[PUNCH CLOCK ANIMAL] GLASS STEW

[skinstealer]

CHAPTER TWO: SHOCK BROADCAST 

CW: self harm, mentions of shock content/violence, sexual mentions/implications 

The game’s good, tonight. Real brutal one too- you’d be on the edge of your seat if it wasn’t some rerun. Even then, you missed the middle of it, and it never hurt to revisit a match considered a classic. These sorta death games had a wild following, and while you’re not the most avid fan, you keep up when you get the chance.

Sometimes they make you feel a bit queasy, but you figure it’ll go away easy enough.

It’s fine. You’re good. Show’s good too, and you ain’t gonna spend any time worrying about it tonight- it’s a party night, and that makes the night yours. This was your element, surrounded by pounding music and people laughing as they grind all over each other. Yeah, this kinda shit was where it was at. 

Someone eats shit off a ledge and you laugh before even thinking about it. Automatic process, routine at this point. Somebody falls? You laugh. Somebody gets some teeth knocked out? You laugh, and something hurts your head while you do it but it’s just a part of the game, and nothing more. Nothing worth worrying about.

Over the sound of the TV you can hear talking, just barely audible- you knock the volume down a few notches, curiosity too much to handle. Nobody ever got hurt from a little bit of eavesdropping anyway, not like you’re committing a crime.

From the sound of it, it’s Eastwood and his not-quite-boyfriend Aster- you can’t stand this guy on a good day, and from the sound of it, he’s not having one of those. You try to lower the volume one more tick, finally able to make out words...including your name.

“She….she needs help, Eastwood. I’m worried.”

Eastwood doesn’t say a word, not that you can make out anyway.

“Please...you can’t let her destroy herself forever.” 

“I’m not her babysitter, Aster.”

“I’m not asking you to babysit her, she isn’t a child- but she needs someone right now, and you’re here.”

“That’s all that qualifies me? I’m here?”

“Eastwood…”

There they go again, bickering and bickering and bickering. You’ve heard this shit so many times before, though usually it’s about the weather or what to eat...never about you.

You don’t know how to feel about that.

“I’m not obligated to help her work through her own shit, not when I have so much on my own plate. I’m a parent for fuck’s sake!”

“I know, I know...but it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I’ve seen what happens to people...like her.”

“People like her.”

“You know...people who would throw away anything just for a bit of attention. It’s terrible to say, I know, but-”

“Yeah. It is kind of terrible.”

“Just look at these parties-”

“You don’t seem to complain when you’re at ‘em.”

“Because- okay, alright. If we’re going to have this conversation, I need you to actually listen to me, and not make snarky comments. Can we do that?”

“Fine. Tell me whatever horrible things you’re worried about.”

“Well...it’s just...I’ve seen people like her, people who act out for attention, or seek out dangerous kinds of attention...I see them get hurt, sometimes in ways that can’t be taken back. Someone is going to end up taking advantage of her, Eastwood, and I’d rather there be some kind of prevention happening before you have to play damage control.”

“Okay.” You hear Eastwood sigh. “That’s...fair enough, I guess. I’m not in any fucking place to tell her to stop sleeping around-”

Aster snorts, and you roll your eyes.

“Knock it off. I’m not in any place to tell her off for that, but I don’t want her getting messed up either.”

“That’s not all I’m worried about, though.”

“Go on.”

“You know my work. Being in the Hoopla TV industry...you see some shit. People say it’s one of the most screwed up businesses to be in, not as bad as Consumption mind you, but it’s not pleasant. I’m spared a lot working as a newscaster, but I see what comes on the channel after my segments...hell, I think there’s some on right now.”

You shrink in your seat, just in case they’re looking over.

“And it’s all violence, Eastwood. It’s all these death games and fighting and gore splatters...it isn’t good for anyone’s head, to be surrounded by that, to be immersed in that as a part of culture...and I’ll be honest, a good part of why it’s so prominent is because she encourages it.”

“Now hold on-”

“I’m serious. She’s a god, the big figure of this zone- she’s a role model, whether she’s cut out to be or not. And the fact of the matter is, people look to her, and what she likes, and they idolize. I don’t think she’s a violent person, she’s given me no reason to think that...but it’s still there, and it’s not just affecting her anymore.”

“I watch plenty of that shit too, Aster, it’s not making me a problem-”

“You don’t hold the same kind of position she does, and you’re not watching it like that, not all the time and never the severe stuff...some of the late night showings are basically shock porn, for fuck’s sake.”

You can feel your face burning up, some kind of knot tangling up in your stomach. Shock porn...it wasn’t shock porn, you’ve never seen anything like that-

not on TV

-in your life.

“Her attitude about this, how she handles this, everything...it’s going to consume her-”

The word sends a shudder down your form, you hate it but shove back why, it’s not important-

“-and she’s going to get hurt. It can’t keep going like this.”  

Eastwood is silent, not saying a word. For some reason this makes you feel worse, like you can feel Aster’s words seeping into him and making sense. It wasn’t fair, this was...this was some kind of bias against you, maybe he was jealous of how much time you got to be around Eastwood-

“She needs help.”

You don’t wait to hear what’s next.

You get up from the couch in a single smooth motion, leaving a few smears of hot sludge behind- you can’t help it, this shit’s got your body heated, like it always does. Eastwood panics a little as you walk towards him and Aster, trying to play it off and failing miserably. You don’t say a word, pupils following the two of them as you pass by, purposefully hitting Aster’s shoulder on your way out. You can hear him fussing as soon as you’re past, and you can’t help but hope the sludge doesn’t get out of his wool for days.

The music seems to pound louder as you walk through the warehouse, passing by people writhing in time with the beat. You’d join them in a second, just a second...just need to clear your head, get all the bad out so you can focus on what matters- your night. Fuck Aster and Eastwood, the hell did they know about you anyway? It wasn’t like you were asking for people to all have their eyes on you, you didn’t ask to be put into this position! Fuck, Eastwood goes on about how he didn’t want to be born all the time, and somehow when it’s you it’s a problem! Fucking hypocrites, all of them. 

Your head is swimming, and you can smell the faintest hint of smoke. There’s no one around you, just a hallway- you don’t even remember walking down this hallway, completely immersed in your own head. The smell of smoke gets stronger even as you’re all alone, and you shove it down, you shove it all down, it’s not going to bother you, not tonight, not now-

You’re seeping all over the tiles, your hands shifting into claws-

a trick you learned from her 

Fuck.

Fuck this. 

Fuck all of this.

You’re going to get yourself together-

You slap your own face, splattering some sludge on the wall. It’s fine. It’s fine-

You’re going to get yourself together, get yourself hyped up, get yourself laid, and it was going to be amazing. It was going to be the best shit ever, and fuck what Eastwood and Aster said. At least this way, you’ll be appreciated, even if it’s just for a night. And after tonight, who knows? You could just do this again and again, and then you’d never have to be alone.

You can handle yourself, you don’t have a problem, and you never have.

You start walking again, the hallway seemingly constricting around you with every step. It’s almost as if you could feel her walking behind you, hand on your shoulder-

[TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER THREE]