Page 3 of Aim Assist

Life-changing.

Responsibility.

It feels so early for all of this shit to have taken my bestie away.

Ooey-gooey baby sounds come from Sam's speaker, before she finally talks again. "Amy, you know that's not what I meant, and I know you know that."

Yeah. I know.

But I say nothing. Instead, I cut random wiggles and squiggles from one of the shirt scraps.

On the few occasions there's an emotional confrontation in my life, I fiddle.

It's what I do.

"There's something more going on. What is it?"

The understanding in her voice, that soft tone that I've grown up with through all my hardest years, brings the suggestion of tears to my eyes.

But I blink a few times, and it disappears, as though recognizing that crying isn't accepted here.

"Everything's fine, Sam." A cold nose pokes at my ankle. My little Pomeranian puppy is engrossed in licking lotion off my skin, and I shoe her away with my foot and high-pitched noise.

She comes right back, thinking it's time for a tug of war with my toes.

Two pairs of shoes have already been murdered by the vicious little beastie. Puppies are a menace.

"No, it's not. You need to talk about this. It's not healthy to bottle things up like you do. Come on. We can have a girl's night."

"You can't drink," I remind her.

She groans. "Don't get me started. I was involved in a 2-hour argument online about whether we can drink and breastfeed. It sounds like I can, but then there's the people who tell me I'm going to hell if I do. Honestly, it's like I can't do anything right."

Perfect; she's heading down a new line of conversation. "Oh? I thought it would be a pretty clear no." Leaning over, I grab the tiny pup and head for the back door, listening as Sam laments in my ear about the drama of online mom groups.

Amy

As a girl gamer, streaming comes with a lot of comments that I don't care to deal with.

A lot of them are sexual and crude.

Plenty of them are pure vitriol because no one believes girls can game, despite the fact that the era of "all girls online are guys in real life" is way over.

There are also the people who like to comment on my hair, my make-up, my clothes, my dog (who's asleep on my bed, turned in for the evening—she's an old lady at heart when she isn't eating my shoes), and my setup, as though offended that it look anything other than a generic RGB setup in a dark room with little action figures on the wall.

You know. The quintessential cave of a nerdy man. Massive eye roll.

Today, I'm not interacting much with the comments. I'm dressed up to be every man's little gaming fantasy, with my boobs pushed up in a little rockabilly dress that's a size too small in the bust. Bright red lipstick swiped over my mouth gives it that sultry little pout that drove Paul wild. My hair's having a good curl day, and it's all over my shoulders in a wild mess that even I admit looks hot as fuck.

Yeah. I'm clapping back against that asshole who cheated on me.

I spent a week sulking about it, and I'm over it now. I know that fucker still watches me stream—it's his fucking fap material. It's what he does.

So, I'll let him see what he's missing.

I don't know how Twiggy McSticks is in bed, but if she has any self-worth at all, she'll do the bare minimum, because that's all she's going to get in return. So I'll let him daydream about all the times I teased him to the edge of explosion. On the phone. On dates. In the movie theater that one time, where I'd gone on my knees in the dark.

I'm going to have to replace that memory with a better one, though. I don't want movie theaters tainted by him forever.

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