Synopsis
Imagine, if the person who has tormented you for years and years suddenly went missing, would you miss them? What if, before their disappearance, they started to treat you like the friends you once were?
Josh Schmitstinstien, known by most as Schmitty, became a victim to the person he once considered a good friend, and was tortured for three long and lonely years. Set three years after the events of Trivia Murder Party 2; he learns to readjust to being a person again, but as intrusive thoughts get louder than ever and the only roommate he has left being the worm in his brain: he knows it'll never be the same again.
This story tackles themes of depression, anxiety, PTSD and ego death.
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Three years....
Shouldn't you be over this by now?
Schmitty lies awake on his bed, time: 12:45. AM? PM? Didn't matter to him, time rarely mattered to him. The few only times he memorized it anymore is if he has work to do or pills to take, and he hasn't been working for a little over two years now. He was too tired to get up & too paranoid to rest, all he could do was ether stare at the ceiling or glance at his alarm clock.
He didn't need to take any of his pills at this time, at ether time, whatever it was. He was hungry, but not enough for it to matter. He had no one to talk to he couldn't talk to already from where he was currently. Currently being his crusty stained mattress with the world's most creakiest bed frame to have ever been manufactured in the history of civilization.
He did need to use the bathroom though, and he didn't want to go through another bladder infection.
Schmitty turned in his bed, face shoved into his musky, mustard stained pillow he hadn't washed in years, he didn't WANT to get up; all of his limbs melted into the rigid mattress like day old butter. But it was either getting up or wetting the bed again, and he doesn't appreciate thinking about the stench of the latter.
He rolled and shifted out of bed, letting his feet dangle off the edge until they touched the floor beneath him. He then slowly but surely slid off the bed, and with a push; he put all of his weight onto his tired & wobbly legs, before almost collapsing from the stress forced upon them so suddenly.
For three-ish years now he has had to learn how to walk again, do to the fact he hadn't use them much and do to the harsh punishments he faced for trying to, yet still after all this time of forcing his legs back into shape; they were still so weak.
He quickly placed a hand onto his nightstand, barely avoiding a nasty splinter in the process, in an almost futile attempt to keep himself from falling face first into the floor. Yet somehow, he successfully stopped himself from eating floorboards for breakfast again.
That's one more accomplishment sticky note to add to the positive affirmation whiteboard, third one this week.
-"Oh wow! Up so early, what's gotten into you Schmitty?" A voice called out, mockingly.
-"Wiggly, you're not helping." Schmitty groaned.
The worm in his head, lovingly nicknamed Wiggly, was his only constant, and currently active headmate, second to Lars. As much as he's grown disdain for the little guy, he's been his only method of social interaction for several months now.
That was due to all of his dear pets getting taken away when he was deemed to be missing, and them all finding new homes before he returned. He tried filling that void by placing plush look-a-likes into empty pet beds and even found a pair marshmallows-shaped keychain plushies that resembled his parakeets to put in the birdcage. Of course that just made the pain of losing them feel even worse, but it was an honest attempt.
His furry and non furry friends being taken away was not the sole reason his social needs were low, he also hadn't been able to start up a proper conversation with anybody do to his horribly decayed social skills. (and god forbid he try to flirt with someone...)
But out of all the parasitic roommates Schmitty could've landed on: he wouldn't exchange Wiggly for the world! (But he would consider doing so with Lars, however.)
-"I'm just going to use the bathroom, go back to bed Wiggly." Schmitty tiredly demanded.
-"And light up another Marlboro red? I didn't infest your brain yesterday big guy; i know your habits like the ridges on my body!" Wiggly exclaimed boldly.
-"Too well i'd say..." Schmitty muttered under his breath, fingers pressed against his temples.
He could go for a smoke, honestly.
...
Habits, he certainly developed a bunch of new ones since he returned to his apartment. Pop a pill before taking a wizz, knaw at your thumb till they ache, pop another pill before watching TV till it was time for dinner, fall asleep on the couch when you lay on it sideways, promptly throw up after taking medication with dinner.
Smoking while stressed, however, is a habit he's had since the 90's. It was his 2016 New Year's resolution to quit smoking cold turkey, it got postponed indefinitely for reasons outside of his control (to put it lightly).
At least he'd be breaking one of his habits, at least, for today.
He haphazardly grabbed his mobility cane, past Schmitty just looooved placing it right out of arm's length for future Schmitty to deal with. He does actively try to break that habit, but he always relapses when it's time for bed or when he's just too tired to do anything else for the day.
Getting to the bathroom was the hard part, due to the piles of finished and unfinished laundry thrown about everywhere, but the sucky part was waiting for morning wood to settle down. Usually it takes him 30 minutes just to get out bed, but he was lucky (or unlucky) enough to get up a whopping 10 minutes earlier! How fun...
-"So... " Wiggly started, trying to initiate some small talk.
-"Wiggly, please." Schmitty begged.
-"Well SORRY for wanting to strike up a conversation while waiting for your junk to behave!" The worm barked.
-"Well why don't you go jerk me off while you're at it?" The man growled.
