Tacky and Upsetting
Tilly was liking her current job. She’d worked in offices in the past, and the sensory overload was too much. It was next to impossible to stay on task because her brain wanted to run out of her head, skipping away with all the hundreds of ideas she kept in it. Organisation was almost impossible. What? She was expected to keep on track of three things at once? As if.
But here, working for a small publishing enterprise, it was different.
Her boss let her work at her own pace, it was a small enough and a calm enough office for her to not get overloaded, and nobody minded if she went off on weird tangents.
And nobody even made comments about what she wore!
If you didn’t think a Nivarna t-shirt, ripped jeans and DMs were appropriate office wear, then guess what buddy boy, this girl wasn’t coming to work for you.
And that was your loss. Tilly was a fucking good social media manager and she knew it. If those boomer twats would have just let her be her in her old job, maybe they would see how good she actually was, if she could just be given a damn chance.
In her old job people would call her weird for going “off track” and talking about death metal, YouTube, analog horror, pet snakes and serial killers, but the old guys could talk about renting houses out, golf, cars and vineyard tours? And that wasn’t “off track”.
Just fuck off.
As she twanged one of her many gig wristbands, trying to get her head wrapped around this month’s KPIs, she was distracted by Tyler, one of the ad sales guys getting up from his desk.
He sat exactly opposite her, and was kinda hot. 22, so two years younger than her, but the Hall and Oates mustache and mullet, vaping and pills had him looking 40.
‘I’m going to get a coffee. Anything want anything while I’m up?’ He said stretching.
‘Coffee is actually a really good idea.’ Tilly bounced up, glad for a distraction.
‘You’ve had enough caffeine already.’ Her manager’s voice came from the corner desk.
‘You can never have enough coffee, it’s an urban myth.’ Tilly walked with Tyler to the break out area.
‘How was your weekend?’ Tyler asked as he revved up the coffee machine.
‘It was OK. I had a date actually.’ She watched Tyler’s face to wait for a reaction.
‘Yeah?’ He said, annoyingly impassive.
‘The guy was nice enough but it got weird…Started saying how he always seems to date girls who look like his Mum, so this dude had a literal oedipal complex, and I’m like, huh, that’s…weird?’
‘Ok.’
‘Then he started to talk about the news and current affairs, and I’m like, really? This guy wants to literally talk about major international conflicts and shit, on a first date. And he had a wallet with Kermit the Frog on it. That just gave me the ick.’
Tyler was watching his mug fill up. ‘Right.’
‘I mean, I know I have a Jeffrey Dahmer lockscreen on my phone, but y’know…That’s different.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yeah!’ Tilly realised she was doing her normal thing of babbling without letting somebody else speak. Fuck, why did she get nervous when she spoke to literally any guy? ‘So…You good?’
‘I’m good.’ Tyler smirked, seemingly amused by her verbal outpouring. ‘No first dates though.’
Tilly swallowed. ‘So, no like, any dates?’
‘No, I’m not dating at all if I’m being honest.’ He picked up his mug of coffee. ‘Right now I’m focussing on -’
She was reaching for her mug – the one with Hannibal Lecter on it as she blurted out, ‘Black pill! Bro’s been black pilled!’
‘No! I’m not, it’s just I’m really getting into -’
She snorted her ugly laugh. ‘I’m only kidding.’ Tilly cracked the strength up to max on the machine and set it going.
Tyler sipped his coffee. ‘I need to get back to work. I’m below where I need to be this month.’
‘Oh. OK. Sure.’ Disappointed she didn’t get a longer conversation with Tyler, she checked her phone to fill the gap in time while her coffee was made.
Her social media was awash with brain rot crap or stuff from her favorite bands.
Something caught her eye, and held her attention for more than the normal half-a-second.
One of her favorite bands of all time, Wholesale Slaughter were running a competition.
We’re gigging in London next month, and to celebrate the launch of our new album Piss on The Pope we have two tickets to giveaway for this sold-out event. Your friend gets a free ticket but you get to join us live on stage and take part in the gig. For the chance to win this awesome prize message our Facebook page directly and tell us why you should be there, and send us a picture of what you plan on wearing to the gig.
‘Oh my god,’ she said to nobody in particular. ‘I’m so entering that.’
‘What?’ Grunted Tyler, turning in his seat.
‘Wholesale Slaughter, they’re giving away tickets and a chance to join them on stage.’
Tyler made a noncommittal shrug. ‘They’re not bad. I quite liked some of their earlier stuff.’
With the coffee made, Tilly carried her mug over to Tyler’s desk, Hannibal looking at him. She wanted milk but couldn’t be bothered to get it out of the fridge. It would stain her teeth, but they were crooked and her smile was gummy and ugly anyway, so who cared? ‘I lived for their earlier stuff, dude. Lead Pipe Poisoning was a brutal album.’
‘Yeah, Lead Pipe’ was pretty good.’ Tyler said. ‘But I thought Blunt Force Baptism was better.’
‘I guess, but Lead Pipe had Schizophrenia is Fun and Cumming Blood in it, those songs slapped, man.’
‘True.’ Tyler started to untangle his ear buds, a sure sign he wanted to be left alone soon. ‘But I don’t think I’d want to join them on stage…They’re actually abusive to their fans.’
‘I know what you mean…Did you see that time they let a girl come up on stage they put a Scorpion in her knickers? That was pretty gnarly.’
‘Yeah,’ Tyler put the left earbud in in. ‘And didn’t they piss on a man’s face?’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot about that.’
‘Guys…’ Her bosses’ voice came from the corner again. ‘I don’t think that’s appropriate.’
‘Sowwy.’ Tilly said in a silly voice, slinking back to her desk. ‘I’m still entering the competition though.’
Free of her computer screen (the bad screen) at the end of the day, she lay on her bed in her room watching TicToc (good screen).
The feeling that there was something else she was meant to be doing chewed away at her brain, before striking her – the Wholesale Slaughter thing!
