Status: finished
Innocence
7
'Another city, another concert, another hotel,' thought Zim as he stepped out of the tour bus. He looked down at his boots and sighed, because he was homesick, he missed Chicago. But he looked down mainly because he didn't want to look at anyone, not after what happened in the bus. As he carried his suitcase into the hotel, halfway through the lobby after getting his room key, he heard Manson behind him.
"Hey, Zim, can we talk?" Asked the frontman. Zim thought he sounded somewhat desperate. "I'd rather not," he mumbled. He kept his gaze downward as he walked. "Please?" Manson asked. "There's nothing to talk about," sighed Zim. He stopped walking for a moment and gave Manson the smallest glance. The singer could tell he was distraught.
"Look, man, I'm not upset about what happened on the bus," He began. Zim cringed a bit. Manson paused for a moment, "But...I mean, I'm worried, Zim." he admitted. The guitarist shifted uncomfortable for a moment, before beginning to walk again. "There's nothing to worry about, like I told you, I'm fine, it was a nightmare, that's all," he was making his way to the elevator.
"Look, Zim, if you can't handle all of this, just fucking tell me, okay?" Manson burst out. It was enough to make Zim stop dead in his tracks. "..What?" he mumbled. Manson sighed, "No, it's just...I know you're sensitive, and you get stressed easily. I was just beginning to wonder if this tour was getting to be too much for you to handle," admitted the frontman.
Zim got tense with anger, his grip on his suitcase tightened as he spoke with an unusually low, angry tone, "I can handle things just fine." Manson blinked, he was taken back by the usually soft spoken guitarist's tone.
Then he softened once again, proceeding into the elevator. He turned to face Manson, finally looking at him with his sad eyes, feeling defeated. "Really, Manson, I'm fine, if I wasn't, I would tell you."
'Bullshit' thought the singer. He knew he had to do something to get Zim to open up, and soon before it really affected his performance. For now, he just brought himself to smile a little, and nod. "Alright, then." Zim gave a faint, fake smile back before the elevator doors closed.
That's it! If Zim wasn't going to let him in, then he's going to have to force his way in. The shock rocker then proceeded to Pogo's room, where he knocked on the door. The keyboardist opened it, and asked, "Well? Did you have a talk with him?" Manson walked in and sat on the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was exhausted, "It didn't go like I wanted it to," he said.
Pogo sat next to him, casually lighting a cigarette. Manson turned to face him, "We have to do something, or he's gonna make the whole band fall right into the shitter." Pogo simply chuckled and pulled up his laptop, "Hang on, I gotta show you something." The singer gave a questionable look as Pogo pulled up a page. "I decided to search for similar things to that binky you found. Apparently, the one you found has a number five bulb, they're sometimes used for people with speech problems, to sleep with," explained Pogo.
Manson raised a nonexistent eyebrow, "Zim doesn't have a speech problem," he said, puzzled. "I know," Pogo said, leading Manson to another page. "Then I found out that a lot of people buy them because they have a little...personal secret." Manson wasn't sure what he was looking at, it was a forum for ageplayers. He read the questionable term on the screen out loud, "AB, DL? What is that?"
It was all unraveling before his eyes.
**********
Zim felt uneasy all night. It almost felt like a shift in the atmosphere. Toward the ending of the concert, he noticed Manson staring at him. It made him really nervous. When he stepped off the stage, he was overwhelmed with anxiousness once again. 'Just like every other fucking night,' he thought.
As he cleaned himself up in the dressing room, he could hear then other band mates being loud and destructive as usual. Maybe breaking something would ease his nerves. He got changed and walked into the hall. Twiggy was highly intoxicated as usual, "Hey, Zim me and Ginger are gonna go to the pub down the road, wanna come?" he asked.
"Oh, um, no thanks," he said. Twiggy whined, "Awe, you're no fun, you're like Mazz." Zim blinked. What did that mean?
Marilyn laughed, "Oh, shut up Twigs, I go out with you every other night," he put his arm around the bassist, "Pogo, Zim, and I just feel like staying in tonight." Twiggy snorted, "suit yourself," he stuck his tongue out before leaving with Ginger.
"Hey, Zim," Manson smiled, "wanna hang out in Pogo's room with us?" Zim fiddled with his fingers. He was on the verge of regressing. "Nah, go on without me," he said, "I'll see you guys in the morning." Pogo and Manson both looked at eachother, knowing Zim was stressed. Pogo shrugged, "Okay man, sleep well whenever you do." Zim nodded, "you too."
He went back to the dressing room and looked in the mirror. He sighed, "Why are you such an ugly person?" he asked the reflection. He sat there for a few moments, trying to gather himself with a cigarette, before returning to the hotel. Back to the room with his suitcases full of his comfort. Being a baby was like his drug, it always calmed him down in the end.
Zim smiled to himself, at the thought of it all, the diapers, the toys, the softness of everything, the tenderness all babies receive. That was all he needed to feel okay.
