Chapter Text
Spamton strides down the green room, approaching the stools to the little bar with a thick air of confidence around him.
Spamton tried to push down any nervousness or anxiety and smother it with his ego. He looks around at all the Pippins and Shadow Guys drinking, laughing, talking. They had invited only a few cyber city residents, and even fewer showed up. Darkners were everywhere, and most didn't look like they were having fun.
Either way the constant chatter, the gossip, the complaints, all the noises were getting to him.
This party was just a bit irritating at best, nothing more. Tenna had suggested throwing a party to celebrate his and Spamton's first show together and how great it went.
Of course, it was an absolute success of a show, no surprise there. Honestly Spamton had expected more, better ratings, with how his benefactor had talked about it. But he was fine with it, while Tenna was absolutely ecstatic, and he yapped about how it was a wonderful performance and so on.
Then, Tenna threw this stupid party in the green room, God what a moron. Not that Spamton ever refused or told him otherwise, he couldn't be bothered. Honestly, he quite liked parties, well, when they were in the Queen's mansion. God did she know how to really throw a party unlike Tenna.
Maybe it was slightly Spamton's fault for refusing to help at all in setting up the party, with invitations, or anything of the sort. Well if it was his fault, Spamton didn't feel bad.
It was fine, completely fine, he didn't look terrible in the slightest, no not at all. In fact, he was probably the biggest man here, the absolute best.
Spamton just had to amplify that little feeling, the feeling of being big. He looks around to make sure they are eyes on him, and thank God there are. It is a nice feeling, being watched, as long as it is in awe.
It was like a high form of praise and he leeches off the feeling to support his fragile ego. He feels better seeing some of the few cyber city residents look at him with admiration in their eyes, like the absolute star he was. He loves it.
Spamton takes a seat in the stool next to Tenna with a wide grin on his face, feeling somewhat fine now.
“Hey, big guy! Nice party, huh?” Spamton chuckles, not really feeling it.
“Uh, yes, of course!” Tenna replies, his voice wavering. Maybe he was uncomfortable as well? “Very nice. Uh- Actually, I wanted to talk about how amazing the show was!”
Oh, great. Spamton turns away as Tenna begins his rambling. Whenever Tenna starts talking about his show, he just goes on and on for ages, about the show, about the new scenes, about stuff Spamton just couldn't care less about right now.
For the next few minutes, Spamton ignores Tenna, ordering a few drinks, looking around, thinking. It was so God damn boring, this TV really knew how to throw the worst parties.
He looks around, taking a sip from his drink. This whole place…it was a bit too crowded, a bit too loud. He shakes his head, closing his eyes in annoyance. No, no, what was wrong with him, scared of a little noise? He just needs another drink, maybe a smoke.
“Well?” Tenna's huge hand was placed on Spamton's shoulders, snapping him out of it. “I was wondering how?” Spamton looks up at Tenna, who has a big smile on his stupid face.
Shit, shit, what was the question?
“Uh- I don't know,” Spamton says smoothly with a smile that is fake and strained.
“Really?” Tenna smiled, “You know, I always thought it had something to do with all those phone calls you take.”
The world faded away to nothing but darkness and white noise.
What.
How long had Tenna known? About the phone calls? Spamton had never fucking told him, had Tenna been spying on him?
Spamton turned away. No, no, this was all his fault. He shouldn't have even looked at a phone in Tenna's presence. Shit, he was fucking everything up. What would his benefactor think? Now that Tenna knew? Has he always known? Has Tenna always known? Ever since Spamton had started making ads for him?
This was all going downhill. What would he say- what could he say to the benefactor, for having let Tenna know about all this? God this was too much, and all the noise around him was coming back now, amplified and sickening. What would HE do when Spamton picked up the phone, because surely he knew, he always did, and what would be his explanation for letting something like that slip, he was FUCKING told to keep under wraps, God, why couldn't he just do this?
He hasn't felt this stressed since he became a big shot, since he first picked up that phone, he wanted it to stop, he hated feeling like this. He despised this sinking feeling in his gut, God he had to make it fucking stop, he really just wanted, he wanted- he knew what he had to do, he-
“Spamton?”
Spamton didn't even look up. He was snapped out of his epiphany, and just now realized he had been holding his breath. He let it out smoothly, discreetly.
Tenna was most likely staring at him with pity and worry plastered on his face. Spamton wasn't fond of the thought, so he didn't look up. He rose from his chair gently.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” He spoke calmly, smoothly, because nothing was wrong. His smile was barely hanging on, his eyes were pointed at Tenna's bright yellow tie and nothing else.
Spamton jumped off the stool and turned away sedately. He strode off, calm and collected because nothing was wrong
___________
He closed the bathroom door, with no anticipation in his movements. He closed it slowly, calmly, normally, there was nothing off in the slightest.
He approached the corner, ignoring the sink or the toilet. He did not want to look at himself as he did this. He did not want to look into his own eyes, he didn't want to see himself from an outside perspective.
