Page 9 of Scaredy Cat
It really is one of my worst habits, and I don’t know hownotto do it. Nor do I know how to not dwell on every little negative thing a stranger on the internet says to me.
“Don’t make me take your phone,” Madison threatens at my silence, without even looking up from the book she’s reading. But she doesn’t need to. I’m not very subtle.
“Where’s Brynn?” I ask instead of commenting on what I’m doing. I doubt she’ll really take my phone, since unfortunately, I really need to run through these for work reasons.
Though,work reasonsfeels a little bit like an excuse to make myself feel worse. But I’m certainly not going to bring up that I don’thaveto go through my comments.
“The gym.” Madison flips a page and adjusts her position at the dining table across from me. “She’s been struggling a bit. You know how the gym helps her mood.” I can feel her eyeing me across the table, but I don’t look up. “I can think of another person who could use a hobby to help her out when she’s down.”
“Actually, I think Mrs. Elmore has plenty of hobbies already.” I’ve made it through the new comments by skimming them,though I’m pleasantly surprised that I’ve barely found anything to make my chest tighten unpleasantly around my heart. I haven’t had that sinking feeling since this morning, so obviously my brain goes on autopilot and I search through this morning’s comments as well.
Just to make myself feel bad, apparently.
I don’t remember the comment I only half read until I find it again, and it causes my whole process to come to a screeching halt.
You’re really pretty when you’re trying to be nice. I bet you’d be prettier when you aren’t nice. And no, that’s not a good enough prize for me successfully scaring you. Sorry, babe.
My stomach flutters before I can tell it not to. Like the comment before, it was left by an anonymous visitor to my blog. I should reply.
…I have no idea how to reply.
That becomes obvious when all I do is sit there, worrying my lower lip between my teeth as the bleach continues to tingle unpleasantly on my scalp. What do I say to his flirty tone, or the accusation of metrying to be niceon camera? That part ruffles my feathers a little, though I’m sure not to let it show on my face.
“Are you okay?” Madison asks as she stands up, making me think I wasn’t too successful. “Let me check to see how much you’ve lifted.” Casually she moves to check my hair, peeling the foils back with soft, rustling sounds and gentle tugs on the bleached sections of my hair.
“I’m fine,” I reply, flipping my phone over so I can’t stare obsessively at the screen anymore while I try to figure out how to respond to the comment.
But I don’t have to. That’s the glory of being in charge of my content, and the thought of just ignoring it is a lot easier than figuring out what to say. It’s just some weirdo on the internettrying to get a rise out of me. Nothing more. If I ignore him, he’ll go away without anyone noticing.
“We good?” I ask when Madison steps back. “Not to be impatient, but I sort of hate the feeling of bleach in my hair.”
“You’re so whiny,” Madison scolds with a snort. “Yeah, we’re good. Come to the bathroom so I can waterboard you in the tub. You grabbed the stuff I asked for the other day, yeah?” she asks, beckoning me to get up.
“I got the exact colors and brands you told me to,” I assure her, already on the way to the bathroom. The bright side of having to contort into the tub for her to rinse the bleach out of my hair is that I don’t have to think about work anymore. At least for a little while.
That’s all I need, really. Just a little while to bePersephone Gallowsinstead ofScaredy Cat.
5
My fingers tapon my desk, and I swivel around in my comfortable gaming chair with one knee curled up under me. My hair is now a few different shades of auburn, though to me there isn’t that much of a difference. According to Madison, however, the combination of highlights and lowlights will make my hair look less flat on camera.
Not that I think it did before.
I hadn’t said anything, but I’m still under the impression she was just bored and looking for something to do tosomeone’shair. And since Brynn would never let her even trim her bangs, I’m the easy victim.
With five minutes to go before my stream, I already have the newestSilent Hillgame open and ready to go. Gaming streams aren’t my favorite out of the content I create, but they’re a decent filler when I don’t have a movie to watch or a haunt to go to. Especially outside of the Halloween season. My second monitor shows the background of my stream, withScaredy Catin big letters. The screen itself shows a cute, pixelated bedroom, with a cat sleeping on the desk, twitching its tail occasionally. At the bottom, the countdown clicks ever closer to zero, letting people know when my next stream is.
Currently, I have only three minutes and forty-two seconds to sit here and stare into space.
Forty-one.
Forty.
On a whim, I open my blog on my main monitor as I put on my headphones. I’m ready apart from actually turning on my stream, so I have a moment just to check something. Even though I don’t really need to.
There’s nothing to check. Just more comments I’m trying not to care about, and I ignore the notifications of anything new. Instead, I scroll through the old ones, telling myself it’s not a big deal. That the weird comment has been buried under the others, dumped into theload moreabyss.
But then…it isn’t.