She dropped her phone on the bed, scrambling towards the wardrobe
Her room was rented in a crappy HMO, and her entire wardrobe was rammed into one cupboard.
Black hoodies, band tees and torn denim spilled out onto the floor.
Ok, so very little of it was actually hung up, but hey, it was in the wardrobe. Didn’t she at least deserve credit for that?
Tilly sifted through her clothes to find her normal gig outfit – she found the fishnet tights first, then her black zip up hoodie with a Stone Temple Pilots album cover on the back, then the denim shorts.
She stripped off to her underwear, dumping the clothes she’d worn to the office on the floor.
‘Tilly, shut the door, my boyfriend’s coming round in a bit!’ Izzy, one of her housemates stood in the doorway, averting her eyes.
‘Shit! Sorry! I forgot the door was open.’ Tilly made to close the door but realised it was far too late. But suddenly away of her massive pale thighs and arse (ok, nobody else thought they were that big, but she thought she was a gross blob) she wrapped her bed sheet around herself.
‘I was coming up to ask if you wanted to get in on a Domino’s order?’
‘Yeah, that’s a really good idea actually,’ still in the sheet, Tilly started to hunt around for her purse. ‘I don’t think I’ve eaten today…I don’t remember eating anything. Have you seen my purse?’
‘No, but it’s fine, just PayPal me later. Just try to remember this time, yeah?’
‘Sure. Hey, Izzy, wait, don’t go.’
‘What is it?’
‘Can you tell me what you think of an outfit please?’
‘A duvet? Even for you Tilly, that’s too weird.’
‘I mean the one I’m about to put on. Just wait.’ Tilly closed the door in Izzy’s face.
‘Can you do it quickly because I’m starving?’ Izzy said through the door.
‘Hold on, I just need a second.’ Tilly threw off the duvet, then put on the fishnets, the denim shorts, the crop top and hoody, worn off the shoulder.
She adjusted her collar length hair, and smoothed down her fringe. Her ex-boyfriend called them her “fuck me bangs” so she’d kept them ever since.
‘Ta da.’ Tilly said, opening the door.
‘Slay.’ Izzy said. ‘Now, what pizza do you want?’
‘No, really, what do you think? Do you like it?’
‘It’s edgy, I like it. Maybe a teeny bit too much for a first date, but otherwise I really like it. You pull it off.’
‘It’s not for a first date – oh and by the way I’m gonna wear it with these.’ She picked up her Doc Martens. ‘It’s for a gig.’ Tilly told Izzy about the competition, and watched her face change.
‘You want to go on stage with Wholesale Slaughter?’ Izzy laughed humourlessly. ‘Well OK, you do you, but I wouldn’t. They’re abusive to their fans if you ask me. Not on.’
‘Oh but it will be so cool, I’ll be Wholesale’ history!’
As she waited for the Domino’s delivery, Tilly started to draft her message to the band (well, the band’s social media team, she knew who this worked).
I’ve been a fan of you since I was 12. I own every album, I always buy them on release day. I’ve even got two of your albums on vinyl even though I don’t have a turn table. Your messed up lyrics which were so unashamed in how fucked up they were really spoke to me as an angry, broken weird teenager and got me through some hard times. Only Suffering is Permanent got me through some hard times and I channeled some much anger through I’m having a party when you finally die of a heart attack went on my iPod every time my Stepdad pissed me off. Please don’t even stop making music! I hope you like my outfit 🙂
Yours sincerely,
Matilda Rose Campbell
She sent the message, and almost immediately forgot about it.
*
Tilly wasn’t sure how she got onto the subject of why her mother was a narcissist and how talking therapy had actually done her more harm than good, especially when the conversation with her manager started off on the subject of better targeted advertising.
He took a tentative step back from her desk. ‘Well…This has been enlightening, but I really should let you get on and work.’
‘OK!’ Tilly chirped. She managed an entire 6 minutes of work before she checked her social media.
The messaging icon had a red dot by it. A little spike of dopamine lit up inside of her, before the little spike grew to a massive stab of joy.
That competition, the Wholesale Slaughter one? She’d won it!
Tilly put the phone down and did a small dance in her chair.
‘Are you alright?’ Tyler said with an eyebrow raised. ‘Looks like you’re having a seizure.’
She stopped doing her weird little dance. ‘You fancy being my plus one at a gig?’
The venue was called The Warehouse. As it’s name suggested, it was a disused warehouse converted to a gig venue.
Despite her golden ticket, Tilly still had to wait outside with everyone else.
Tyler had been bitching non stop about the cold, suckling on his vape ben.
‘Don’t be such a baby.’ Tilly said through the cloud of strawberry scented vapor. ‘And I’m wearing hardly anything.’
‘You’ve got a hoody on, though. I’m in a t-shirt, and it’s 9 at night in February…Fuck, should have brought a coat.’
‘I’m not your Mum.’ she shrugged. ‘I’m not that much older.’ Tilly stuck her tongue out at him.
Eventually, they were both patted down by security, sniffed over by the sniffer dog and allowed in.
Tilly pushed her way through the moshpit inside, holding Tyler’s hand and dragging him with her, closer to the stage where the warm act were playing.
They stepped on several discarded plastic pint cups, and the floor was sticky under her Docs.
It was a band called Nailhead which Tilly was meh over. Each electric guitar chord was so loud it cut through her head, shutting up all the white noise that normally played in her head. They were full on fret-wanking, screeching and yowling, and too loud to actually hear the lyrics.
She was so close to the speakers, she felt her ribcage shake.
Tyler shouted something in her ear, and he had to shout it twice to make out what he was saying. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘No?’ She yelled back. ‘Why should I be?’
‘They’ve got a scorpion with your name on it!’
She brought herself up close to his ear. ‘Fuck off!’
Eventually Nailhead cleared the stage, and Tyler went to the bar to get drinks as the roadies and technicians set up for Wholesale.
More and more people pushed to the front, squeezing her closer to railings by the stage, close enough to smell the aftershave on the security guy.