Spamton slowly placed his hand in his pocket, grabbing onto what was most important and raised it into the air. A little pocket knife he keeps for protection, he was always a bit paranoid. It was beautiful in the cheap bathroom light, shining silver with that sharp edge.
Slowly, Spamton took off his blazer and let it fall on the toilet lid unceremoniously. There was no rush and his hands never shook. He moved gently as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, and his movements were glides as he took it off his left shoulder, letting it stay attached to his other one however.
God, it was so long since he had done this, after all, he never needed to after those first phone calls. Still, he remembered not to cut his forearms or wrists. He was paranoid about ever hypothetically wearing short sleeves, or rolling up his sleeves, then having it noticed.
Imagine the nightmare that would happen if he were alone in some short sleeved shirt and someone walks in or talks to him and notices…and cares. It would never happen. It can never happen. That's why he'll stick to his shoulder for now.
He brought the blade up to press gently against his shoulder, admiring how the silver matched against his pale white. It would look so much better clashing against red, though.
Now his hands shook. It really has been a while since the last time, huh? But being out there…it was just too fucking much. With this everything else melted, his fears, his worries, his joy.
He brought the blade down, still a bit unsure. He pushed it softly, seeing the tough skin of his shoulder go down with the point and rising around it. He took a breath, then dragged it down slowly, pressing it softly.
He could feel it more than hear it. The way it scraped and tore, it was like several small strings in a seam being snapped.
He felt like such a wuss, cutting himself like this, it was a small glide that honestly barely hurt. He wasn't sure if it was because he was being too much of a wimp to inflict real pain or if it was because he was just…used to it.
He let go, and inspected his shoulder with morbid curiosity. A shallow slit, open with only a bit of red starting to form at the corners. His insides were lightly pink and it barely hurt.
It wasn't enough. It was pathetic. He placed the knife on his shoulder again. He, again, slowly dragged it down, trying to feel pain, but it was more complicated than that.
He would barely feel any pain, and that would drive him to cut deeper, but then he would stop before carving too deep, afraid of…what?
Pain? Isn't that what he wanted? Spamton threw his head back, groaning. God he was such a fucking pussy.
He looked at his shoulders, feeling a bit proud of the second cut, red and open. The inside of this one was a bit more translucent.
He made another slow cut, then another, but it just wasn't enough. It didn't hurt, it was only a fascinating little slit that was starting to prick with red.
Oh fuck it!
In his frustration, his next cut was hard and fast. It barely hurt. But it seemed to run deeper. It was filling up with blood. It felt good. Delicious was the only word he could describe it as, despite not really wanting to taste the blood.
It was savory, like holding food in your mouth that tasted so good you didn't want to swallow.
He did it again, pressing down hard and just piercing his shoulder. And then again, before he could even process the new opening. He kept going, his eyes widening and his breath stopping, but he showed no expression of pain.
It barely hurt.
When he was done he had ten incisions, ten cuts, ten lines that were red and peeled open slightly. Spamton almost dropped the knife, before clutching it harder. He looked at it, feeling…conflicted.
Honestly it scared him with how many there were, all close together as if he'd been mauled by a bird, but only a bit. He might have gone a little overboard but, what did it matter, no one would know.
He gently placed the knife down on the sink, and avoided looking at his reflection. His hands trembled so lightly he didn't even notice it himself. He stared at the cuts. They felt good. Only a light sting.
They were all now just red lines, showing no depth, just blood pooling at the end of a cut.
Spamton grabbed some toilet paper and dabbed it on the blood gently and quickly.
Then he put his clothes back on. He had no idea how long it's been, but it didn't feel very long so he was sure it was fine.
He grabbed the knife and quickly put it back inside his pocket, letting out a relieved sigh. He felt good. Refreshed, like he just drank water after days in a desert. Happy.
But when he raised his head and looked at his reflection he wasn't smiling. He was just staring back, empty and dead. Quickly he blinked his eyes and plastered on his sleazy grin.
God I looked like some war veteran.
Spamton thought for a moment. This was normal and he was fine. He didn't do this because he “wanted to die” as the other addisons said once. They were so worried, so fucking fake. They didn't- couldn't have cared.
He looked at his shoulder, now covered by his clothes. He wished the cut would burn under his jacket, he wished it would sting every time he moved his shoulders or when someone touched it or when his clothes rubbed against it.
He wished it would follow him around, always reminding him of what he has hidden while everyone around him is none the wiser. He hoped the pain grips him tightly and never lets go, suffocating him every day, smothering him with a feeling that reminded him how it felt to feel.
_________
Tenna waited impatiently on the stool, tapping the table rapidly. He fixed his already perfect tie and tugged at his suit.
Honestly, he was really worried about Spamton. Ever since he brought up that phone he was just...off. In fact, he has been off the entire night!
