November 9, 2022

Bodies of water terrified Jamie out of her mind for the entire sixth year of her life. She'd been certain La Llorona would drag her down into dark, cold depths. Dad had instilled this fear in her by accident, but it was Mom who chased it away.

There was a lake near Jamie's hometown—bright blue water, trees all around, wonderful rocky shoreline. Jamie avoided it like the plague until Mom convinced her to visit it with her one saturday. I wanted to teach you a secret trick, she'd said, but if you can't handle the lake, maybe it's better if we stay home.

Jamie had gotten in the backseat of the car immediately.

At the lake, Mom taught her that, if you throw a flat stone across water just right, you can get it to bounce off the surface almost as often as you want. Then, she'd sat back watching from behind her book for hours while her daughter practiced this arcane and sacred art with vigorous determination. When the time to leave came around, Jamie had gotten a stone to bounce three times, La Llorona was forgotten, and she and Mom laughed the entire way home.

Jamie wasn't half-bad at skipping stones, either. She took the secret trick to heart. Could get stones to bounce some eight times consistently before they sank, never to be seen again.

But that was ages ago. She lost her touch, let the skill go to waste. Getting a stone to bounce twice is something she considers a lucky shot these days.

The stone Jamie threw seconds ago disappeared into the water with a single sad splash.

"I thought you wanted to meet up here to talk," Vic observes. "Not to play with the rocks."

Kaden was an arrogant jerk. Travis was a controlling jerk. Vic, Jamie has found out, is an exasperated jerk. If there's something to scoff, bitch or moan about, he can and will find a way. Lately, the root cause of his complaints has increasingly been his girlfriend.

"Those two things don't cancel each other out."

"I suppose they don't usually, but we've been here for almost five minutes and that was the first full-length sentence you've said to me."

"I'm still gathering my words." They're harder to collect than suitable flat stones. Crazy how that happens.

Vic sighs. "Is this about the medication thing again?"

It is about the medication thing. Except for the part that's much bigger than that.

After dragging her feet about it all throughout 2020, Jamie knocked on a psychiatrist's door last year, hoping to shut up everybody who has ever called her crazy once and for all. The doctor diagnosed her with raging ADHD. Such diagnoses, Jamie has heard, often come paired with clarity and a sense of relief. She wishes it would've her that kind of peace, but all it did was piss her off even more. I know people pay you to tell me what's wrong with them, lady, but you weren't supposed to find anything here.

It's just another stick people could use to beat her with. Wouldn't cultivate much understanding if she told, either. Youngsters these days all get those ridiculous alphabet labels slapped on them, she remembers Dad complaining once. Telling them they need to wise up and get their acts together isn't even acceptable anymore.

So that's great. Fantastic. Aces. To be fair, maybe Jamie should wise up. At least enough to finally get it into her head that the fuck around and find out approach can have devastating effects.

"I'm not going to take the meds," she tells her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend for what must be the hundredth time.

The shrink suggested giving Ritalin a whirl to see if it helped her manage her symptoms. Jamie did, in fact, try it. Begrudgingly and without cutting back on her rather heavy amount of daily caffeine consumption. This led to a three-day journey through a hell of jittery tremors, heart palpitations and anxiety skyrocketing into the stratosphere.

(Meeting Stella for coffee in that state was... interesting, to say the least. Jamie would've felt bad cancelling on her sister at such short notice for such a stupid reason, so she'd decided to go through with the appointment no matter what.

To Stella, Jamie's attempt at trying was mostly just that. Very trying.)

The caffeine addiction and the meds don't jive together. In order to benefit from the drug, Jamie would have to kick the caffeine habit. She doesn't really want to. The withdrawal symptoms would be terrible, she likes coffee, and decaf is for losers who can't handle the real stuff. Plus, she doesn't need goddamn medication to fix her. Any fixing that needs happening, she should be able to do herself through determination, hard work and sheer force of will.

She has a successful career, a fortune in her bank account, a house and a Rolex and an adoring audience of millions. She carved out a place for herself in the world—arguably a pretty damn awesome place to be in.

Didn't need medication to achieve any of that, did she? Because she's Jamie fucking Carrera and she can get by on her own strength. It's what she does. What she's always had to do.

"You know I think you should take them. Bringing me out here won't change my mind."

Vic wasn't supposed to take note of the leftover Ritalin pills Jamie shoved into a back corner of her bathroom cabinet, but he happened across them in a search for aspirin. He's been pestering her to give them another chance ever since. Pushing the issue like a lobbyist in a presidential campaign, more like. Jamie wants him to drop it already.

He still hasn't.

"I know you're not going to."

"I just think it would be good for you to use them. It could bring you some... tranquility. And happiness."

Jamie does agree the medication could be good for her one day. She just isn't ready for them. Sometime in the future, she might be able to enjoy their benefits and feel completely at peace doing it. But achieving that level of acceptance may take a nice long while.

She'll get there one day. She just needs to set the pace herself. Nobody else gets to do that for her.

Certainly not a deceitful bastard like Vic.