She was pretty sure the guy behind her touched her arse, so Tilly didn’t feel too bad when she crushed his feet under her docks.
‘What took you so long?’ She asked Tyler, who managed to fight his way back, with the drinks mostly un-spilled.
‘The queue was manic! Fuck me, it’s packed in here.’ She took her vodka and tonic, freeing up Tyler to gulp his beer.
‘What do you expect? They’re big now. I hope they don’t just play the new stuff though.’
Tyler leaned in and shouted again. ‘What’s your personal number 1?’
‘I’ll Party When You Finally Die of a Heart Attack. I’ll be a happy girl if they play that.’
The crew cleared the stage, and the lighting dipped. Suddenly, the room seemed to quieten down.
Tilly felt the vodka burn through her, as she waited.
The stage lights abruptly lit up, and trudging out, not waving, not even acknowledging the teeth-gratingly loud cheers, came the band.
Leading them was frontman, who Tilly only knew as H. He looked somehow emaciated and ripped at the time, bright blue eyes with a 1000 yard stare to them. He wore trainers and track suit bottoms, only a silver chain necklace on his top half.
Nate, the band’s drummer, who was famous for never talking was following behind. His hair was thinning, with no attempt to hide it, and his beard was more unkept and filthy looking than ever. Tilly thought the guy looked homeless, or like a caveman (or a homeless caveman).
Behind Nate came the base guitarist, whose name Tilly had forgotten. He was longhaired, unshaven, dressed all in black.
After years of listening to them, but never actually seeing them in a flesh, Tilly found herself full-on fangirling, wreathing and twitching on the spot with excitement.
H was almost in touching distance. He took the mic off the stand, and waited, still ambivalent to the cheers.
‘All right, all right, calm it down.’ He said after a few seconds, and waited until the cheers died down to a babble. ‘We’ve travelled fucking hours to be here tonight, so at least you’re all showing some gratitude. That’s good I suppose.’ He waggled his finger in his ear, examined whatever was on the end of it, then flicked something onto the floor. ‘All I see in front of me is the fucking scum of the Earth,’ he said in his Essex drawl. ‘Far as the eye can fucking see. That dosen’t surprise me if I’m being honest…’ He clipped the mic back to the stand. ‘Because you’ve all come here for the same thing…The fucked up, nasty,’ he was talking louder and louder, building up to a yell. ‘Degenerate, sick, filthy ‘orrible sound of…WHOLESALE SLAUGHTER.’
The crowd cheered again, sounding more akin to a war cry. Tilly joined in, screaming, making Tyler, wince.
‘We’re kicking off with the new shit today,’ H picked up his guitar, playing a few chords, fiddling with it. ‘Don’t want to hear the new shit? Tough, we do.’
After three of the new songs ripped through Tilly, the band seemed to take a break. H took the microphone off the stand again. ‘We’re gonna pause a mo’, because I’m going to introduce you all to somebody,’ he took on a condescending tone, like he was talking to children. ‘Because we’ve got a very special guest joining us tonight! Ain’t that nice?’
Tilly felt herself fizz. That was her!
The audience seemed to pick up on H’s sarcasm with a resounding “Ahhhh!”
‘You know who you are…So Tilly, get your arse up stage and join us!’
With a parting pat on the back from Tyler, Tilly felt hands wrap themselves around her arms and legs as the audience instinctively knew what to do. In seconds, she was crowd surfing, on a swell of arms, legs and heads.
Tilly was passed over the barrier, and H took her ankles, then Nate her arms. She was heaved up onto the stage, to a rapturous roar of appreciation.
The two men released their strong grip, and she briefly turned her back on the audience to see her own larger than life image on the huge video wall to the back of the stage. Now she began to regret her outfit, showing off that much of her legs on stage. God, she looked big these days. Too many lattes.
She expected H to talk to her, and let her introduce herself, but he carried on talking.
‘Tilly reckons she’s one of our biggest fan – and a lifer, too. You were into us when you were still a kid, isn’t that right?’
She leaned forwards to talk into the mic. ‘Yeah, got me through some bad times, you guys.’
‘Well, you still are a kid really, you’re what, 21?’
‘24?’
‘Fuck me, I’ve got trainers older than that.’ H said. ‘You’re the “new generation” of fans,’ he made air quotes with his hands, ‘But tonight, I want to see just how big of a fan you are.’
Tilly made a concerned face. ‘Ok…’
‘What would you say to being allowed to keep this guitar at the end of the gig, eh?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Wow! Seriously?’ She looked at it, and it would be a cool thing to have – very cool. When and if she finally got her own place it would go on the wall. Or be sold to go towards buying her own place. ‘That would be every kind of awesome.’
H nodded sagely. ‘A bit of greatness…yours to own. What a lucky girl you are, Tilly. But, we’re not just going to let you have it, nah, nah. You think you get to just to fuck off with my Gibson? You’ve got to prove you really want it,’ an angle grinder smile was on his face. ‘And let us have some fun with you!’
A few cheers went up from the crowd.
‘No scorpions, please.’ Tilly said, making her snort of a laugh, suddenly becoming self conscious of her gummy smile.
‘No scorpions here, so no worries there…’ He suddenly switched up his demeanor, and went back to being shouty. ‘You lot, in the audience! You scumbags – why don’t you decide what she needs to do to show she’s good enough…devoted enough.’
A swirl of voices came back, and it was hard to make out any one sentence, but a few coherent words got through:
“Get your tits out!”
“Spank her!”
Tilly felt her cheeks prickle a little bit, reflexively putting her arms across her chest.
One more sympathetic soul shouted out “Just give it to her!”, but it wasn’t long before she heard “Strip her naked!”.
One suggestion in particular made her stomach screw up into a ball: “Shave her head!”
‘Oh, shit, I knew that was coming.’ She made her annoying laugh again, but this time it was a nervous laugh.