**********
As the small guitarist entered the hotel room, he paused at turning on the light. "No," he whispered to himself, "I wanna leave it dark, this time." It was as if he was still ashamed of his comfort zone. What he didn't realize was that two of his band mates were hiding in the coat closet. They watched through a slight crack in the door.
Pogo and Manson both watched in the darkness, the room slightly illuminated by moonlight from the window. They watched as Zim undressed. He went to his suitcase and pulled out a clean diaper, unfolding it and laying it out on the bed. Manson's eyes widened when he saw Zim lay down on the plush, crinkly fabric and proceeded to sprinkle himself with baby powder. He winced a little, his bottom was still red and sore from the diaper rash.
The two men silently watched as their band mate and friend rapidly regressed himself before their eyes. So many questions were buzzing around in their heads like flies on a carcass. Zim taped up the diaper snug around his hips and laid back in bed, sighing with relief. He whispered to himself, repeating, "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, you're a baby now. No one can hurt you."
The two men in the closet watched, trying to take this all in. Zim went back to his bag and snatched up his teddy, hugging the brown bear in his arms lovingly. He looked so at peace, Pogo and Manson couldn't remember the last time they truly saw Zim like that.
Zim leaned back down to his bag again in search of his pacifier, but found nothing. A wave of panic suddenly rushed over him. He KNEW he put it in there! He unzipped every pocket, searched through every crevice of the bag, but found absolutely no sign of his beloved pacifier.
A soft crinkle sounded as he sat down on the floor and put his face in his hands, upset. "What good is a baby without his paci?" he whimpered. Pogo and Manson looked at eachother, concerned. They couldn't stand to see him like this. They knew what they had to do.
Zim jumped and gasped in fear as the closet door creaked open. He was absolutely horrified and stunned to see Marilyn and Pogo both standing there. Marilyn held something in his hand as he spoke, "Are...are you looking for this?" It was his pacifier.
Zim sat there, petrified and shaking. He was so vulnerable right now. They couldn't see him like this! "There's no way this is real," his voice quivered, "this isn't real." He pulled his knees to his chest and put his head down and began to cry. "I'm just a fussy baby," he cried in his soft babyish voice.
The two just stood there, not knowing what to do. After what seemed like hours, Pogo stepped forward, "Zim..." he said in a soft voice. "NO!" screamed the guitarist, "You're not fucking doing this to me!" He sobbed as he got up and ran straight into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking himself in. He slid down the door, feeling like he'd been crumpled up like paper and thrown in the trash.
Manson knocked on the door gently, "Come on, Zim...it's okay, man. Just come out so we can talk." There was no answer, the pair could hear nothing but his heart breaking sobbing. They kept trying to persuade him, "yeah man, it's completely okay, we're not here to judge you," said Pogo. But nothing. This situation was horrible.
Pogo looked at Marilyn, "Now what?"
Good question.
"Hey, Zim, can we talk?" Asked the frontman. Zim thought he sounded somewhat desperate. "I'd rather not," he mumbled. He kept his gaze downward as he walked. "Please?" Manson asked. "There's nothing to talk about," sighed Zim. He stopped walking for a moment and gave Manson the smallest glance. The singer could tell he was distraught.
"Look, man, I'm not upset about what happened on the bus," He began. Zim cringed a bit. Manson paused for a moment, "But...I mean, I'm worried, Zim." he admitted. The guitarist shifted uncomfortable for a moment, before beginning to walk again. "There's nothing to worry about, like I told you, I'm fine, it was a nightmare, that's all," he was making his way to the elevator.
"Look, Zim, if you can't handle all of this, just fucking tell me, okay?" Manson burst out. It was enough to make Zim stop dead in his tracks. "..What?" he mumbled. Manson sighed, "No, it's just...I know you're sensitive, and you get stressed easily. I was just beginning to wonder if this tour was getting to be too much for you to handle," admitted the frontman.
Zim got tense with anger, his grip on his suitcase tightened as he spoke with an unusually low, angry tone, "I can handle things just fine." Manson blinked, he was taken back by the usually soft spoken guitarist's tone.
Then he softened once again, proceeding into the elevator. He turned to face Manson, finally looking at him with his sad eyes, feeling defeated. "Really, Manson, I'm fine, if I wasn't, I would tell you."
'Bullshit' thought the singer. He knew he had to do something to get Zim to open up, and soon before it really affected his performance. For now, he just brought himself to smile a little, and nod. "Alright, then." Zim gave a faint, fake smile back before the elevator doors closed.
That's it! If Zim wasn't going to let him in, then he's going to have to force his way in. The shock rocker then proceeded to Pogo's room, where he knocked on the door. The keyboardist opened it, and asked, "Well? Did you have a talk with him?" Manson walked in and sat on the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was exhausted, "It didn't go like I wanted it to," he said.
Pogo sat next to him, casually lighting a cigarette. Manson turned to face him, "We have to do something, or he's gonna make the whole band fall right into the shitter." Pogo simply chuckled and pulled up his laptop, "Hang on, I gotta show you something." The singer gave a questionable look as Pogo pulled up a page. "I decided to search for similar things to that binky you found. Apparently, the one you found has a number five bulb, they're sometimes used for people with speech problems, to sleep with," explained Pogo.
