high-pitched, silly voice. “Usually she’d be sitting just out of sight on the sofa next to me and trying to tune me out, but this week unfortunately, she’s at her parents’ place. Yeah, our place is on lockdown, and she was just going home for the weekend since they live a couple hours’ drive away. Had free reign of the apartment all week. How about that, huh? I’m kidding, obviously. Charl, it’s been miserable without you.”
I have to stop there, before I go on about just how much I miss her.
It’s not like I don’t care if anybody watching thinks I’m talking about her too much or anything. I’m more worried I’ll run my mouth and say something I want to keep for the grand proposal.
Or worse, get so nervous I can’t shut up, and then blurt the whole thing out.
As ten o’clock rolls around, I draw the stream to an end.
“Don’t forget to check out my YouTube channel emaddox tomorrow morning for a new video, and I’ll be back here next Tuesday with another livestream. But that’s it from me for now, have a good night everybody—and to my girlfriend, Charlotte, if she’s still watching and hasn’t gotten so bored she’s fallen asleep, goodnight, and I’ll see you Sunday.”
I wave to the camera, saying a cheerful, “See ya!” before turning everything off. I put the controller away, fix the blanket on the sofa the way Charlotte would, and log on to my computer. I send a tweet to thank everyone for joining me on Twitch, adding a link to my Patreon, and check through some notifications before remembering I haven’t actually uploaded tomorrow’s video yet.
Shit, I got so distracted by all the proposal stuff I forgot to finish editing it and upload it.
I’m up for another hour finishing the edits. It’s not up to my usual standard, I know, but it’s close enough, and I’ll take that right now.
While it’s exporting, I work on a thumbnail, and by the time I’ve opened YouTube to create a new video, I’m barely able to keep my eyes open. The few beers I’ve had this evening have made me sleepy, and I drag the video to upload, on autopilot as I add the thumbnail I’ve just made and tap out a quick description, update some of my default tags.
4% done, 1 hour 13 minutes left . . .
Screw it, I think, pushing away from the desk. I’ll leave it to upload overnight.
Right now, I need to go to bed.
I fall asleep dreaming of engagement rings.
Saturday
apartment #14 – imogen
Chapter Thirty
Do you think my life is chaotic?
LOL
obvs
what kind of question even is that?
Nvm
it’s a mess
but like
one I love very much, ofc
But like
Okay
Not my life, but do you think I am chaotic? Like, ME?
PERSONALLY?
oh, one hundred and eight percent
Lucy follows this up with a picture from a couple of weeks ago. It’s one I sent our group chat, of a TV aerial on the house next door, with my bra hanging off it, after I’d left it on the bathroom windowsill and it blew outside. #BraGate had made us all giggle for days.
I can’t even manage a faint smile reminiscing over it now.
Lucy follows up quickly, asking if I’m okay. It feels like too much to explain (especially since I’m still refusing to tell her that I’m quarantining with Honeypot Guy) and I’m not even sure how to answer that, so I tell her of course I’m okay and ask how she’s coping, locked down with her future sister-in-law. I ask if everything’s been resolved with the big argument they all had, after Kim apparently lost her shit and outed the maid of honor. She responds, but after a while I ignore the texts, the glow of my phone shining up at the ceiling as I lie on my back in Nate’s bed, completely unable to sleep.
I feel like such an asshole right now, for taking up this lovely, comfy double bed, wide awake and likely not going to sleep for a few more hours yet, while poor Nate is stuck out there on the sofa for the sixth night in a row.
I reply to Lucy’s texts for a while longer before she tells me she’s going to sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow. I scroll through Twitter for a couple of minutes before everyone there seems to have gone to bed too.
It’s gone one in the morning when I give up trying to sleep, cocoon myself in the duvet, and shuffle out to the living room. The duvet drags behind me, the fabric whispering over the laminate flooring; it seems so loud in the silence of the apartment.
It’s not just the apartment that’s so quiet, though; it’s everything.
There’s no sound of cars on the roads outside, no sirens, no shouting.
I know this is a nicer neighborhood than where I live, but even so . . .
It’s disconcerting, like someone stuck the whole world on pause.
Nate’s sprawled on the sofa, blankets half kicked off. He isn’t exactly what I’d call a tall guy, particularly, but somehow he’s managed to take up the entire three-seater sofa and has his feet hanging off the end of it. He’s wearing pajamas but the T-shirt has ridden up, exposing his soft stomach. His arms are thrown out, one to the side and one above his head, and his mouth is hanging wide open.
It’s the least composed I’ve seen him all week.
I shake him awake.