REWIND: Tampered (Youtube FanFiction)

Chapter Eight

"No Redo's"

Day 6 – Tuesday
9:46AM

||Dawn Watson (Created At Dusk)||

The first thing to catch my eye upon waking up is my own blanket covering half of my face. It isn't unusual for me to wake up half buried in a blanket—what confused me was the fact that I can feel another blanket against my hand. The other blanket felt like wool, so I knew it's different because mine is cotton.

And why does my bed feel so much stiffer?

Finally getting my sense straight, I realize that not only am I not in my own bed, I'm also lying on my stomach with my head lulling at the edge of a sofa and my right hand flat on the floor. Adjusting to the brightness of the room, I see the blanket that I've been wondering about and realize that someone is sleeping on the floor next to the sofa—Nate.

I quickly pull my hand up, which was apparently dangerously close to Nate's slumbering face. I try not to make a sound as I try to adjust my position but I still didn't have the energy to get up. Instead, I continue to lie on my stomach and just stare at Nate. I guess I fell asleep in the lounge last night and he didn't want to carry me back to my room, but he also couldn't leave me to sleep alone in here. I watch how his chest would rise up and down as he breathes and how some of the wool on his blanket would sway against the hot air he exhales from his slightly opened mouth. His nose would even scrunch a little, letting out a little snore. He looks... peaceful for once. After everything that's happened, and ever since we met, this is the first time I've seen Nate look the least bit peaceful. It actually feels relieving to see him without all that worry and stress on his slightly pale face, or his constant blushing.

He's a gentleman for not sleeping next to me on the sofa and for having the decency of sleeping on the floor for me, I'll give him that.

After about a minute of staring mindlessly at him, Nate turns his head the other way, making me rise up from my position with both my hands supporting my weight. Laughing at how surprised his simple action made me feel, I finally get up to leave the sofa. I'll just let him rest for now—he needs all the energy he can get.

I take myself to the kitchen to grab a glass of water before almost tip toeing my way to my room. I take a seat on my now blanket-less bed as I empty the glass I took and place it on my nightstand. There, I found my phone, facing down. Reluctantly, I grab my phone and flip through past messages, text from last night that I knew I received but refused to open.

I read the two texts from last night, which were both from Dan and Phil. They both left me messages apologizing for not listening to my advice, for not staying in London and for buying tickets to fly to LA. They said they wanted to be with me, by my side especially now that I'm clearly too upset about MatPat's death.

"We're flying to LA and there's nothing you can say that can stop us. It's been a dark couple of days and we need to stick together when shit goes down." Those were Daniel Howell's words that ultimately led to the incredible increase of my anxiety. He told me that last night when I called them to talk about MatPat and PewDiePie. Apparently, they already told me that they'll be arriving in LA later tonight or tomorrow morning when I first called them on the night of Matt's death. There was obvious concern in Dan's and Phil's voices, so I knew how serious they were about accompanying me here—and that just made me feel worse. They've booked a flight and everything, and there was nothing I could do.

I couldn't stop them. They'll be here soon. Here in LA—a ticking time bomb that's waiting for its next victim. I couldn't keep them away from the dangers of this place. After all my efforts to persuade them to stay in London, they just became even more eager.