Velocity Edit

By Anna Avent

Art by Amelia Randolph

It's 3:23 am, and the slowed version of a song repeats itself. Pixels of light reverberate flashes of color across her face to the sensual underbeat of the song. Multiple clips play out in front of her, him smiling, winking, playing with his hair. The faces of the posters behind her bed glowingly mock her with their watching eyes. The chipped polish of her nail hovers over her phone screen, continuously swiping up and down, replaying the same video over again. Blinking away the dryness of her bloodshot eyes, she swats the journal sitting atop her laptop away, opens Reddit, and begins typing.

r/confessions

I’m misunderstood.

I am in a fandom for a very well-known streamer. I’ve been watching him for almost 3 years now. My family and friends say I’m weirdly obsessed with him, like I can control it. They can't understand how someone could feel so much for someone without knowing them; it is weird for them, so their survival instinct tells them to attack the 'weird' to make them feel better about themselves. They just can't get it. I'm not hurting anyone. Why do they care who I'm in love with? Yes, I'm aware this is not healthy, but they act like I can control it. I can’t; I've tried; nothing works. He’s all I think about. I don't know what to do. I need to know if other people are or have felt this way.

The song continues to repeat like a ritualistic chant. Staring at the screen, she anxiously bites at her shaking fingertips, using her teeth to peel at existing cuts, leaving raw red tears. Looking ahead, she rereads the words on the screen, her eyes growing heavy in her skull. She squints her eyes hard as if to hold them in place, takes a deep breath, and reaches for the “enter” key. POSTED, the screen flashes. She bites her tongue to muffle the sounds of shame finding their way to her throat. Gulping back the tears, she lets out a sharp panicked breath, reaches for her journal, and begins frantically flipping through the pages. Each page is filled with variations of repeated words. 

“He is mine, I am his. He is mine, I am his."

“We live a happy life together. We live a happy life together.”

Breathing through her teeth, she thrusts her hand through the pages looking for space—any space—to let the thoughts of her mind escape themselves. Her fingers violently rake through the pages, a sharp sting and the sensation of something wet stopping her. Squeezing the cut together, the blood runs down her finger and onto her wrist. Focused on her inscribed words, her bloodied hand steadies itself on the page. With the blood seeping through the journal she flips the pages of times past, inhaling the scent of aged iron. Taking a deep breath, she squeezes her eyes together one last time, listening to the song repeat.