Usually Spamton is very talkative and hot headed, jumping into conversation with Tenna and making him laugh. Today he's just staring off into the distance and wallowing or something.
And when Tenna mentioned the phone he just froze or whatever, it was disturbing. He was also shaking very lightly and it was genuinely worrying Tenna. Maybe Spamton just drank a bit too much but Tenna didn't think so. Was it all the noise? Because honestly it was starting to get to Tenna too.
Tenna knew this party was a bad idea, but he wanted to throw it for Spamton. He always seemed to have fun at Queen's parties, but maybe Tenna was just terrible at throwing them.
He just hoped Spamton was doing alright, the way he sauntered off was downright creepy. Tenna decided that he should probably not mention those phone calls again.
Speak of the devil, Spamton was spotted turning the corner and strolling toward Tenna with his usual smug grin like nothing was wrong. He hopped on the stool right next to Tenna and smirked.
“Soooooo,” Tenna dragged out, clasping his hands together as he faced Spamton. “What were you doing?”
Spamton's face dropped into a confused expression. “What do you think, Tenna?” His smug grin returned. “Do you want me to tell you all the juicy details or something?”
Tenna instantly shut his mouth…then opened it again since he could never keep his mouth closed for long.
“N-NOT what I meant, Spamton! And you know that!” Tenna stammered, crossing his arms. He turned his head away and decided to ignore it, clearly Spamton was fine, he was just being paranoid.
“Sorry, by the way…for bringing up the…phone thingy,” Tenna apologized. He raised a hand and placed it on Spamton's shoulder.
Spamton tenses. Then freezes. His eyes get a bit wider but nothing else. Then, just as quickly, he relaxed again.
“No need to apologize, Cathode,” He says, the grin on his face widening. “Why don'tcha just keep talking about… whatever you were talking about.”
“Oh, yeah! I was just saying how on the next show…”
______________
The second that TV opened his mouth, Spamton tuned him out. God, Tenna was so obsessed with his own damn show. Whatever.
Right now, Spamton was much calmer, it was the pain that grounded him. It was nice when Tenna grabbed his shoulder and it began to sting. The pain was so tasty, there was no other way to describe it. It made ignoring the phone comment so much easier.
It was also exhilarating, the way Tenna just rested his hand right atop Spamton's new wounds and was none the wiser. Tenna doesn't know what is right under his nose and Spamton relishes in the thrill that makes him feel.
He wondered what would happen if Tenna knew. Would he care? Probably, that television was so emotional, and Spamton's shoulder currently looks like a fucking war zone.
“Spamton? Are you…listening?” Tenna's voice sliced through Spamton's thoughts, and he quickly turned back around to face him.
“Yes, of course, Tenna,” Spamton said smoothly with a smile. Tenna shrunk a few inches.
“Don't lie to me, Spamton, you weren't even looking at me!” Tenna says with a voice an octave higher than usual.
Spamton tried to think of an excuse, but ended up just looking off to the side for an awkward amount of time. Damn it, why isn't his brain working today?
“Spamton, you-” Tenna clenched his fists. “You aren't even listening now! You…” Tenna stopped, then looked off to the side. Spamton looked back at Tenna, he seemed to be a bit smaller.
“This was a terrible idea,” Tenna mutters under his breath, making Spamton strain to hear him.
So now he's quiet, Spamton thought, not really up to deal with Tenna's moody shit right now. He felt a bit bad, but Tenna's right: this whole party was a terrible idea.
Spamton looked off to the side as well, took a sip of his drink before sighing. This whole so-called party was a bust, and he didn't want to be here a second longer.
Spamton casually jumped off the stool, turning back to look at Tenna for only a moment, who hadn't even noticed. So what, Spamton thought, before he decided to just leave.
He left. Tenna noticed eventually and OH, did he feel like such an idiot. Tenna looked around everywhere for him, but stopped when he noticed his car wasn't in the parking lot. How could Spamton just do that?
___________
Spamton opened the door to his room. It creaked loudly and the room was dark. Spamton stepped inside and shut the door, not bothering to turn the lights on. He was in darkness.
But he could still see the phone in the corner.
Spamton's breath became shaky, his whole body started to tremble. Spamton looked around in this darkness, feeling a void in his gut, eating away at him like a parasite.
GOD, what is he going do? What the fuck is he going to do? Spamton clutched at his black, perfect hair like a starving man clutching bread, hands shaking and gripping.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,
Spamton held his breath because God forbid he hyperventilate. He fell slowly to his knees, trying to breathe slowly, trying not to feel this immense panic.
I can't, Spamton closed his eyes shut, shaking. God there was this pit of panic and fear in his stomach, swirling around in his intestines, squirming and thrashing.
Spamton's breathing became heavier, faster. He fell down farther, harder. He tried and tried but he couldn't get rid of this feeling, this sick, pit in his stomach that he only felt because of th-
The phone rang in the corner.