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Three more months. It felt like a lifetime and yet, somehow, only a blink of an eye. For me, Roxy Golbach, these months had been nothing short of a whirlwind, but a good one. A world where I wasn’t just trying to survive, but actually thrive. I had a home, a family, and for the first time in my life, a future I could picture without it feeling too heavy.
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Living with Sam and Colby was everything I never thought I could have. They weren’t just my guardians; they were my brothers in every sense of the word. Their house wasn’t just big, it was filled with laughter, warmth, and the kind of chaos that made it feel like home.
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The house was enormous—three bedrooms, a sleek kitchen, a dining room that was often left empty, a pool on the deck where Colby loved to practice his backflips, and five bathrooms. There was an office for editing their videos, a cozy living room where we spent hours binge-watching anything and everything, and a card table where we played games late into the night, sometimes with pizza boxes scattered around us. It wasn’t just the space, it was the vibe.
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But my room? That was mine, and I was proud of it.
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It had taken a lot of convincing to let me do it my way, but Sam and Colby finally agreed to let me go full Y2K. The walls were painted a soft lavender with posters of my favorite bands, some of which were vintage, like the ones I used to see in magazines. I had a plush, low-rise bed with star-shaped pillows and a fluffy comforter that matched the galaxy-inspired curtains. Lights twinkled across the ceiling like stars, and every corner was filled with a reminder of what made me, me.
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I loved mixing things that felt like me—crosses, cherries, and all things red. My bedspread had a splash of red and black to give it a little edge, and I had a small, framed cross on the wall above my desk. My favorite cherry-shaped earrings were always within reach, hanging from a hook on my nightstand, ready to add a little pop of fun to any outfit.
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The closet was a dream. I had stacks of crop tops, baggy jeans, and miniskirts that I’d never get tired of wearing. A collection of chunky boots, platform sneakers, and a pair of glittery heels I’d never actually wear but kept for the aesthetic. And bags—so many bags. The holographic mini bag was always hanging by the door, my go-to when I was heading out.
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I was obsessed with having options—something as small as the keys to my room or bathroom felt like control. My iPhone 15 sat on my desk next to my laptop, and every now and then, I’d take a break to scroll through comments on Sam and Colby’s channel.
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The YouTube fame was still a little weird. At first, I was hesitant, not wanting to steal the spotlight from Sam and Colby, who had built the channel from the ground up. But they always told me, "You’re part of this now, too." And before I knew it, I was not only comfortable with it, but also having fun with it.
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My fans—yes, I had fans now—were kind. They were always leaving sweet comments about how relatable I was, or how they loved my Y2K style. Sometimes it felt overwhelming, especially when people would recognize me when I went out, but most of the time, it was just a weird kind of cool.
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“Roxy!” Sam called one afternoon from the living room. “Get in here, you have to see this.”
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I walked in wearing one of my oversized hoodies and a pair of ripped jeans. Sam and Colby were sitting on the couch, laughing as Sam held his phone up.
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“Here it is,” Sam said, showing me the screen. It was a montage of comments from their latest video.
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“‘Roxy’s the best,’” Sam read aloud. “‘She makes the videos so much better.’” He grinned. “You’re a star.”
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I rolled my eyes. “You guys are the ones who are famous, not me.”
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Colby snorted. “Please, you’ve got a fanbase now. They’re calling themselves the "Roxy Rebels"”
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I raised my eyebrows. “That’s... ridiculous.”
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“It’s amazing!” Sam said, nudging me with his elbow. “You’re not just part of this family, you’ve become part of the channel. Own it.”
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I laughed. “Alright, alright. You’re right. I’ll take it.”
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As I lay in bed later that night, my phone buzzing with a notification from Colby, I realized something: I wasn’t just surviving. I was living.
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The text from Colby read:
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"Get ready, we’re filming tomorrow. You up for it?"
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I smiled, throwing off my covers and standing up. This was my life now—a life with people who cared, a life where I wasn’t alone, and a future that actually seemed bright.
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For the first time, I wasn’t just existing—I was really living. And I couldn’t wait to see where this journey took me to.
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