A renewed terror wakes the dreamer.
"When are you planning on killing him?" Frankie asks, biting his lip. We're in the town, at a small cafe, stalking my target like a discreet fan girl. I'm used to it, the stalking and killing, but Frankie doesn't like it. He'll have to get used to it, I plan on keeping him for a good while.
"Hm...Within the next day, it's likely that he'll be found dead." I sigh. "We can't stay here long. With my blood lust, this population will be devastated if I stay... we need to move to a big city, where death is more common and I can kill freely."
"That's cruel. Killing people. But I'm curious as to why you care if the population is decimated or not. I mean, how many people have you even killed?" He frowns at me.
"Two thousand, two hundred and eighty-seven."
Frankie gasps. "That many?"
"Yes, that many." When you kill someone at least twice a day, the numbers start to add up. (A/N There is math behind the figure, I know secrets you don't XP) Add in the extras from my job...I've killed a lot of people. I'm not ashamed; it's how I was meant to be.
I leave money on the table, following my target, getting up just after him. Frankie and I follow him, buying food and scarves along the way, appearing much like the few tourists around.
We follow me target to the-groan-public bath. His house has a bath, but he must like the giant tile swimming pool like baths. We follow him into the bathhouse, paying our fees and the target paying his. I sigh as we walk into the bathhouse. Great. My skin is going to show. The reason I always wear long sleeves and pants is going to be on display. I'll have to make sure Frankie doesn't see. Why should I care? Because that boy is into meddling. I think it's like, a hobby.
We undress...(excuse my brain for a moment while I stare), and enter the bath area, me guiding Frankie from behind, so he can't see my...ugly. All my hate, my hurt, my vengeance.
I quickly find myself in the tan tiled pool bath, the steamy water covering me up to my mouth, same bath as my target, leaving Frankie standing on the green and tan patterned tile floor. I would pull him in, but that would expose my skin. By ugly, defaced, vandalized arm.
X Frank's P.O.V. X
Gerard pushes me in front of him in the bathhouse, and plops himself down in one of the three baths before I can even look at him. Oh God, does he suspect I'm gay? I hope not. I don't know how he'll react. I never know exactly how he'll react.
I silently lower myself into the bathwater, the awkward between Gerard and I somehow growing. Once I'm fully in the water, it only comes up to my chin, and I realize Gerard must be slouching, because the water is coming up to his bottom lip, and he's a good six inches taller than me. I wonder why.
I try slouching, too. Nope. No wonderful insight. And Gerard usually sits and stands straight.
Why are you slouching so bad?" I ask him quietly.
"Oh, erm, I, um..." He bites his lip, obviously trying to find a decent answer. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?" he asks. I almost laugh at his failed response.
"It is bad posture, and you usually sit up straight." I chide, stating my past observations.
"Yeah... Well, the only reason I don't usually slouch is because clients want someone who looks professional, and slouching doesn't seem professional. Sitting up straight gives off the appearance of confidence, meaning past success." He explains. I don't doubt it's true, but I think there's something more.
"Riiiiight...So what's your real reason?" I ask, sliding over right next to him, leaning in so our faces are a mere six inches apart. I have to fight, the urge to get lost in his eyes, but I'm soon relieved of the battle as he flinches away from me. A look of panic in his eyes, he distances himself a bit from me, making sure to stay under the water. Who would have thought someone so comfortable with murder would flip out over such a simple question.
"It's nothing..." He averts his gaze from me, deciding to look onto his target, who's relaxing in the hot water.
"Are you uncomfortable with your body?" I mock. No way someone like him, who looks like a fallen angel, is uncomfortable with his gorgeous body.
"Yes, now leave me alone." He mutters, after thinking for a minute.
"You're the one who forced me here against my will." I remind him, smirking. I'm surprised at how relaxed I've become around him the last day.
"I really have to stop making promises." He sighs, a frown on his soft, beautiful pink lips. I assume they're soft, as I've never actually touched them...
I consider his words for a moment. "It would be in your best interests to stop making promises, yeah."