What the hell would she look like without her fuck-me bangs? Or indeed, any hair at all? And naked? Oh god, somebody from work seeing her naked? And all the hundreds of people at the gig? No, no, no!
H had been listening to the crowd. He turned to Nate. ‘What do you think, my friend?’
Nate shrugged and grunted, as H looked over at his bassist. ‘Jay, what are you thinking?’
‘H…Just let her have the bloody guitar, mate. Come on. Look at her, she’s a kid still!’
A loud booing sound came from the audience.
‘Oh dear oh dear,’ H glanced at Tilly, wriggling his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think they like the sound of that.’
‘You can just give it to me, I promise to look after it.’ Tilly literally fluttered her eyelashes at H, but her words were swallowed up by more booing.
‘I think there’s only one way to settle this,’ H’s words cut through the booing. ‘Lets keep as many of you happy as possible, yeah?’
Tilly suddenly felt ill.
‘Why don’t we…’ He was silent for a few seconds, letting the tension build. ‘Get this bitch naked, and shave her head?’
Tilly, covering her mouth, gasped as the massive, happy, roar came back from the audience.
‘I think that’s a yes, Tilly my darling.’ H looked delighted with the outcome.
Tilly felt as if she was going to puke. ‘S-so…You don’t like my outfit? Is that why you want me naked?’ She laughed nervously again, knowing it was a stupid thing to say.
‘Your outfits lovely my darling, but you know what? I don’t think the audience gives a shit!’
‘Trust me, you don’t want to see me naked. It will be a bitter disappointment.’ Tilly tried brushing it off, but was already feeling faint at just the thought.
‘You don’t want this, then?’ H waggled his guitar in her direction. ‘What’s the matter with ya? Thought ya were my biggest fan?’
“Off, off, off, off!” The audience had burst into a spontaneous chant. She noticed Tyler was joining in with the chant, jumping and down, having the time of his life. That made Tilly’s toes curl.
‘Oh Jesus Christ…Jesus fucking Christ.’ She didn’t know why but she was smiling – and there was nothing to smile about as she reached down to unlace her Docs.
Cheers and shouts rang out, and for a moment, she felt like a rockstar – even though she was acutely aware they just wanted to make fun of her.
As she stepped out of them, and unzipped her hoody, Tilly knew there would be consequences. But somehow, they seemed distant enough for her not to worry about them. Like that time she accidentally killed her hamster by dropping a hardback Harry Potter book on him as a kid, then put the body in the compost heap. She knew her parents would notice Nibbles was missing in a few days, but who cares, that’s ages away?
Consequences were something Tilly always had a weird relationship with.
‘Promise you won’t laugh?’ Tilly tugged at the hem of her crop top.
‘Laugh? Why would I laugh? What’s funny about a woman stripping naked on stage to get a free guitar? Nothing.’
‘Aw, fuck you, dude.’ Tilly pulled off the crop top, dropped it on the floor then adjusted her glasses. Her breathing was getting shallow as she unbuttoned her shorts, and eased them over her thick thighs.
Tyler was about to see her in her knickers. Tilly looked down at the floor as she let the shorts drop. If she didn’t look at him, it didn’t count right?
She didn’t really know why she did it, but she looked behind her at the video wall. She looked ridiculous in her underwear, with the fishnets over the top of her knickers. And fuck, her arse looked huge.
‘Sorry, am I actually doing this? Like, for real?’
‘’Fraid you are darling. Something to talk about in the office though, innit?’
H’s last comment made her cheeks burn even redder. ‘Shut up…I really didn’t need reminding of that.’ Tilly pulled the fishnets off, getting out of one leg easily, but hopping around and nearly falling over as she took off the other one. ‘Sorry, but you’re not getting a sexy striptease.’ Once in her underwear, she faced the crowd. ‘Said you weren’t missing much. Sorry guys.’
The chant off “off, off, off, off!” returned.
‘Come on Tilly, don’t stop there, my little number one fan! Don’t let my fanbase down!’
Even though it wasn’t funny, she laughed again, glancing down at her slight paunch and bright white legs.
This was a bad idea. She was humiliating herself. The rational part of her was still audible. ‘Tilly, are you out of your fucking mind, girl?’ It said, but she found herself in auto pilot.
But the guitar! Cool thing! Cool thing! Get the cool thing!
She made eye contact with Tyler, and swallowed.
With shaking hands, Tilly unclipped her bra, and let it join the rest of her clothes on the floor. Even though it was a hot room, she felt the nipples of her b-cup tits shrivel as she reached for her Hello Kitty knickers.
“So the co-worker who you kinda have the hots for is going to see your fanny at a music gig?” Tilly’s rational inner voice said. “Nice work you fucking dickhead.”
She hadn’t shaved down there for almost a week – it was almost as if she wasn’t planning on getting naked on stage with hundreds of people watching!
The cheering reached crescendo as her knickers flopped to the floor between her ankles. She allowed them all the briefest view of her bits before cupping her hand over it and covering her boobs with the other.
Bearing her gummy smile, Tilly looked bashfully at the crowd and then H. ‘See. Told you I was gross.’
‘Oh, the most disgusting sight I’ve ever seen.’
It was sarcasm, Tilly told herself. Certainly sarcasm, as he reached round, and slapped her arse. She jumped out of spanking-distance as she felt her backside tingle. ‘Oi!’
He cackled, holstering up his guitar again. ‘Your dream is about to become true – in’t that nice? You get a seat, on stage as we perform two of our fan faves. So sit your bare arse down and count yourself as one of the luckiest music fans of all time.’
Wrapping her arms around herself to hide as much as possible from view, she scurried over to the chair in the corner wearing nothing but her glasses and wristbands, stepping over her clothes, catching her reflection on the way over. Her normally bright white skin was pink around her cheeks (as well as her arse).
Feeling her thighs spread as she sat down, looking about four times their actual size when she was in the chair, she tried to enjoy the experience.
As they geared up to play Schizophrenia is Fun, Tilly told herself this was an incredible experience, being that close to them as they played. However, the small matter of being completely butt naked spoiled it.
