“Uploading…uploading…”
It took approximately fifteen minutes for a video to upload. Bitcave launched their fourth video, though from the outside looking in, it was officially their first. A video fully written and voiced by Isabella Pérez.
There wasn't much to add in the description save a bold declaration of solving the timeline—because if there was one thing that could potentially go viral, it was a timeline video. A hotly debated topic, it was sure to gain traction that swung from positive to negative.
Isabella stood behind him as the video uploaded to the sit right in front of her eyes. Her eyes were baggy and weary, having not slept for days. Owen himself was in an identical condition. He had never seen such thick, visible bags under his eyes.
However, at long last…
“Phew!” Owen leaned back into his chair while Isabella took two steps and collapsed onto his bed. Their eyes promptly closed. “Wait up…”
Eyes closed, his feet turned his chair around. He didn't want to move but sleeping on a chair was plain uncomfortable. He threw himself onto the bed and groaned.
‘I have work tomorrow too…’ He climbed onto his bed and adjusted himself. Isabella crawled right beside him, feeling the heat of her body. Neither cared for perfect comfort. All they desired was that sweet spot. The most lazy, least energy-draining way to get sleepy.
“Zzzz…” Isabella snored loudly. Owen didn't care though. He had slept through her snoring once and he would do it again.
The next Owen opened his eyes, he saw the soft, sleeping expression of his girlfriend, Isabella. Half asleep, he wiped the brown hair in her mouth.
He rolled over to the side table and checked the time. It was almost five. He swore under his breath and rolled back over to Isabella. Sometimes, he wished he could stay with them for long. He wished he could one day wake up without having to be afraid of making money.
However, he had a responsibility. A commitment. He had to go, so that was what he did.
His injury was all but healed. He planned to go to Dr. Belle to remove the stitches.
He checked his phone. After a night's sleep, he wondered how many views their new video had.
‘Five views.’
He drew in a long breath. Well, less than half a day had passed. Having a low number of views, especially for a channel with zero subscribers, was natural. That was he kept repeating to himself as he went to work.
***
“What do you mean I have the day off?”
“You know how it is sometimes. We have little work to do. Don't worry, since you're injured, I can get the higher-ups to pay you for the day.”
Boss Mike was off today. He had stopped Owen as soon as he entered the site and told him flatly that there was no need for him.
‘But I mean, if the boss says so…’
“As long as I'm getting paid…” Owen said, nodding. “Fine. Thank you. I am curious: has anyone else been sent back?”
“Just one besides you,” Boss Mike replied.
“Okay then…”
He did a heel turn and headed back to the bicycle rack. His thoughts were in disarray as he began walking, not quite wanting to ride. ‘Should I just go home?’ A yawn escaped him. ‘But I'm so tired. Maybe I should take a quick nap at a café.’
Yawning again, he hopped onto his bicycle and rode to the closest café. The name was unfamiliar. Probably local. He locked his bicycle up and headed inside, ordering a small coffee and breakfast and then promptly putting his head.
The waitress arrived to bring him his stuff but Owen was long gone. Sleep had taken over him. Half an hour passed until he was woken up by the waitress, who pointed out that the coffee and sandwich had gone cold.
“My bad.” He rubbed his eyes, yawning for the umpteenth time. Lazily, he drank and ate, though clearly his heart wasn't in it. He ate for the sake of eating.
Life really did seem to hate him. He got up to go to work but apparently he didn't have to? God. First-world problems.
Coming home, he was greeted to nothing. Everyone was asleep. Owen took off his green vest and dropped on the couch, yawning. His eyes closed and he slept for the third time today.
***
Poke.
Poke.
“Poke.”
“Mmm, five more hours…” Owen muttered, eyes refusing to open. He wanted to continue hugging the pillow and sleeping. He wanted to forget about his worries for just these few hours.
“Uh, okay,” the soft voice said. “But, err, the kitchen is burning.”
Sigh. Owen opened his eyes and saw Ophelia’s concerned expression. Squatting down, glancing at the smoke coming from the kitchen, she laughed nervously. “S-sorry…”
“Mm…” Owen grunted and picked himself up. Half asleep, he walked to the kitchen, ignoring the taste of smoke, and heading straight to the source of it. The bottom half of the oven was that source, opened up and burning from a botched batch of cookies. Sighing, he casually opened up the cabinets, grabbed the baking soda, and smothered the flames with the white powder. It took a lot of throwing but the small fire eventually died down.
Ophelia hid behind the entryway and peeked through when the smoke began to wither away. “I-is it good? Did anything break?”
“Nothing broke,” he replied, putting the baking soda away. “Luckily, I dismantled the fire alarm last time. We can’t afford that fee.”
“S-sorry.”
“It’s alright.” He turned on the sink and splashed himself with cold water. He tried not to be annoyed with the number of dishes inside. He tried to be understanding as he began to wash them.
“I’ll help!” Ophelia supplied. “I know you’re tired after work.”
Owen sent her an appreciative smile. At least she was trying. No one could fault her for that.
“How come you’re back early?” Ophelia asked.
“Work was cancelled.”
“Ohhh.”
He mustered up all the kindness in the world for that brief explanation. He hated acknowledging it but some days just sucked—and today was one of those days. Luckily, Ophelia didn’t notice and carried on helping him with a giddy smile. He was glad. He didn’t want her to carry his burdens. He didn't want to ever see her cry.
