I Promise (Septiplier Story)

8 - Drake Blackelm

Drake Blackelm, as he liked to call himself, although his real name was Randall Pokorny, was sitting in a small, dark motel room, about five miles out of town. He sat on the edge of a worn out old bed, with it's cheap, faded blankets, that looked messed up as if someone didn't sleep well the night before. He was running his long fingers through his black hair, over and over again, as if he was highly stressed. His phone, sitting next to him on the bed, vibrated, and the caller id said Mom on the screen. He didn't bother to even look at it, as he knew she would just want to know where he was again, and why he hadn't called her. All that mattered right now was how paranoid he was feeling.

Thursday morning he happened to be at the airport, people watching, playing his favorite game of spot the invisible. It was where he watched, from a distance, the people who were traveling to and from the city, to see if he could spot celebrities who were trying to stay incognito. And since PAX was happening, this was the best time for it. He had already seen many that morning, some of whom were trying to stay low-key, and others who were not, and by that evening he hit gold. Jacksepticeye was one of those rare treats, one of his favorites, so he decided to follow the man to see where he would be lodging.

He wanted to get Jack's autograph, and stuck around the lobby of the hotel in the hopes to obtain one. He wasn't sure if it'd happen that night, but when Jack and that other guy, Markiplier, came walking out of the elevator he knew this was it. He stayed back, waiting for a chance, but was too shy to approach the Irish man, and Jack never looked his way. Instead, the man spent his time with the squealing girls, and their overbearing mothers. Drake believed he must not have been good enough for the YouTube star, as he figured he had been snubbed. Under normal circumstances he would have been disappointed, and simply moved on with his life, but something about how Jack spoke with everyone else there but him, just set him off. Like something inside his mind just snapped, and he became instantly enraged.

He was outside the hotel while he sat in his car, waiting for Jack's return, when he saw the man as he was walking back with his friends. Drake figured he would teach the green haired bastard a lesson. It was supposed to be just a scare. He figured since Jack liked jump scares so much, why not give him a real life one. Only, because he had sat in his car for two hours, doing nothing but thinking about how much Jack was better than him, with his successful career, his loving and adoring fans, how much of a good person he was, that Drake really began to despise the guy. So when he started his car, he hit the gas harder than he first intended and went speeding towards the Irishman. The voice in the back of his head kept yelling for him to turn the wheel, so as not to hit him, to swerve his car to avoid making contact, but his anger had taken over, and he ignored all of his inner voices. All he wanted was to see the man go down.

It wasn't until he passed Jack, who had been pulled to safety, and was speeding down the road, towards the outskirts that he realized what he had almost done. Once at a seedy motel, he searched the Internet, and turned on the TV as soon as he had gotten a room, just to make sure he didn't actually put Jack in the hospital. Grateful when nothing came up, he was now at a loss. What should he do? The police were certainly looking for him, so he couldn't go back home, but he couldn't stay here either. Perhaps if he could get Jack's forgiveness that would solve everything, but how would he do that without admitting that he was the one that almost killed him? He looked up and around the room, hoping the answer would be somewhere in the dingy place. Then he saw it, a pad of paper and a pen, compliments of the motel, sitting on the nightstand. A letter, he would write Jack an apology. Then, somehow, he'd find a way to get it to the shorter man, without him knowing it came from him. At least this way Jack would know he didn't mean to do it on purpose, after all, he's really not a bad person, he had just gotten angry. He grabbed the notepad, and pen off the stand, and got to writing.