She hugged herself as H screamed and grunted, while Nate and Jay seemed to be attacking their instruments.
If she focussed on the band really hard would that make it better? Nope. Still thinking about being naked.
They thrashed their way through four more songs, and she almost felt forgotten about, in the corner.
H paused to take the smallest break, swigging water from a giant plastic water bottle, and then splashing some on his face.
‘Alright, OK,’ he was swaggering across the stage. ‘Tilly. Stand up.’
‘Oh god.’ She stood up, still covering herself up, smiling nervously.
‘This guitar. You still want it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I dooooon’t beeelllliiieevvvveee you.’ H said teasingly. ‘Say it louder! Shout it! Jump up and down like a daft cunt!’
Tilly jumped on the spot, feeling everything jiggle. ‘I want it!’ she shouted. ‘I want that guitar!’
H laughed, and licked his lips. ‘Get that chair over here. Where I am, middle of the stage, right at the front, come on.’
Holding the chair so it covered up her fanny, Tilly obediently walked it over to where H was standing.
‘Good girl. Gotcha well trained already. Go on, sit down.’
Hands back over her privates, she settled back into the chair.
‘Tilly, you know we want devotion.’
‘Well, I think I’m already pretty devoted.’ She laughed.
‘Not enough, not quite. What’s the shit on your wrist?’
‘Wristbands…?’
‘From other bands. We don’t like other bands, because they’re not us.’ H growled.
‘You want me to take them off?’
‘Hold your arm out.’
Tilly held out her arm as he asked, taking it away from her crouch. She pinched her legs together tightly to avoid flashing, as H kneeled next to her. He was holding some scissors, and began cutting through them. ‘Oh come on, dude! That’s my 30 Seconds to Mars one.’ They all pinged off, some landing on the floor, some on her lap. ‘Noo! Dude! They’ve got memories.’
‘Lets make new ones then.’
‘Fuck, that’s really mean…woah, wait, what?’ H took hold of a chunk of her hair. She pulled her head to one side as she felt scissors close on it and heard the shhhiiiiiickkk sound of her hair being cut.
She put her hand up to bat him away, but it was too late. A huge chunk of her black hair landed on the stage floor.
Tilly gasped, and looked at the video wall behind her. Her stunned self looked back at her, very obviously missing a chunk of hair from her left side. She knew he wanted to shave off her hair (something she still hadn’t processed) but the suddenness had shocked her.
‘My hair!’
H ruffled it, messing it up, while she carried on looking at it. He proceeded to cut off another chunk, this one from the top of her head, close to the scalp. She felt some hairs get pulled out from their follicles.
In stunned stillness, she watched her hair get hacked off. She didn’t want this to be happening, but felt like she was watching a video of it happening to somebody else. Swept away in the moment, she let H cut more and more random chunks of her hair off.
In less than a minute her hair was mess off different lengths, like a bad dyke cut. Only the bangs were left untouched.
Tilly turned back to face the audience, many of whom were videoing it, and that was when reality hit.
Her tears came suddenly, without warning as the emotions of losing her hair – a massive part of identity – hit her in a tidal wave.
Chunks were scattered on the stage floor.
‘Why did I do this…Oh fuck!’ she sobbed as H carried on chopping at her hair.
‘Because…’ schiick, schiick, ‘You’re a fan of a really fucking good band.’ H said in between cutting out more chunks.
Tilly felt the scissors getting closer to the scalp, as a barrage of camera flashes made after images in her eyes. Her head was getting pulled around as he cut. When she felt his fingers around the longer strands remaining around her neck, she paused, flicking tears from her cheeks. ‘Wait, wait, I need to see…It’s bad isn’t it, it’s really bad?’
H was grinning as she turned around.
It took her breath away – literally. Tilly felt as if she had been winded. She had just inches of hair left, and it was choppier than before. She would see her scalp in some patches. There was no going back from this.
She ran her hands through it. It felt spiky in places, bristly in others. She whimpered.
‘At least I get a free haircut, right?’
‘Positive mental attitude – did your therapist teach you that?’
Tilly smoothed her bangs back into place. ‘Yeah. She did actually. This is salvageable, right? Please tell me it’s salvageable?’
H cut more off, gently trimming now. He held her head, and turned it so she was facing the crowd.
‘H, mate, please don’t cut off anymore. I look like a fucking hedgehog.’
‘Nah, we’re going all the way.’ H said, making a few more snippy-snippy-snips.
‘OK, well don’t touch my bangs.’ They were the last part of herself she recognised, and she brushed them with her fingers as H carried on snipping at her. She wouldn’t be herself without the bangs.
H finally stopped cutting. He casually sauntered off towards the back of the stage. She watched him go and felt her breath catch in her throat as he went to the pile of gear behind the amps. Tilly felt like her stomach fell out of her arse. He emerged holding clippers.
‘Oh God, no…’ Tilly wiped tears and snot off her face with the back of her hands. ‘Come on, leave me with some hair.’
He walked back, grinning widely, holding them up. Their silver teeth glinted under the stage lights while Nate and Jay just stood back and watched.
Tilly instinctively covered her bangs with both hands. ‘Oh shit. Not the bangs. Please, not the bangs?’
‘Ahh…we’ll see how it goes.’ He switched the clippers on, and held them in front of the mic. The low buzzing, loud and sickening. ‘What do they call it, when they shave the lot but leaves the bangs?’
She forced a smile that cracked through her frown. ‘A Chelsea. Great. Love that for me…It’s a little better than completely bald…I think.’
The clippers came closer, and she felt the vibration through the chair before she felt the vibration on her skin. Tilly flinched when she felt the teeth on her neck.
‘Keep still.’
‘I’m trying. That’s just my trauma reflex.’
The first strip went up the back of her head and she felt the warm tickle of shaved hair sliding down her back, settling in her arse crack. More camera flashes and more screams from the audience she squeezed her eyes shut as another pass went right above her ear, feeling the air on her exposed scalp, feeling the air on her exposed skin. She felt an urge to curl up into a ball, and she hugged herself tightly, rubbing her shoulders, trying to comfort herself.