"If you had my tranquility and happiness at heart, you would've dropped this the first time I told you I wasn't open to it. The only tranquility and happiness you care about is yours."

They didn't know each other well enough before rushing into a relationship. When they met at VidCon, they each met only a fraction of the other. Vic Morris the YouTuber is a daring explorer of the Dark Web, a knowledgeable investigator of the Internet's biggest mysteries, a brave defender of the innocent against online scammers. Victor Moritz the Person is all those things, but also a pompous, holier-than-thou neat freak who wouldn't leave his house if he spotted but a single dirty-blond hair on his head out of place.

Jamie isn't all that different. Who she is on camera is real, authentic, a 100% her. But only those sides of herself she's comfortable putting on display, all the good parts and few of the bad. On Witchcraft Wednesday, she can play her every flaw for laughs.

The real world doesn't work that way.

Vic scoffs at her assertion. "That's an absurd accusation."

"It's not. Every time I'm late to something, you sigh and roll your eyes. Whenever you think I'm talking too much, you start sneering. When my studio isn't spotless, you cringe. When I buy a Rolex I'm a show-off, when I get a housekeeper I'm lazy, and when I'm enthusiastic about something, I should calm the fuck down and save it for the camera." Jamie glares at the stone she just picked up; her back has been turned to Vic the whole time they've been here. She thinks she'll keep it that way. "So why won't you admit you're just hoping that taking the meds will make me more palatable for you?"

Yet another reason she can't stand the idea of the meds. This nagging, terrifying feeling it would be the only thing making her worth loving.

"This isn't fair," Vic snips. "You're doing me a disservice talking about me as if I've been treating you like something repulsive. All while I've been trying to be patient and make this relationship work. All while you insist on not putting in any effort."

This fucking guy. Jamie may not remember what she ever saw in Travis, but she does remember what she saw in Vic. He seemed nice, charming, had a hot King's English accent. He understood and respected her career and content like none of her exes ever could. For a brief period of time, Jamie had allowed herself to believe that maybe the third time really is the charm, that maybe this could be something good.

But it's just as awful and toxic as all that came before. Jamie can't even be angry or surprised anymore. This relationship's nearing end only annoys her.

A deep weariness settles in her bones. Other than that, she doesn't feel a thing.

"I did put in effort."

"I hardly saw it."

Nobody ever sees. Jamie doesn't recall the last day she wasn't even once trying to fix some broken part of herself. Her work even paid off. It has been ages since she last forgot an appointment or date altogether and her average delay time went from at least half an hour to ten or fifteen minutes at most. She doesn't neglect sleep or meals quite as much as she used to. Her impulse control is still kind of shit, but she's gotten better at regulating herself when it matters.

And it hasn't made the slightest difference. It's not enough. It's never enough. The bar is too high every single time. I don't think you're trying much at all, and if you are, I'm not seeing it. Try harder.

That's what Vic believes. What her parents believe. What Stella believes. It's a shared opinion among the people closest to her.

Jamie lets the stone she was holding slip through her fingers, discarding it among the rest on the ground. Too many jagged edges, not suitably flat. That won't do.

"I'm aware you feel that way. That's why you had me confused for a while." Jamie speaks absent-mindedly, more focused on finding another, better stone. There has to be a perfect one somewhere in the scattered mess. There has to be. "I didn't get why you wouldn't just break up with me to be done with this relationship already. It's pretty clear to me I'm making you miserable. So why hold on to such a mess when you could easily leave and move on?"

"I'm telling you. Because unlike you, I've been doing my best to make us work. I care about you. And about us."

There is no us to speak of here. Not at all.

"Be honest—that doesn't make any sense. If it was truly me or 'us' you cared about, you'd work with me instead of only trying to turn me into someone you can stand to be around. You're desperate to stick this out with me for another reason. I think I've figured out what it is."

"Did you now?" Vic's voice is thick with irritation and nerves. Jamie gets this tone of voice a lot-not only from him. Be a twenty-something woman in America, have an Internet career and hair dyed an ungodly colour, and people can and will assume there's more air than grey matter between your ears. Show yourself capable of critical thought after all and the worst of them will get offended like it's your own fault they misjudged you.

Jamie turns to face Vic for the first time today. She doesn't hold his gaze with scathing fury like she thought she might earlier today. She can't quite manage anything other than cold detachment. "Care to tell me how much dating me boosts your views, Vic? How good it is for your popularity?"

Jamie and Vic don't operate entirely in the same ballpark, but their respective niches overlap, intersecting where the creepy paranormal and the digital link hands. They even collaborated a couple of times, producing work they could both be proud of. Jamie is more than competent at her chosen profession; the same applies to Vic.

But Jamie has been in this business for longer. She has the higher subscriber count, the larger fanbase, better sponsor deals. More revenue allowing her to work with a bigger budget and take her content to a higher level.

That's what's still making her worth it to him.

Vic squirms on the rock he's been sitting on. He hesitates, probably wondering whether or not he could still save his ass. But he can't, not anymore, and he's able to figure this out on his own. "Significantly."

