The masked man at the computer sat back, clutching his head and pounding his fists against them with enough force to kill as many insects as he wanted.

His screen showed almost nothing - only a small amount of unintelligible text that was only about the length of one short paragraph, three sentences long.

Stopping the beating of himself, he turned his office chair around and stood up, bare feet slamming on the wood with clear frustration.

“Writer’s block.” he murmured. “It always has to be writer’s block. It always just has to ruin me.” His fists balled up in anger and he stamped his foot onto the floor, narrowly missing a solitary ant walking back to its colony.

He scanned his room, looking for a solace. Of anything comforting. And yet, the only comforting thing around was his bed. He wasn’t tired. Not even the framed photo on his desk.

Glancing around, he decided nothing else would be better and laid down on the bed. Covering his face with his hands and rubbing his eyes with his palms, he cursed and cursed and cursed his heart out, trying to build out his frustration with himself.

“You have to get better.” a voice to his right said. “You’re not okay.” “Shut up. You’re hardly any better than me.” the man grumbled, not bothering to lower his hands and take a look at the figure. The voice hummed annoyedly, before continuing. “You’re grieving. You’re not in the right headspace to worry about other people, especially people on the internet.” “If I can’t worry about them, then what else can I do? Bedrot? The very idea sickens me.” “The idea of the website you use sickens you already. Admit it.” “That’s- that’s not true. You’re lying.”

The figure paced around the man’s room, obviously in thought. “If I was lying, then I wouldn’t be telling you that.” “I know! It’s just- I can’t see a future for myself. I have no friends, no relatives in this country, and no way of knowing the future.” “That first statement is false. You have friends on there.” “That I haven’t been talking to. Why are you so worked up in my problems?” The man removed his hands from his face and stared at the figure. The figure’s face was nonexistent - its whole body was painted black as the blackest black.

“If I wasn’t in your problems, I have nothing else to provide to you.” “Then don’t! Are you nuts?” “I simply worry. Like you.” “Then why do YOU get to worry and I don’t? Huh?” “I already told you. I’m in a better headspace than you.” “Why not leave a grieving man alone, huh?” “You’re making yourself worse. Forcing yourself to work will kill you from the inside out.” “I’m in my early twenties, thank you. I can handle myself.” “No, you can’t.” “Here we go again, about these stupid assumptions.” “They’re not assumptions. You only feel frustration on here.” “Not true.” “What’s an asexual man doing on a porn website?” “Roleplaying. Not a porn website. And I chat with fighting bots as well as make my bots.” “And make your bots?” “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get inspiration.” “Admit it. You hate it.” “I DON’T!”

The man furiously threw a pillow at the figure. The figure dodged, and the pillow hit the wall with a soft thump instead. “You need help.” “I don’t.” “Then why not take that mask off?” “They won’t like me without it.” “Who’s to say?” “I’m the one saying it. You have no power.” “Maybe, but aren’t you tired of putting that mask on?” The figure pointed to the many elaborate strings holding up the mask. “It’s fine. It never bothered me.” “It does, can’t you see?” “I can’t see it because it’s not happening.” “In denial again.” “I’m not! I have to type again.” “No!”

“...”

“What do you mean no?”

“Take the mask off, B.” “I don’t want to.” “You will.”

The man slowly untied each elaborate string, each falling like a leaf in the wind. One by one, the strings fell, until the mask slipped off.

The man’s face was horrible - scars covered his face, and where there were no scars, there were disfigurements. Skin sagged. Blood leaked. Wounds got worse.

“You’re beautiful.” “I’m not.” “You are.” “I’m not.” “So be it, then.”

“I don’t want to keep the mask on.”

“You never had to.”

“I know that- it’s just that it was easier to hide behind it.” “And is it easier now?” “No.”

“I’m tired.”

“I need rest.”

“I need help.”

“I need friends.”

“And so it will be given to you. You only just have to get away from the computer.”

“I can’t.”

“Then only for one month, is that alright?”

The man looked at the framed photo on his desk and looked back at the figure.

“I guess so.”

“Say yes.”

“Yes.”

“I hope you can get rid of your addiction.”