Her voice went all high and squeaky. ‘Oh fuck – oh fuck. I’m going to look like a depressed dirty tennis ball.’
H laughed over the sound of the Clippers, brushing the fallen clumps of hair off her shoulder almost tenderly, which somehow made it 10 times worse. It landed on her lap, the dark hair contrasting against her pale skin.
‘Take your glasses off, love.’
The scene in front of her went blurry, and she rested her hands on her lap, in the little carpet of hair, holding them. She’d given up hiding her tits. It was a bit late for dignity.
He moved onto the sides next and she felt her ears become exposed, tickled by strands of hair left on her crown.
Her bangs trembled with the vibrations of the clippers when he moved on to the top her head.
‘Oh please, not the fringe!’
He shaved just behind the point where the fringe started, carving a path behind it. More hair collected on her shoulders, tickling it.
As he shaved the pile got bigger, until it tumbled down, scattering over her hands, her thighs, and the floor.
H flicked off a loose tuft stuck in the crease of her elbow. ‘I must say, you’re being very composed.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ She snapped weakly. ‘Do you want me to have a mental health episode on stage? Would that make you happy?’
The audience whooped at that like the whole thing was hilarious. She couldn’t even see them properly without her glasses. Just a wobbling blur of noise and lights and raised phones see if people watching her get dismantled.
H lifted the clippers again and her heart stopped.
She could see them hovering over her forehead angled forwards. Right at her bangs.
‘No! No, no, no – no. Not the bangs.’ She let go of her glasses, using her hand to protect them. ‘Not. The. Fringe. I won’t be me without it, I swear to god!’
H put his hand on her shoulder, gently holding her down in the chair, buzzing clippers in the other hand.
‘What do we think, everyone?’ H said into the mic. ‘Bangs or no bangs?’
“DO IT, DO IT, DO IT!”
Tilly was sure she could hear Tyler’s voice in the swell.
A fresh wave of tears blurred everything again, hot, thick and salty.
H brought the Clippers closer close enough she felt the warmth from them just above her eyebrows.
‘Please don’t.’ Tilly mewled. ‘They’re the only part that looks like me.’
‘Oh darling…That ship sailed about ten minutes ago.’
Before she could say anything else before she could even breathe the clippers kissed the very edge of her fringe. Then zzzzzp – a clean brutal slice straight through the middle her bangs split in half like curtains being tugged open. H flicked them off her head and a few dark strands drifted to her knees.
Tilly gasped a tiny broken sound as he pushed the clippers straight across from the left to the right, mowing the rest of them off with ruthless efficiency. The soft tickle of her last tufts slid down her cheeks, falling into the pile already covering her lap. Her forehead felt huge.
She looked down, her lap now a funeral mound of her own hair.
H pattered the top of her now stubbly scalp, satisfied.
‘Perfect. Look like a proper punk girl now.’
The crowd exploded as Tilly put her head into her hands, shaking now that the deed had been done. She wasn’t able to stop it. It went through her body like a wave. She wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying anymore, possibly both.
H stepped back, admiring his handiwork and jerked his chin towards the giant video screen behind them.
‘Go on, have a look.’
With quivering hands, she put her glasses back on.
Tilly didn’t want to turn around. But she knew sooner or later she would have to look. Her palms were sweating and her bare arse bum sitting in a pool of sweat, while her stomach had twisted itself into a wet knot.
But grim curiosity made her look. She wanted to see it, to see something she’d allow happen to her that she couldn’t undo. It was the same feeling she got whenever she had a mouth ulcer. The compulsion to jam her tongue against it and make it hurt.
She twisted back in the chair and looked up.
What she saw was not the Tilly she recognised. Not The Tilly should build peace by piece out of eyeliner, hoodies, fuck me bangs and a weird sense of humour. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks streaked with tears, snot still glistening under her nose.
She noticed her own shoulders hunched inwards, as she tried to make herself smaller.
Her lips trembled.
‘That’s…Me?’
She lifted her hand to her head watching her own movement replicated on the huge screen her fingers brushed through the rough stubble of the leftover hair.
People in the audience cheered like this was the best part of the show, like it was what they had come to see.
Tilly found her legs began to shake. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck. That can’t be me. I look like I’m about to start chemo or something.’
Behind her H laughed like it was the punchline he’d been waiting for. ‘ Beautiful ain’t it?’
‘No.’ Tilly swallowed, her throat closing up. ‘I look horrible. Jesus, I look ill.’
The camera zoomed in a little – too perceptively – catching the exact second her face crumpled. Her lips wobbled, as her chin tucked in.
A raw sob forced it’s way out of her chest, which made her tits wobble. Her bare shoulders, glistening with sweat, shook as she cried, her stupid gummy twisting into a horrified grimace. She turned away, and covered her face.
‘Please stop showing me, please…’ She wasn’t able to help it. Tilly drew in breath and sobbed bitterly, full on ugly crying. ‘Turn the camera off!’
She felt her hand clamp around her wrist. H took her hand away from her face with casual force like she was a stroppy toddler. ‘Oi. Don’t hide now. They want to see you.’
Tilly whimpered, shaking her head, trying to yank her arm back. ‘I’ve had enough. I want to go.’
‘Come on, give ‘em another look. They’ve paid good money.’
He didn’t wait for her. He turned her face back to the screen with one finger under her chin.
The camera angle had changed , closer. The giant version of her face filled the screen: blotchy red and tear streaked with running mascara, her glasses crooked from where she rubbbed at her eyes.
She watched herself cry – the wobbling lower lip, the ugly spasms of her breath, and she looked truly awful without her hair, her reflection made her cry harder. It was a horrible loop.
‘Oh god, just stop showing me…I – I – I,’ she sniffled. ‘Look so ugly.’