Manson raised a nonexistent eyebrow, "Zim doesn't have a speech problem," he said, puzzled. "I know," Pogo said, leading Manson to another page. "Then I found out that a lot of people buy them because they have a little...personal secret." Manson wasn't sure what he was looking at, it was a forum for ageplayers. He read the questionable term on the screen out loud, "AB, DL? What is that?"
It was all unraveling before his eyes.
**********
Zim felt uneasy all night. It almost felt like a shift in the atmosphere. Toward the ending of the concert, he noticed Manson staring at him. It made him really nervous. When he stepped off the stage, he was overwhelmed with anxiousness once again. 'Just like every other fucking night,' he thought.
As he cleaned himself up in the dressing room, he could hear then other band mates being loud and destructive as usual. Maybe breaking something would ease his nerves. He got changed and walked into the hall. Twiggy was highly intoxicated as usual, "Hey, Zim me and Ginger are gonna go to the pub down the road, wanna come?" he asked.
"Oh, um, no thanks," he said. Twiggy whined, "Awe, you're no fun, you're like Mazz." Zim blinked. What did that mean?
Marilyn laughed, "Oh, shut up Twigs, I go out with you every other night," he put his arm around the bassist, "Pogo, Zim, and I just feel like staying in tonight." Twiggy snorted, "suit yourself," he stuck his tongue out before leaving with Ginger.
"Hey, Zim," Manson smiled, "wanna hang out in Pogo's room with us?" Zim fiddled with his fingers. He was on the verge of regressing. "Nah, go on without me," he said, "I'll see you guys in the morning." Pogo and Manson both looked at eachother, knowing Zim was stressed. Pogo shrugged, "Okay man, sleep well whenever you do." Zim nodded, "you too."
He went back to the dressing room and looked in the mirror. He sighed, "Why are you such an ugly person?" he asked the reflection. He sat there for a few moments, trying to gather himself with a cigarette, before returning to the hotel. Back to the room with his suitcases full of his comfort. Being a baby was like his drug, it always calmed him down in the end.
Zim smiled to himself, at the thought of it all, the diapers, the toys, the softness of everything, the tenderness all babies receive. That was all he needed to feel okay.
**********
As the small guitarist entered the hotel room, he paused at turning on the light. "No," he whispered to himself, "I wanna leave it dark, this time." It was as if he was still ashamed of his comfort zone. What he didn't realize was that two of his band mates were hiding in the coat closet. They watched through a slight crack in the door.
Pogo and Manson both watched in the darkness, the room slightly illuminated by moonlight from the window. They watched as Zim undressed. He went to his suitcase and pulled out a clean diaper, unfolding it and laying it out on the bed. Manson's eyes widened when he saw Zim lay down on the plush, crinkly fabric and proceeded to sprinkle himself with baby powder. He winced a little, his bottom was still red and sore from the diaper rash.
The two men silently watched as their band mate and friend rapidly regressed himself before their eyes. So many questions were buzzing around in their heads like flies on a carcass. Zim taped up the diaper snug around his hips and laid back in bed, sighing with relief. He whispered to himself, repeating, "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, you're a baby now. No one can hurt you."
The two men in the closet watched, trying to take this all in. Zim went back to his bag and snatched up his teddy, hugging the brown bear in his arms lovingly. He looked so at peace, Pogo and Manson couldn't remember the last time they truly saw Zim like that.
Zim leaned back down to his bag again in search of his pacifier, but found nothing. A wave of panic suddenly rushed over him. He KNEW he put it in there! He unzipped every pocket, searched through every crevice of the bag, but found absolutely no sign of his beloved pacifier.
A soft crinkle sounded as he sat down on the floor and put his face in his hands, upset. "What good is a baby without his paci?" he whimpered. Pogo and Manson looked at eachother, concerned. They couldn't stand to see him like this. They knew what they had to do.
Zim jumped and gasped in fear as the closet door creaked open. He was absolutely horrified and stunned to see Marilyn and Pogo both standing there. Marilyn held something in his hand as he spoke, "Are...are you looking for this?" It was his pacifier.
Zim sat there, petrified and shaking. He was so vulnerable right now. They couldn't see him like this! "There's no way this is real," his voice quivered, "this isn't real." He pulled his knees to his chest and put his head down and began to cry. "I'm just a fussy baby," he cried in his soft babyish voice.
The two just stood there, not knowing what to do. After what seemed like hours, Pogo stepped forward, "Zim..." he said in a soft voice. "NO!" screamed the guitarist, "You're not fucking doing this to me!" He sobbed as he got up and ran straight into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking himself in. He slid down the door, feeling like he'd been crumpled up like paper and thrown in the trash.
Manson knocked on the door gently, "Come on, Zim...it's okay, man. Just come out so we can talk." There was no answer, the pair could hear nothing but his heart breaking sobbing. They kept trying to persuade him, "yeah man, it's completely okay, we're not here to judge you," said Pogo. But nothing. This situation was horrible.
Pogo looked at Marilyn, "Now what?"
Good question.