-"I'm a worm, not a crab! If you wanna be itchy so bad; go hook up with Cookie! I heard he has some to spare, you could certainly use some more roommates." The parasite replied.
...
Time flew as the two kept bickering with each other like a dysfunctional married couple (but worse, somehow). Before long, Schmitty's willy had already settled 14 minutes ago. (It's a wonder that he didn't wet himself, wouldn't be the first time.)
-"-annnd my work here is done!" The worm announced proudly, practically patting themselves on the back.
-"You argued with me on purpose to pass the time, didn't you?" Schmitty rhetorically questioned, dick in hand.
-"I cannot tell a lie. And you say i don't do anything for you!" Wiggly cooed.
Well...since he was up, he might as well make the most of it, right? Josh flushed, not caring about closing the toilet seat or the amount of germs that flew from out the toilet bowl, washed his hands to the time of about half the alphabet before drying them on his underwear, completely defeating the point of what he just did!
Pancakes, he was in the mood for pancakes. Maybe topped with pomegranate? Oh yeah, that would be a nice change of pace to a slab of restaurant margarine! He took a pomegranate from the fridge, grabbed a knife, and-
You should stab yourself.
Josh jolted, releasing his grip on the knife's handle as it fell with a clang.
-"Good gravy, what's the big deal!? Did the knife call your mother a whore or something?" Wiggly quipped, but it was obvious that it knew the reason why Schmitty was so tense all of a sudden.
-"I'm...not in the mood for pomegranates anymore..." Schmitty said through vacant eyes.
...
Truth be told: this wasn't the first time Schmitty had to deal with intrusive thoughts, far from it. Back in the 90's he'd had to deal with such classics as"Break the bottle over your head, bite a chunk out of your lit cigar, go urinate in the water cooler, kick whomever you're currently talking to where the sun don't shine." But that last one was most likely an impulsive thought. It was only when he became a free man once again did he start to have a problem with them.
He couldn't smoke from his cramped balcony anymore, whenever he did-
Jump off the ledge.
He'd get too uneasy to continue (and often dropped his cigars onto the roof of passing cars whenever it happend).
Nor could he pick up a lot of hobbies, as even seemingly innocent ones like knitting-
Poke your eyes out.
Made him too queasy to pursue any of them further. The only hobby that stuck was clay sculpting, as long as he didn't bake it, or pick any toxic brands, he didn't get much sickeningly violent ones when toying with the stuff.
If there was an intrusive thought, Schmitty tried his damndest to avoid whatever's causing it. Which made him panic when one day-
Strangle yourself.
He didn't know how to avoid one.
It kept popping up more and more, he even thought that it would only shut up if he just-
It was near Halloween and the stores had their costumes up, while taking a shortcut through one of the aisles, he saw something that caught his attention:
a pair of oversized cartoon gloves.
He thought they looked so stupid, he couldn't imagine anybody actually deciding to wear a pair as part of their Halloween costume, if ever. However it's sheer stupidity gave Schmitty an idea.
He bought them, hesitantly, making sure to cover every inch of the packaging with groceries (even adding some extra he didn't want or ever need) just to obstruct them from view.
When Schmitty arrived home, he snipped the packaging open with scissors (this time) and tried them on to test out his plan.
They did, in fact, look incredibly stupid, but damn did they do their job like duct tape.
Whenever he had that intrusive thought rear it's ugly head; he'd looked down at his hands, captivate himself with just how dumb they looked with those stuffed four fingered gloves on and quickly forget he ever had that thought to begin with. It worked like a dream, but it did cause him to lucid dream casually with how much he looked at his hands, but he certainly didn't mind that!
What he did mind was people potentially judging him in public for wearing them, despite his "therapist" (which was just Mayonnaise, the only truly sane host his job ever hired, being rational and blunt whenever Schmitty vented to him during lunch break) telling him that his mental health goes above public perception; he did end up buying a bigger coat, just to hide them.
His life was filled with instances of duct tape problem solving due to either intrusive thoughts or his duct tape problem solving inevitably starting to wear thin:
Having an urge to strangle oneself? Buy absurd looking Halloween gloves and wear them constantly.
Wearing large gloves makes you feel self-conscious about going out in public? Buy a bigger coat to hide them in your sleeves.
Can't smoke on the balcony due to the fear of jumping off? Lock the balcony door and smoke by an open window instead.
Heavy drinking results in waking up inside of strangers' beds with an anal prolapse? Don't drink. Ever.
He can't solve every problem he's ever going to face, but the one's that can be will be.
...
Schmitty hesitantly put the knife back into the knife block. Maybe he could make his own pancake batter next time, for now he just grabbed the box of pre-made pancake mix and filled a cereal bowl with tap water to about what the box tells him, after all: pancake mix only ever needs water to turn into usable batter.
He opened a drawer in search of a fork-
Stick it in your sides.
-Spoon, he looked for a spoon and started mixing the batter together. He eyed his fridge again, and did decide on putting in some blueberries to at least get some fruit in his system.
-"Oh! Oh! Put some bacon bits in it! Y'know...for protein!" Suggested the worm.
And bacon bits, on the behalf of Wiggly. He pours what he can into a small pan (usually meant for eggs). All he needs to do now is turn on the sto-
Touch it.