‘Hey, at least you know this is as bad as you’ll ever look.’
‘Don’t say stuff like that! I’m already having a fucking crisis!’
H chuckled deep in his chest, clearly delighted. He stood behind her resting an elbow lightly on her bare shoulder like she was an armrest on the sofa. ‘This is proper rock and roll, innit?’
‘It’s not! It’s literally me having a mental breakdown!’
Tilly’s stomach turned over so violently she thought she might be sick. She wiped her face with both hands, smearing tears, sweat and stubbly little hair clippings into a disgusting paste on her cheeks.
With her tears clearing, she could pick out Tyler. It looked sad, but at the same time…Amused?
She wiped her cheeks again, and peeled stray hair off of her face. She felt filthy.
H brushed the last chunks of hair from her shoulders. ‘Right, nearly done with your makeover.’
‘No – please – please, just stop now. I’ve had enough.’
H didn’t even acknowledge her. He straightened up, dusting his palms together like he’d finished a warmup act. ‘Jay, gimmie the kit.’
Tilly looked behind her and saw the basis rummage in a backpack and toss something towards H. It was a can of shaving foam. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ she groaned. ‘Why? You don’t need to do that, I’m bald already!’
‘You want the guitar or not?’ H shook the can casually.
‘Well…Yeah…This better not be for nothing.’
‘Then let us the finish the job. Wholesale don’t half arse anything. Not even shaving silly little bitch’s heads.’
‘What did you just call me?’
‘You heard.’
Tilly winced as he squirted a line down the centre of her head, then spread the cold foam over her scalp. He then held up a razor up to the crowd proudly, like he was a magician about to do a trick.
‘Gilette Mach III. Nothing but the best for you, girl.’
‘Great. I feel so much fucking better.’
‘Now, now. Lose the attitude. Or there’s no guitar for you.’
The feeling over the razor sliding over her head made her feel sick. Never, ever, did Tilly think she’d experience that sensation on her head. Her legs and…other bits…But never her head.
As H razor shaved her head, some seemed to lose interest in the spectacle and migrate over the bar, waiting in line for a plastic cup of lager.
She bit her lip as she felt her skin get tugged by it. At one point she jumped when H nicked her scalp.
As he finished up, getting off the bits he’d missed and the last blobs of shaving foam, she reached up to touch her head. It felt tacky and smooth. ‘There’s more hair on my vagina than my head right now.’ She muttered.
‘We can do something about that if you want.’
‘No! Don’t you dare!’
He laughed wickedly, then gave her head a slap when she was done, making her tense up. It made an ugly, wet slapping sound. ‘You bastard!’
‘I resemble that comment.’ He quipped.
Tilly dared to look again. If it been anybody else, other than her, she would have laughed. If she thought she was already pale, her bald head was bright white. Freshly shaved, it shone under the stage lighting.
The few nicks and red patches made her look even more gross.
‘Awwwh fuck…’ She whispered desperately. ‘Why am I like this?’ Tilly rubbed it some more, willing her hair to suddenly grow back.
‘You must want to get yourself cleaned up now, yeah?’
Tilly rubbed her face. ‘I just want a shower…No, no! Not that! I don’t want -’
H picked up the massive water bottle, and proceeded to empty it over her head. It sloshed out, splattering onto her bald pate. It felt icy cold, as Tilly spasmed and it drenched the rest of her naked body.
A few people get well timed pictures.
‘Ahhhhhhh! Jeeeeessssusssss!’ Goose pimples spread across her body, and H laughed wickedly, tossing the bottle on the stage floor.
As Tilly sat tensed, cringing, H got on the mic again.
‘Ok everyone, we’re gonna take a break now…I think Tilly needs a break more than anybody else…’ A wave of dark chuckles from the crowd. ‘We’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t get too pissed. You want to actually remember this…’ He put his hand on Tilly’s head. Ill tempered, she shrugged him off. ‘Some of you weirdos might want to put this in the wank anyway.’
‘Ok,’ she sucked in air, deep into her lungs. ‘Please don’t say that, you make me want to barf.’
‘Too late. I’ve said it. Up you get, go sulk in the corner for a while.’ He tipped the chair forwards, making her arse slide off the now wet chair, and returned it the corner. The area where it had been was ringed with black hair and ruined wristbands. Bald, as well as naked now, Tilly picked up her clothes and made an attempt to hide her body with them. As she walked back to the chair, she saw her own fat arse on screen. She was acutely aware of the mole on the right cheek, and the acne on the left one.
Tilly contemplated putting them back on, but didn’t fancy getting dressed while she was wet, so piled them up onto her lap, the fishnets coiled up on top like she shed skin of an animal.
She put her face in her hands, elbows on her thighs, and stayed that way until they started to perform again.
The sound of a gig used to be the coolest thing in the world to her, but it was just giving her a headache and she wanted it to stop.
Six more songs in, H was on the mic again. ‘We’ve got one more challenge for sulky tits over there, then she can have the guitar, and we’ll call it a night.’
‘Really!? Seriously!’ she shouted.
‘Come on sulky tits, bring the chair back.’
‘Awwh,’ she made something halfway between a sob and groan. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘One more. Then it’s your’s…’ H winked at her. ‘Come on girl, you know you want it. Get over here and bring the chair with you.’
Gathering up her clothes, she stood up.
‘No, no. You don’t need your clothes. Just you and the chair.’
In a fit of bad temper she threw her clothes onto the floor, making the docs thud against the stage floor, and stomped over with the chair.
H angled it sideways and sat in it, to her surprise. ‘I’m gonna sit down and sing for the first time, like Val fucking Donnican.’ He laughed. ‘Tilly, I’m gonna sing your favorite song – I’m Having a Party The Day You Finally Die of Heart Attack. Now come and lie over my knee.’
She felt her heart sink. She knew what was coming. But there was no more fight left in her. Tilly limpley complied.
As she lay across H’s lap, she had a brilliant view of her own white, disgusting, fat arse facing the crowd. The back of her legs dangled down helplessly.
