Dennis settles on his bed, wiggling to assert his place against the mattress. He fiddles with the camera atop his laptop, making sure the angle is flattering. A simple backdrop always does it for a Monday night broadcast. After all, he figured his loyal viewers could use a bit of a distressing after a day filled with meaningless paper work and ill-fitting polyester suits. Nimble fingers brush past his cheek as he leans forward on all fours, awakening his webcam. He’s always loved the limelight, and nothing quite satisfied his urge to be celebrated unlike living as an elusive fantasy for hundreds of anonymous faces on the internet. Dennis giggles, blood pumping in his ears as he watches crudely chosen usernames populate his screen. He blows a kiss at the camera for extra measure, slowly beginning to loosen the collar of his shirt. He didn’t care for the money; he craved the attention. But of course. No night was complete without one of his regulars...Jesus, the dude was a total creep. The nauseating kind.Dennis swallows hard, blinking away the disgust as he attempts to regain focus, forcing a smile to the front of his features.

     He feels   NOTHING   but a very hollow ache in his chest.   There’s a whirring sensation between his ribs where the second Bloody Mary of the night has finally settled.   Self-prescribed medication  ,   despite his promise to Mandy that alcohol was a vice best bottled weekly with a roasted fruit plate.   Now  ,   free of her and the endless view of the Turtle mountains  :   a colossal range that seemed to weave through a dozen counties  ,   he can imbibe as he pleases on every dubious pub’s infamous stock.   And  ,   yet  ,   even as he sits mindlessly stirring a straw among the gelatinous crimson contents of his drink  ,  his thoughts are prodded with the memento mori of calloused hands and soft  ,   chocolate  ,   eyes. 

@pussiehands

HC + anxiety

LIKE TO INTERACT WITH RUBBY REYNOLDS THE SENTIENT SEX DOLL.

@pussiehands​