( ACT THREE; CHAPTER NINETEEN )

" only go backwards "

PSYCHOLOGISTS SUGGEST A FACT THAT ONCE APPLIED TO MISS CAMILLE MONET. It goes as follows—when one whose brain is not fully developed yet gets wronged, threatened, or attacked, one of their first instincts is to return to those who raised and nursed them. And that was exactly the case with her.

Nearly ten months ago, Camille moved back to America, temporarily living at home while looking for an apartment in the outskirts of Richmond. Her life had seemed dull ever since, like a rain shower that never seemed to let up. Each day her life felt just as entertaining as watching paint dry.

And although she missed Brighton dearly, although she would do just about anything to go back, she knew that moving home was what she was meant to do. So, she got a job; a barista, of course. Life went on as it always had, and the girl continued following the pathway destiny handed to her on a not-so-golden platter.

During the first three months or so, he was all that consumed her brain. His smile, his scent, his touch, his warmth, his lips, his words, his accent, and anything else that came to mind. Only after those ninety or so days had passed did Camille come to a realization—she had loved him.

Which was yet another kick to the balls, creating another hole in her heart where that certain England city once resided. In general, though, she knew she had to get over him.

One could even say her situation with her feelings for him was like a lock and a key—only she had the key, and she chose to throw it far, far away, never to be found again.

And so, missing her friends, home, and lover from Brighton, Cami went on in her life. She did her best to ignore the unanswered questions his fans had about her whereabouts, and silently hoped all was well for the gamer who conveniently stole her heart.

• • •

ACROSS THE GREAT BODY OF WATER THAT WAS THE ATLANTIC OCEAN WAS A MAN WHO HAD BEEN DEVASTATED FOR THE PAST TEN MONTHS OF HIS LIFE. George remembers that night like a bad dream; the feelings he felt coming back in his sleep to haunt him with no intent of stopping.

It had all happened so fast he didn't even care to calculate just exactly what happened in the first place. Even days after he still struggled to reminisce on the order of events.

The information was dropped in chat.

He ended the stream and called her.

She said they had to stop being...whatever they were.

And then, just in the snap of his fingers, the call was over.

Texts went unanswered, apologies dismissed, and any trace of the girl he was so madly in adoration of appeared to be gone. A couple of weeks passed and George finally mustered up enough courage to visit her apartment, guilt overridden his nerves.

What was he met with, you are probably wondering?

A knock on the door,

then two,

and no one opened up.

Camille had moved out.

It was like a final step on his heartstrings, a final punch to the gut that told him he had failed her. He had found the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and because of a few wrongdoings, it was all ruined. Thrown to flames, the smoke rising and falling within George's mind everyday.

Still, he had to continue on with his career. A war had started within his fandom—all of his supporters rightfully lashing out on the menaces who had doxxed Camille. Countless hashtags such as #Prayers4George and #GeorgeSupport trended on Twitter in the two weeks or so following the incident. He didn't stream in that time, either.

What was he doing, then?

His schedule varied, honestly. Most nights he would lay restless, staring up at the ceiling, almost like his trains of thoughts and his pointless look into the darkness would be met with some sort of answer as to why this had to happen to him out of all people.

Here and there, he would break down crying, then immediately straighten himself up and force the lump of tears back into his chest.

But in general, he stayed locked up in his room, distracting himself by learning songs on the guitar or taking nap after nap. His mom had to be vigilant on reminding to him to keep good hygiene. Daily, she'd make sure he had brushed his teeth and eaten, and of course shower or shave here and there.

The support his friends provided him was what eventually got him through it. Dream and Sapnap would have phone calls with him that lasted hours, sometimes not even talking, just sitting in sullen quiet. What mattered was that George knew they were there for him.

It was painful to watch from the other streamers' point of view. They didn't even know George was so attached to the girl until it was too late.

Reality bit Dream hard one night particularly, when he was on the phone with George. It was silent, like the last few calls had been, when suddenly a quiver of a breath rang out. A cough followed, though it sounded like a muffled distraction to hide something else.

"George?" Dream had muttered, scared of what he would be met with.

To a surprise, there was no answer, only uneven breaths that one could assume was crying.

"George, are you crying? It's fine if you are, emotions are good to let out. I just want you to know it'll be ok."

The sobbing went on for a couple minutes, maybe longer, then abruptly stopped. This routine was similar to every other fit George had. The stifling tears were restricted to his throat, and he forced out a reply.

"It won't be ok, Dream. Nothing will ever be ok for us because nothing will ever be normal for us. Everything we have is changed just because we're famous. It's all complete bullshit. I..."

Dream held his breath as George paused.

"I wish I'd never gotten famous in the first place."

( AUTHOR'S NOTE! )

this hurt to write but like always
we gotta pog thru the pain yo!!

sigh my heart loves gami

n e wayz go drink some water
and keep being hot because
that's what a real sexy bitch does
(that's you, you're the sexy bitch)

much love<3

-cal