He sighs again. I think it's going to become a regular thing. Gerard looks around the bathhouse, and I realize it's empty, save for Gerard and his target, and, naturally, me.
"Frankie, why don't you go get changed..." He asks, slightly distracted. I eagerly nod, a chance to escape. He chuckles, focusing back on me. "Oh wait, you'd just run away. Why don't you stand in that corner, facing the wall?" He asks. I obey the command, walking to said corner.
I hear a splash in the water, and a startled yelp, water being hit, no doubt by convulsions of Gerard's prey. I don't turn to look. I can't, my body is frozen in fear. I hear riiiips of skin being pulled and mangled, and I realize I really don't want to be the cat that curiosity murdered.
Suddenly there are hands on my shoulders, and I yelp, screaming bloody murder. I try to turn around, but I can't, a mixture of the hands on my shoulders and my shaking body.
"Lets go get changed." Gerard whispers in my ear. I nod shakily, and he leads me towards the changing room. But before we get there, I see some of the horror.
A hand is on the ledge, surrounded by waves of red, the red snaking out further into the pool. But it's really the hand. It's cut up and bloody, most of the skin peeled back and even some bone apparent. How did Gerard manage to do this with his bare hands?
I put a hand over my mouth, bending over; I throw up my lunch onto the tile floors.
Once I'm done, Gerard pulls me up, still invisible to me, and leads me into the changing room. I realize I'm crying as I pull on my clothes, violently shaking hands making it difficult.
"Why are you crying?" Gerard asks, probably setting a record for drying off and changing quickly. He's just noticing my tears, and he reaches out to touch me, but I jump away, falling down away from him...the monster.
XX Gerard's P.O.V. XX
I'm confused. Why is Frankie puking and crying? He seemed fine earlier. I extend my arm to wipe the tears of his face, and he flinches back, falling onto his cute little butt.
"G-get away from me!" He cries, violently shaking and still missing a shirt. I go to help him up, but he frantically tries to get away from me. He's scared. Oh God, what did I do now? Did me killing that man upset him so? He didn't have such a problem when he knew I killed a town’s girl. He knows I kill. It couldn't be that, could it?
"Frankie, what's wrong?" I ask his softly, my brow furrowed.
"You're a monster!" He yells at me, breaking into a hysterical fit of tears, crying like there's no tomorrow.
I don't dare approach him; I let him cry it out. I've been called worse, but somehow this hurts the most.
He hates what I do, everything about me.
If I were he, I would too.
I wait for him to stop crying. "We should go." I say simply, quietly, in a breath, barely a whisper.
He nods slowly, and we start to slowly make our way to our house, the setting sun red and ablaze, lighting up the sky like the passionate hate he now holds for me.
"Frankie, you know I kill people." I start. We're about a ten minutes walk from our house now, and I'm trying to mend the tare I've made in his ease around me.
"That wasn't murder! That was torture! I could hear it, the riiip of the flesh being torn, the convulsing, then the blood in the water, oh God, the hand...The hand." He claps his hand over his mouth, and runs over to some roadside foliage. Soon I hear him heaving up his stomach's contents, smell the awful stink of the putrid half digested food and stomach acids and lining.
"Frankie..." I say, once his up-heave is over.
"Don't say anything, Gerard!" He yells. "You're a monster, who kills people and enjoys it!" He yells, and as much as the insults hurt, it's nothing compared to the anger he's now responded from my body and mind.
XXX Frank's P.O.V. XXX
Gerard pushes me to the ground, and sits on my torso, pinning me down, his eyes filled with rage and... Hurt.
I can feel his breath, hot on my face, as he leans his face over mine so they're merely centimeters apart. His breath is hot and a bit shaky- mad. He's mad. He should be, he's an awful person.
"You can say whatever else you want to about me but never, ever say that I enjoy killing people." He whispers, with such an intensity I'm shocked is even possible, with a face full of fury.
"O-okay." I stutter, caught by surprise. Yet another piece that doesn't fit in the Gerard puzzle.