Chapter 7: My Own Song

I rested for a few days in my rented apartment.

The new place was small—just a twin bed and a kitchenette—but it was mine. The radiator clanked all night, and the neighbor’s TV bled through the walls, but it was my own space—and that was enough. I drew the blinds, curled up under a thin blanket, and let myself breathe for the first time in years.

Soon, I started livestreaming again. At the height of the boom, singing and dancing streamers were everywhere.

My apartment glowed with neon from my ring light. I rehearsed songs, tried out jokes, learned to read the chat and keep up the energy. Every night felt electric, the city outside humming in the background.

Especially since I was good-looking, had a nice voice, and a charming personality.

I played up the Midwest boy-next-door act, grinning into the camera, hitting every note. My DMs filled up with hearts and fire emojis.

Girls who liked a cute face and a good voice really went for me.

They sent gifts, joined my streams, and sent messages full of hope and admiration. For the first time, I felt like I mattered, like I could make someone’s day brighter.

Having mastered the art of drawing in viewers, I was even more popular than in my previous life.

My subscriber count ticked upward, sponsors reached out, and the money rolled in faster than ever. This time, I kept every penny.

Watching my daily earnings climb, I couldn’t stop grinning.

Each new donation felt like a victory, a middle finger to everyone who said I’d never amount to anything.

As I happily counted my bank balance, my dad called.

The caller ID flashed on my phone. Old habits kicked in—my hands shook, my heart thudded. But I answered anyway.

"I was wondering why you haven’t sent any money yet!"

His voice was sharp, annoyed, like I’d missed a car payment.

He was furious on the phone.

Even through the cheap speaker, I could feel his anger, his entitlement.

But knowing what he was after, did he really think I’d just roll over for him?

I looked at the zero balance on the shared family account and smiled. That old power he had over me? Gone.

Who would listen to him, except when he acts like the king in front of me?

His authority stopped at the edge of his lawn. In the real world, he was just another guy yelling at clouds.

His siblings?

They circled like vultures, but without my money, even they lost interest.

If he didn’t give them handouts, would they even bother pretending to like him?

Family ties loosened quick when the gravy train stopped. I bet next Thanksgiving, they’d find someone else to pick on.

"I don’t have any money. The plant’s not doing well, paychecks are late. I haven’t been paid in months."

I made my voice sound tired, defeated, just like he expected. Let him think I was struggling—less reason for him to chase after my success.

"So what if your paychecks are late? Don’t give me excuses. I want you to send money!"

He didn’t care how I felt, only what I could provide.

Dad roared, his voice so loud it nearly blew out my eardrum.

I held the phone away, marveling at how quickly he’d switched from caring to cruel.

"How can I send you money if I don’t have any?"

Honestly, I found him ridiculous.

He couldn’t see the world had changed, that I was no longer his puppet.

"Can’t you sell plasma? I heard selling a kidney gets you over a hundred grand."

I almost laughed. The absurdity of it—he’d rather see me torn apart than lose his meal ticket. Maybe next he’d ask if I could pawn a lung. Anything for the family, right?

"You can’t sell plasma or a kidney, and our family’s not that desperate."

I kept my tone dry, fighting the urge to hang up.

"You dare talk back to me?"

His voice rose, full of wounded pride. How dare I say no?

"What if I do?"

I let the words hang in the air. For once, I wasn’t scared.

"You won’t listen?" His roar grew even louder, like an enraged lion, howling to scare off challengers. "If you dare defy me, that means you’re sick! I’m your father—I have the right to do anything to you. Don’t let me catch you, or I’ll send you straight to a psych ward!"

I felt a chill down my spine, the old terror threatening to pull me under. But I gripped the phone tighter, refusing to let him win.

Hearing him threaten me with the psych ward, despair flooded my heart. My whole body went cold, my fingers trembling as I hung up.

I stared at the screen until it went dark. The silence afterward was the sweetest sound I’d heard in years.

The world finally went quiet.

For the first time, my apartment felt like a real home. I breathed deep, letting the peace settle in.

But not completely quiet.

Because my mom started sending long texts, crying about how expensive it was for Caleb to go to college, how hard it was for the family to support a college student, and how all the family’s hopes rested on him.

I scrolled through her messages, each one a mix of guilt and manipulation, ending with a demand for money. But this time, I just let them pile up, unread. My life was mine now, and I was never going back.

I put my phone on silent, let the messages pile up, and for the first time, I didn’t feel guilty. Not one bit.