❛ NO, NO, NO, NO–PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS! ❜
❛ YOU FUCKING BASTARD. DON’T DO THIS, DON’T DO THIS, DON’T DO THIS! ❜ The metal restraints tremble with each tireless jerk, kick, punch, && thrust, he grants like the cathartic exhaust of a brewing volcanic eruption. His chest rises && falls with rapid breaths, ribs pressed against pallid flesh in a tent, as azure hues dart back && forth betwixt the bleeping monitor that searches for an ascending heart rate. ❛ Please, PLEASE, STOP THIS! I KNOW YOU CAN STOP THIS! ❜
The creeping flavour of bile births along his roughened tongue in a sloping brew of anxiety. He can hardly keep his breakfast of Marlboro’s && malt liquor down; the clean-cut man that reigns above him with the imperceivable wings of Lucifer bears the cruelty of Mr.Gluskin’s crushed childhood in a wayward smirk—it’s too much, his marrow bows underneath that scrutinising gaze. His blood pressure rises, annotated by the rapid strokes of green zipping across the display screen.
sometimes, the sheer strength of a desperate man with nothing to lose compromised the security of physical restraints. each metal ring suffocating the brute’s wrists moaned with the effort exhausted to keep its fragile contents SAFE & SOUND, upright. jeremy merely regarded the scene with AMUSEMENT, as one would when watching their favorite program on tv. half-tempted to kindly ask the squirming insect to cease his vain struggles; it was getting quite redundant. PLEASE DON’T, he pleads, the words sounding so REHEARSED, so well acquainted upon his tongue. if gluskin was so accustomed to such a powerless situation, wouldn’t he know by now that begging would BEAR NO FRUIT?
but unfortunately, jeremy liked to play with his food.
“oh, eddie, believe me, i am the ONLY ONE who can make this all stop. that is, if you GIVE ME A REASON.” a REAPER possessed smile, shape and cut of a scythe, ghosts over his countenance. he traces a skeleton finger underneath mr. gluskin’s jawline, allowing the unwanted contact to LINGER and FESTER, before tenderly canting upwards and forcing direct eye contact. this close, he can smell the contraband cigarettes, an intoxicating scent which merely draws the predator in. the monitors are dim now in the background, each warning sign disregarded.
”we’re only doing this to HELP you HELP YOURSELF. we know what’s best for you,” faux concern, free hand held near and dear to his heart. “—but sometimes in order to heal, in order to get better, you first have to suffer. didn’t daddy dearest at least teach you this?”
a low blow, yes, but necessary. the psychiatrists here, the doctors, the shrinks, whatever name they went by, would sometimes get soft. they were unable to yield the proper results with eddie, due to botched experiments, including FALSITIES and utterings about the walrider. reports indicated gluskin’s complete refusal to dwell on his childhood: the VERY DAMN THING jer believed would be instrumental to a successful ascension in the engine. he just had to pinpoint the right pressure points, draw out the suppressed trauma. he hated having to do the work himself, to dirty his hands — okay, that was a lie. blaire NEVER wasted an opportunity to showcase his competence in the face of others’ failures.
“we need your COOPERATION, mr. gluskin.” now he closes in, bourbon eyes aiming straight for the kill. if he could just get this done before coffee break, and have the man thrown into the engine immediately upon exposure, he’d have time to spare for his martini meeting. “you do want to get better, right? to leave this place, get married, and have a PRETTY DAME take care of you?” before you choose to kill her? “why don’t we start with your father’s alcoholism?”
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