“You got this. Have some fun,” she sing-songs to me before turning and heading off down the hallway.
I got this. Yep. God, I hope I do, because right now I don’t feel like it.
My eyes scan the room again, running down each of the items like it’s on a checklist.
Bed, check. Laptop, check. Lighting, check. Books, check. Suckers, check. My eyes drift down to what I’m wearing. Christ, I look like I should be in that Britney Spears music video, but check. Mask, check. Picking up my emerald green and black Mardi Gras mask, I put it on, tying the ribbon behind my head.
“Felicity, you can do this. You’re going to become Bliss and entertain like no one has ever done before,” I mumble to myself. At least, I hope I do. Shit, what if my mask falls off while I’m knocked out and someone I know is watching and they recognize me?
Fuck, this is moving more in theno way you can fucking do itcategory with each passing minute.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, cold and trembling. The laptop sits on the desk like a lead weight, giving the perfect view of the bed and my pending show, which hopefully isn’t an epic fail. Or do I want it to be? If it is,then I’ll never have to do this again, considering the money I could make from it. I stare at the little button in the corner—Go Live—like it might bite me.
My heart’s already racing and I haven't even done anything yet. The little pointer hovering over the ‘Go Live’ button like a beacon to a ship in foggy weather at sea.
I take a deep breath; the only way to get over the nerves of this is to just do it. With my mind made up, I click the button.
The screen blinks, a little swirl showing it’s loading, and then suddenly I’m on. Streaming.Live. The tiny green dot lights up next to it, a signal that there is no turning back.
Holy fucking shit! My heart races and I remember to smile. It’s awkward, forced, but I do it.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, nervously smoothing the very short skirt I’m wearing, an unfamiliar image of my reflection on the screen. I’m waiting patiently for people to bealerted to me being online, or choosing to click on my site over the others at Behind the Lens.
I run my hand along the navy blue comforter, seeking some type of calming support from it. The softness of it quiets my mind, ridding it of my anxiousness. My bookbag is right beside me, half-zipped, the corner of my Literature book peeking out like it wants to bail from this room as badly as I do. My hands are sweaty and I rub them on my thighs before reaching out and grabbing the candy sucker from the side pocket of my bag. The plan was to use it as a nervous crutch—a prop for when the viewers were watching, but I need it now. Something sweet and harmless to hold on to while I figure out how to keep myself from totally panicking.
Which I am beginning to fail at preventing from happening.
There is no one watching. The view count sits at zero.
Good. Not good. I don’t know. All I feel like now is a failure, even though I was scared as shit to do this. No one watching means no money. I could turn it off and leave right now, just chalk this up to a life experience. Or do I stay and hope like hell someone stumbles across me? If nothing else, at least I have a quiet place to study.
I glance at myself in the window. My hair looks okay. My lips appear a little dry, so I lick them, then pop the sucker into my mouth. Cherry. My favorite. I lean over, opening my bookbag more so that I can pull out my book. The sound of the zipper’s movement is louder than it should be in the quietness of the room.
“Okay,” I mumble to no one, my voice low and weirdly shaky. “Let’s do some multitasking.”
I place the literature book on my lap and flip it open, my fingers brushing the dog-eared page. I need to finish readingThe Yellow Wallpaperbefore tomorrow’s class, anyway.
I take a quick glance at the laptop. Still zero.
Then—one. Shit, holy hell, someone is watching me.
I stare at the number as it ticks up. Two. Three. Seven. Names start to slide into the side chat box.
RavenSin has joined.
DreamWatcher99 has joined.
BigBill1984: Hey.
I swallow around the sucker. My hand trembles a little as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Hey, guys.” My voice comes out shaky and low. “Uh…just doing some reading tonight. Thought I’d stream while I did it.”
The names keep coming. Ten. Twelve. Seventeen.
The messages start flowing in faster.
BigBill1984: What r u reading?