"There it is. That's the only reason you haven't broken up with me yet." Jamie turns away from him again. He isn't half as interesting as the stones by her feet, in dire need of more critical scrutiny. "Right?"

"I... I suppose."

You 'suppose', asshole?

"Cool. Great. I think it goes without saying I want you out of my life before noon."

Jamie didn't love him, at least. That makes it easier. She thought she could—maybe, someday—but she doesn't. If she did, the mere prospect of having this conversation with him would have ruined her. It hasn't. Kicking Vic Morris to the curb isn't difficult.

Thank god it's not difficult.

"I really did try with you at first," Vic barks. "But you're impossible, Jamie, and nobody can keep up with you! You're an exhausting mess and I feel like I don't even know what you're talking about half the time! You don't make any sense, there's always something with you, and somehow you're just okay living like that. Maybe we could have worked out if you knew how to live through a single. Normal. Day."

Aw, man. The pretty beige stone that looked so promising at first sucks, too. Perhaps Jamie ought to be searching within the water itself instead of on the shore. She makes work of it, not caring about the water soaking through her shoes.

"And this is, this is exactly what I mean." Vic jumps up, beside himself. That would've been scary had he been anyone else, but Jamie knows he won't lay a finger on her. He isn't that kind of morally bankrupt. Not that stupid, either—Jamie would ruin his career, his whole life in a heartbeat if he tried anything funny. "We could've had this conversation at my place, your place, the bloody coffee shop around the corner, anywhere. But you made us both drive all the way out here and I still haven't the faintest why."

Vic is right about himself. He can't keep up for the life of him.

Jamie shrugs. "You waste my time, I waste yours. It's all we've been doing the past few weeks, so I figured we might as well wrap it up that way."

And lakes are nice.

"Unbelievable." Vic groans, his forceful footsteps moving away from her. He's leaving for sure. For good. "You're mental. Absolutely mental."

Jamie stares at her ripple-distorted reflection in the water. Vic is right about her, too.

She lingers, numb to the water's chill as she lifts up stones for examination and tosses them back when they don't meet her stringent requirements. Vic must be driving away by now; Jamie won't see his face again unless it's in video thumbnails on her YouTube recommended page.

Good riddance. Truly. Still, Vic's departure stings and Jamie's eyes burn. He may or may not have been holding back some tears she couldn't allow to be seen. That opportunistic jerk would've thought they were for him when they're not.

(He's gone now, but Jamie still refuses to cry. Crying is a messy, tiring, headache-inducing affair she doesn't like one bit. It's annoying and inconvenient and it makes her feel so pathetically weak.)

The next stone Jamie pulls from the water fills her with tentative confidence. It is black, almost entirely flat, smooth and not too big. It glistens in the light of the morning sun.

Here's potential, and it might ease the pain. The pain of the fact Vic was right.

He was right; that's what hurts about losing him. He's another failed relationship on Jamie's chaotic permanent record, and he put into words what the people around her think uncomfortably often. Impossible, exhausting mess. Absolutely mental.

Her parents have expressed it so much, and her sister, and her previous partners, all in their own unique ways. Vic just had the guts to give it to her straight rather than through exasperated glances or bullying, scoldings or reprimands or shoves to the street from a house or a car.

Jamie is an infuriating disappointment. Maybe not quite a failure, but close.

If one person said it, she could shrug it off, tell herself the problem lies with them. But she is miles past the point of one person. It has become more than obvious she herself has been the problem all along. She can't lie to herself pretending it's not true, and if it hurts, it is because she earned that. Deserved that.

These conclusions aren't even the malicious whispers of a looming inferiority complex. They are the logical result of a calculation years in the making, founded on abundant evidence and adhering to the rules of the most basic common sense.

All Jamie can do is keep trying to fix herself, even if it feels like running at a brick wall and slamming into it over and over again, hoping in vain the impact won't break her bones anymore one day.

Everything hinges on the single black stone between her fingers.

She gives it her best shot, putting all she has into this final throw. The stone bounces off the water. Just once.

Jamie should have been able to do better than that.

"Fuck." She kicks the water in frustration. It provides no comfort. The only way she'll get this right is by talking to Mom and asking her how she used to do it. Request she show off her skill again, get reacquaintanced with the secret tactic. But seventeen long years have passed, and a lot happened as they came and went, and if Jamie were to bring it up, Mom would laugh and shake her head and ask her why this matters. Aren't you too old for such childish things?

So forget it. All of it.

Jamie will simply suck at skipping stones.

There's nothing else for her to do here, so she drags herself back to her car. She could sulk here for the rest of the day, but she could also start getting shit done. Sad bitch hours are over; time for a distraction. A video on satanism conspiracy theories in the music industry, in dire need of last-minute finishing touches, waits for her in her computer.

Today is a Wednesday, and on Wednesdays, Jamie's fanbase expects an update. Her content makes millions of people's days just a little brighter. Jamie isn't about to let them down.

Despite everything, against all odds, her channel is still going strong. That cheers her up.

There's still one thing she always gets right.