As she looked down at the stage floor, she saw bits of her own hair, even more scattered than before after being trod in.
There was a remnant of a Disturbed wristband.
‘Alright lads. On the count of 3. 1, 2, 3,’
Tilly flinched because she knew what was going to happen. I’m Having a Party The Day You Finally Die of Heart Attack with five fast, heavy drum strokes.
And H spanked her with each beat of the drum. Over the speakers she heard it – Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap!
H didn’t hold back.
‘Ow! Shit! Mother fuu-’
She was drowned out by his singing.
“I lit a candle to celebrate your stress,”
She flinched again. More drum beats were coming: Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap! It stung like fuck, and she was already beating her fists against the plastic chair.
“Hoping for silence when they listened to your chest,”
Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap! Tilly made the mistake of looking up at the screen, her own arse wobble and quiver like jelly, going the same colour as a rare steak.
“You always said you missed me, what a stupid fucking mistake, because the day your pulse flalined – I slept great.”
She screwed her eyes up as she closed them, because she knew what was coming. A mental, full on, angry drum solo.
H spanked her with both hands, playing her cheeks like drums. Tilly squirmed around on his lap, kicking her legs up, flashing her flaps, trying to stop him spanking her, but it didn’t work.
‘You baaaassssttttaaaaaarrrrd!’
“Well, that’s that song spoiled for you forever.” said the calmer voice in her head.
Once the song ended, H finally let her slide off her lap. The applause was deafening. It was the best rendition of that song she ever heard, but she never wanted to hear it, or any other Wholesale Slaughter song ever again.
‘And that, was the degenerate fucked up sound you’ve all been craving, you sick, sick fucks!’ H barked, his voice hoarse. ‘But give Tilly, our biggest fan ever, a round of applause!’ For once he didn’t sound sarcastic.
She stood, naked and bald on shaking legs. Arse stinging. She didn’t want the applause, or the attention. Hunched over, she covered herself up, and made an involuntary laugh. Once again, she didn’t know why she was laughing.
H shrugged off the guitar. ‘A promise is a promise. It’s your’s girl. Take it.’
She snatched it out of his hands. Not because she wanted it, especially, but because she wanted to hold something across her body. It was heavier than she’d been expecting. But there it was. The guitar she fantasized about one day holding since she was 14, now belonged to her. And she hated it. She held it so tightly her knuckles went white, but only because it was hiding her body. Tilly never wanted to see the fucking thing again.
H took one of her hands and held it aloft, but all she could do was wonder what they would say in the office.
After the show, Tilly had shoved her arms through the Hoodie sleeves with jerky frantic movements, her head still tingling from the shave. She didn’t bother with the fishnets she couldn’t be asked wrestling with them again, so she just stuffed them in her pocket like a dead thing she didn’t want to look at. It didn’t feel right wearing her own clothes anymore. She felt a weird sense of imposter syndrome that should never had before… like she was pretending to be… herself?
As her and Tyler walked down the street, the February air freezing on her bald head. The air seemed to slap her head. She looked over her shoulder at the venue and actually wanted to go back inside so she wasn’t back out in the real world.
The street lamps and lights from shopfronts made her nearly naked head shine like a lightbulb.
She put the hood up, but it felt horrible against her skin.
‘Fuck…Fuck, Tyler, I can’t believe that happened.’ She said, her voice cracking. ‘I can’t believe – look at me!’ she tugged the hood back down. ‘Look at my fucking HEAD!’
Tyler stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘It’s not that bad.’
She let out a deranged laugh that immediately dissolved into a sob. ‘NOT THAT BAD? Tyler, I look an egg somebody drew a face on. My hair was my best feature, Tyler I HAVE NOTHING GOING FOR ME!’
‘You’ve still got a nice face?’ He offered weakly.
‘Oh BRILLIANT! Because that’s what people to say to those girls who are fucking disgusting. “You’ve got a nice face”.’
She clutched the guitar case tightly to her chest as they walked, stumbling a little bit, because it felt heavier than it had on stage. People walking past gave her looks. Maybe curiosity, pity or confusion.
‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ She shouted at passers by. ‘I KNOW I know I’m hideous.’
‘You’re not hideous.’ Tyler mumbled. ‘Tilly, just calm down.’
Tilly gave him a look that would make the little houseplant she kept on her desk wither and die. ‘Don’t lie to me Tyler. I HAVE NO FUCKING HAIR. EVERYONE HAS SEEN MY PUSSY, AND MY WEIRD, GROSS LITTLE TITS!’
That outburst made people on the other side of the road stop and look at her.
They reached a bus stop. The road was busy with Friday night London traffic, and a bus was growling up the road. She stopped walking. Just stopped dead.
‘Tilly?’ Tyler had just noticed she’d stopped.
She stared down at the guitar case. That stupid fucking guitar, the thing she let herself be humiliated for.
She started to breathe heavily.
‘I hate it.’ She whispered. ‘I hate this thing. I don’t want it anymore. I just want my hair back, and I want to rewind to a time when I wasn’t just fucking naked on a stage in front of hundreds of people.’
‘Tilly…Don’t do anything stupid.’ Tyler warned.
She lifted it over her head with a furious yell. ‘Fuck you Wholesale Slaughter, I hate you!’
‘TILLY! WAIT!’
‘No!’ she stamped her foot on the ground like a petulant child. ‘I don’t WANT it!’ She screamed, and hurled the guitar case straight into the road.
It hit the tarmac with a scraping sound, bouncing, flipping open as the latches snapped. The guitar skidded out into the path of the oncoming double-decker bus.
The bus driver didn’t bother to slow down.
H’s guitar shattered with a splintering crunch under the wheels, exploding into pieces – wood, strings, pickups.
She stood motionless, as the bus drove away scattering bits of it across the road.
‘Oh my god.’ She whispered. ‘I killed the guitar…’ she rubbed her head again, and started to cry when realised it was all for nothing.
The end
