Harlow did not like that in the slightest; FaceTime with viewers was when you made money, and if she wasn’t online, how was she to make more money?
“I need to get better…” Harlow whined and pulled on my sleeve. We had made it to the couch. The doctor, Elowyn, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.
“Child, you need to rest. I can give you all the herb pills I can to heal your virus, but if you are unwilling to take care of yourself, it won’t work. Your body is a temple for your soul; if you don’t take care of it, it will crumble.”
Harlow sniffed. “This temple needs to make money, though. I need my offerings. It’s gotta pay the bills.”
A laugh escaped me. "Harlow, the house is already paid for, and I've got this month's expenses covered. For real—rest up, and maybe consider an actual vacation afterward. Or hey, if you're that desperate for content, just aim the camera at yourselfsleeping. Trust me, there's definitely an audience for that kind of thing."
Harlow’s eyes widened. “You know, you’re right!” She pointed at me. “Marigold69 does that, but usually she’s not wearing much.”
“I can’t imagine,” I deadpanned.
Elowyn's lips formed a silent "oh dear" as she dug through her enormous floral bag. Something metallic clinked inside, and with practiced fingers, she extracted a small, weathered tin.
Elowyn pressed the tin of tea into my hands. "Brew this twice daily for three days." Her gaze shifted to the cold medicine on the table, and her nose wrinkled. "That chemical concoction stops now." She plucked the box between two fingers, dropping it into the depths of her floral bag with a decisive snap of the clasp. "Complete bed rest until I return. I'll check on her progress myself in three days' time."
Elowyn slipped out the door without another word, the latch clicking softly behind her. I stared at the closed door, shaking my head. "Well, that's a first. House calls with no bill. Small-town medicine is something else."
Harlow lay back down on the couch, her arm over her head. “I didn’t have to pay last time. She said that my bill was covered.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Your bill was covered? Does that mean someone is covering it for you? Harlow, why didn’t you bring that up either? Do you have a stalker in this town?”
Harlow perked up. “You think I do?”
There was something wrong with us. Really wrong.
I rubbed my forehead and sat next to her. “You need to tell me these things. We have to keep track of each other. That’s the rules we have in place.”
We needed to know where each other was at all times. Our phones were linked up, so that wasn’t a problem most of thetime. But we needed to know who we were with, what things were happening to us, what abnormal discoveries we’ve found.
When Harlow wasn't streaming, she kept to herself except for her grocery run, a little volunteer work here or there, and weekly lunches with the mayor at that little coffee shop on Main Street.
For the past couple days, Harlow had refused to see the mayor in person because of her state and had made me turn him away at the door.
He was not happy about that.
I pulled the blanket up to Harlow's chin, then reached for the ceramic teapot. Steam curled from its spout as I poured hot water over the waiting tea bag in her cup. Crossing my arms, I watched the amber color slowly spread through the water.
“Are you going to be okay if I go meet Atlas today?”
Harlow bit her lip and smiled. “Kassie and Atlas, sitting in a tree…”
“Harlow…stop…”
“H-u-m-p-i-n-g.”
I slapped her leg. “How dare you!”
“Well, it's true. All you do is rub your bits together and kiss. You need to move on to the next level. It's been days. I can smell his weird smell all the way in my room.”
Harlow wasn't wrong about Atlas's scent. Something earthy and wild clung to him, especially after our make-out sessions in my bedroom. Night after night, he'd show up at my door once his shift ended and watch me work.
I couldn't help but find it endearing how Atlas would tense up whenever my viewers sent virtual gifts during streams—digital roses, animated treasure chests, glittering necklace icons. His jaw would clench slightly each time the notification sound chimed, even though these were just symbols that converted to actual money in my account later. Something about watchingother people shower me with tokens of affection, even digital ones, clearly unsettled him.
Once Atlas realized I received virtual gifts during streams, he started bringing me real ones. Every night, he has arrived with something new—fresh flowers, plush blankets, even a wooden table he crafted to match my bookcases. Last week, he surprised me with a body pillow he'd made from one of his shirts, stuffed and sewn so I could fall asleep surrounded by his scent.
The guilt of my night shifts had been nagging at me lately. Every time Atlas showed up after his work, I'd catch myself wondering if I could rearrange my streaming schedule. Maybe I could scale back a bit—my account had been doing well enough that I didn't need to hustle quite so hard anymore. There were plenty of content creators who made decent money without constant live broadcasts.