-Toaster oven. All he needed to do was pre-heat the toaster oven so he could bake his most important meal to an absolute char! Mostly burnt on a good day (again, he didn't keep track of time much).
Honestly, getting himself to actually put this much effort into a meal instead of eating dubiously expired takeout was an accomplishment in it of itself! Guess that's another sticky note for the whiteboard.
After putting the pan in his toaster oven, Schmitty slumped down with a sigh, arms splayed across the dinner table/work desk. He was so tired, he felt like falling asleep right then and there. The only thing stopping him from shutting his eyes and fucking up his back was the loud gurgle coming from his stomach keeping him awake.
An apple wouldn't hurt, right? There was one in the fruit bowl not too far from where he was.
...
~Ding!
Schmitty doused his pancake with a McDonald's maple syrup packet & a handful of now luke-warm blueberries before he chowed down like it was an eating competition. Another bad habit he couldn't shake off from his time at Hôtel Mer Dure.
-"You're inhaling that thing! It isn't gonna get taken from you, you're gonna choke if you keep doing that to yourself big cat." Wiggly reminded.
Before long: he was practically licking the plate clean! Not a crumb of food got wasted, so much you'd think he'll eat the plate next, half-explaining how he got so pudgy. Schmitty really hated his body post-..."event", from the mural of scars that draped over him like sleeves of tattoos to the band-aids covering him because of his near-constant skin picking habit that only seemed to worsen.
He was starved, battered & bruised like he was nothing but a stress toy. The one on his shoulder? A drill. His missing toe? A snake. The large gash on his side? An axe. He looked like a toddler's first play thing, with his hair ripped, his joints damaged and the thousands of bruises and mental scarring that won't ever wash away no matter how hard he scrubs in the few showers he does takes.
He worked so hard to get his Adonis-like body, only for it to be ruined by abuse. Due to how little he was fed: his body went into stockpile mode and he gained almost 203 pounds during his first few months of freedom. He felt so bad about it that he covered most of his mirrors with whatever he had lying around and only wore the most baggiest of clothing out in public that'd make a street thug blush.
Oh what he'd give to get that body back...
...
After his 6th consecutive lick-down of the dish, he threw his plate to the side, aiming the sink, but he missed, and it bashed against the counter with a
*SMASH!*
-"FUCK!" Schmitty cussed out of shock from the recognizable sound and his angry resentment towards what he tried to do.
-"AGAIN?!?!" Wiggly yelled in bewilderment at what had just transpired.
Yes, again. Josh agonizingly crouches down again, to pick up shards of shattered porcelain with dishwashing gloves again, he cuts himself on a surprisingly sharp one and swears through his teeth again, he attempts to get back up without his mobility cane to go get a band-aid from the bathroom again, but ends up falling face first into the puddle of plate rubble again, cursing again, clutching his face as he writhes on the cold kitchen floor AGAIN, because he never learns and he never deserved to have been handed a second chance at his life because he's just a stupid, pathetic, angry, shithea-
-"JOSHUA!" Wiggly screeched at the top of what you could call it's lungs.
-"ＷＨＡＴ？！？" Schmitty replied, his voice loud & laced with a curdling amount of venom.
-"You're...talking out loud again." Wiggly exclaimed calmly with soreness.
Schmitty took a breather he didn't know he needed, he looked at his hand, clenched and aching from rapidly hitting the flooring with all the strength he had in that moment. Most likely with a cracked bone...like last time...he looked at it...and cried.
He cried very, very hard.
-"Why, WHY do i- why can't i be better?! Why can't i...STOP myself from...doing the same FUCKING thing every single FUCKING day of my FUCKING life?!?" Schmitty weeped, half of it behind his clenched jaw.
-"Look, Schmitt, i'm a comic, not a poet..." Wiggly clarified. "But it doesn't take Shakespeare, or-or Einstein to figure out that nobody deserves to go through what you went through, especially not for seconds!" They continue.
-"Then..." Schmitty pants, "-then WHY can't i grow?!? Why do i keep reverting BACK to the same BROKEN sack of SHIT every time it strikes 12?!" He chokes through a sob, "Why can't i be like...fucking HIM?!" Josh exclaims to Wiggly.
-"*Sigh*...you and me both know he's not a fair comparison Schmitty..." Wiggly sadly reminds it's host.
...
*Glug glug glug*
The sound of rolling glass and popped bottle caps echoes through the room. He didn't have to deal with the anal prolapse, that was future Schmitty's problem.
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Thanks for reading through the first chapter of Never a party: Know it null. This is actually the 3rd beginning of a story, since Trivial Lovers: Bitterseeds predates this story by it's creation. If you can't handle the topics presented in this story (or can but i just botched it in execution), you can look forward to the more lighthearted and mildly cheesy tone from that beginning of a story when it's ready.
I've always loved telling stories like this, as balancing dread with smudges of humor here and there is one of my personal favorite styles of writing, and i always try to include some in any story i do (if i can).
If you got anything you wanna say: feel free to tell me your thoughts, or ask any questions you may be left with after reading this, and i'll do my best to reply with as zero spoilers as i can muster!