Worship. // HAZBIN HOTEL X FEM. READER

Chapter 2 - Broadcast from Below

[TW - SELF INFLICTED BODILY HARM, GORE, AND VOMITING/MENTIONS OF EATING DISORDERS. IF THIS IS IN ANY WAY TRIGGERING, PLEASE DON'T READ THIS!!!]

You woke up after being asleep for a good 12 hours straight. You wouldn't have gotten up if it wasn't for your dark room being filled with an odd sound.

The radio that sat on your desk buzzed and twitched to life. A voice traveled from the other end. Some sort of advertisement or something.

But how? You hadn't turned it on.

It was too loud. The buzzing and static of the transmission stung your eardrums. You smacked your hands over your ears and stumbled out of bed in an effort to shut down the assault on your senses. You grabbed the volume dial and tried to force it to twist.

But it was off.

It was so loud. So loud. It never stopped. Stinging, burning, buzzing. You stumbled away and flung into your bed, smacking a pillow over your head and crying out in urgency.

"SHUT UP. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!"

The noise grew, stabbing at your ears and pricking your senses.

"SHUTUPSHUTUPPLEASESHUTUP PLEASE HOLY FUCK STOP IT!"

Silence.

Your room went quiet again.The radio was off. No static. No advertisement. No insufferable burning in your ears.

You frowned and rubbed your eyes. You felt gross. Sweaty and disgusting. Time for a bath.

You stumbled out of your bed again and grabbed some fresh clothes from your closet.

Smile, Y/N. You're never fully dressed without one.

And yet you couldn't get yourself too. Your signature cult leader grin wouldn't grace your gorgeous lips.

Smile, dammit! SMILE! Why can't I do it? Why? I'm supposed to smile. Why won't my mouth move?

You walked into the bathroom and locked it. The room was dark, and felt unending when you looked into the mirror on the wall. The darkness curled around your reflection, tendrils of shadow gripping at you.

You frowned deeper and flung off your clothes, never once turning on the lights. You didn't want to see it. You hated seeing your face without that smile you'd worked so hard on.

You had tried so hard to keep it on your face. But as the days grew longer and your group of worshippers grew in number, you felt yourself slipping. The fame of being worshipped was sickening to you. It felt like eyes burned into you every time you left the house.

You knew no one knew it was you running the cult. But you kept that smile on your face anyway. You needed to. To pay him respect.

Something told you that he was angry.

You climbed into the shower and turned on the water. You felt cleaner this way. The sickening feelings washed down the drain with sweat and soap.

You sat on the floor of the tub and stared into the darkness. You felt sick. Your stomach twisted and you doubled over, vomit shooting from your stomach. Water and acid spilled from your lips and slid down the drain.

None of this was new.

You'd been sickly for months now. No one knew who you were. What you looked like. But the online attention was too much. It made you feel subconscious. It made you feel ugly. It made you feel like you were eating too much sometimes. Sometimes too little.

You vomited again and your head spun. The water was too hot. You'd gone too long without eating. You turned the water cold and sighed as it calmed your stomach.

Your hands pressed against the walls of the shower, guiding you through the pitch black towards the edge of the tub. Cold tile guided you to freedom.

But you missed.

You sliced your hand open on your razor. The sting sent a shudder up your spine. A shudder that somehow grounded you.

The world stopped spinning. The pitch black grew weak and you let your eyes truly adjust. Your stomach settled.

You looked down at your hand. A thick cut was open in your palm. Blood slid down your skin and dripped onto the bathtub floor, being washed away in the darkness.

It burned. It stung. It was... intoxicating. It felt so insanely comforting. Calming. Peaceful.

You placed the razor against your hand again and slid the blade against your palm. A grunt left your lips and tears pricked at your eyes.

"Fuck... what's wrong with me? Why am I doing this? Am I insane?"

You ran the razor blade over the palm of your other hand as well.

"...probably... God, I must be really nuts. I'm worshipping serial killers on my knees and cutting open my hands... What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Your stomach twisted again and you placed the blade against your torso.

God, it stung. The cold shower water felt horrid against it. The large cut broke properly through the skin and was striking muscle by now. You'd definitely have nerve damage from this.

But god, it felt good. Not in some sexual way. This wasn't that. It was... Like a warm blanket over your soul. Blood trickled down your body and washed away in the cold shower water.

Your mind was growing faint. Your eyes spotted with speckling blackness. You were losing blood. Way too much blood. And fast.

You crawled out of the tub and quickly pressed your towel against your wound. Your hand urgently searched for the light switch. You squinted as the bright lights bombarded your senses.

The first aid kit. You needed to find it. Now.

You flung open the cabinet beneath the sink, thankful when you saw the old medical kit.

"Oh thank fuck."

***

You slid the needle in and out of your skin, screeching as you bit down on the towel between your teeth. Within a few minutes, you were sewn and bandaged.

It hurt so fucking bad. Why had you done this? What in the fuck was wrong with you?

A lot, obviously. After all, here you were.

The leader of a cult worshipping a murderer from almost a century ago. Bleeding out on your own bathroom floor for the sake of your own insanity.

You groaned and got dressed, then stumbled out of the bathroom. You staggered back to your bedroom, leaving your bathroom a bloody mess.

[Words: 1028]