Compulsion

He knew he needed help. His obsession was unhealthy. Or was it a compulsion? It didn’t matter. Either way, self hatred filled his soul…

He was going to stop, though. This time He wouldn’t give in. He turned on the TV, needing the distraction. He paced the living room. He sat on his hands. In desperation, he called his therapist and left a message.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” What if she didn’t call back today? He couldn’t control the compulsion. His fingers twitched. His face itched. “Fuck it! Fucking… Fuck it.”

The acne was his plague. It made him a pariah and yet, it was somehow his salvation. He made his way to the mirror, unable to hold back any longer.

He stared in the mirror. The scabs and pus filled pestules which covered his face, quivered slightly in anticipation. He found the right one. It was angry, huge… aching to be popped…

Pinching the base it gave a satisfying pop, squirting it’s oily goodness into the mirror. He scooped it up with his expert fingers, sucking them greedily. He was slightly mollified but not yet finished.

Searching his face again he found the scab he had picked at all through the night. It had grown to a satisfying lump. It was just the thing. He ripped it from his face and placed it on his tongue savoring the metallic taste as it dissolved.

He returned to the living room, satieted for the time being, although his fingers continued to pick at his face. The phone rang. “Dr. Wells? Hi. Yeah. I did it again. I tried to stop but I couldn’t…”

Originally published for Instagram’s Cringeworthy Writing Challenge July 2019 Day 6 “scab”