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They’re playing on some real fears here.
Yes, it might be funny on the outside, and I’m definitely laughing at myself, but these are real emotions that invoke a state of being that is not pleasant.
I can tell that the person behind that mask is ready to have a nervous breakdown, I can see it. Feel the energy exuding from his costume and I don’t know why I do it… I don’t know, maybe I’ll look back on this moment and realize I made a horrible mistake, but I see the shaking in his fingertips. I see the anger in his fists. I see the manipulation, whether purposefully or accidentally, somehow through that mask. I see all the emotions I’ve felt at some point or another.
I see it all in him in this moment and I’m enraged for him.
For myself, maybe.
Or for all of us.
So I do something I never thought would be possible. I self sabotage. Live on camera, I do the one thing every idol knows not to do when the cameras are rolling. People look up to us, people want my perfect image, they want the illusion we’ve fed them. But my bow is off of my stupid clown face, and I think even at my age, I’m just done. This isn’t right. This is crossing all sorts of lines—and one that is especially personal to me.
The worst that can happen is I get canceled.
The best?
This guy, whoever he is, could be from my group or TestME, either way, he’s not okay and I’ve known that feeling for so long, that I’d do anything to help someone not have it. The pressure of knowing you have to look and be perfect, the fact that you can’t curse on TV, the fact that I have to live up to an image that even a saint couldn’t emulate—even watching fandoms go against each other during shows. The toxicity is overwhelming., Every day I have to push through the hell, and my only strength is my members.
They are all I have.
We are all we have.
Each other.
And nobody is noticing his fingertip’s.
But I do.
“Son of a bitch!” I roar.
Everyone gasps.
Guy in the mask freezes, his hands immediately stop shaking. I shrug, knowing I’m still in my clown costume but that people will most likely recognize my voice. I speak in English, clear English probably because I’m feeling brave.
“Sorry, thought I saw a bee.” Mishel quickly recovers and grabs the masked guy’s hand. “Him, I pick him as my partner because he’s so mysterious and hot, so I guess we all get to go on this trip to the haunted school, huh? Hope we win!” She looks over at me and nods her head a bit. She’s protecting him, just like I did because the producer set up was so real it was painful.
I respond back with a gentle nod of my chin.
Lucas and Grace both smile—they seem forced—but I’m sure it’s just their fear of me having to take a hiatus once everyone finds out I cursed on live TV.
Why does a hiatus sound like the best thing that can ever happen to me?
Lucas clasps his hands together. “All right, let’s go! We are live, after all.” The look he gives me is a complete reminder that I have to be careful, but at this point, what’s even happening. This is all for… what?
Grace’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but I don’t feel bad about it, I feel bad that we’re getting subjected to what feels like emotional torture.
Scratch that.
Itisemotional torture.
And you know it’s not good when you potentially feel bad for your enemy. And that’s where I’m at.
Producer Lee makes a signal with his hand, Ari’s standing behind him, just watching us as we all walk out of the room, apparently it’s time to get into the vans and go experience more fear.
Sounds great.
But when I start walking next to Dueri, she whispers under her breath. “I don’t know which one you are, I’ll have a guess later, but thank you for doing that.”
