Chapter Text
Matt was lying alone on the couch in the living room, letting his mind bounce from one subject to the next as he stayed rigid and in pain; here, he did not want to be bothered for the next half-hour so he could let a migraine take its course, knowing very well it could go on for more than the time period he requested. His hand grasped at air in the dark for a few seconds before he successfully found a pillow, of which he grabbed onto harshly as the pain increased in his temple. Much to his distaste, there was a knock at the door. It was overcast and a little over seven, so he questioned it but didn’t give it much mind otherwise. They weren’t expecting anyone today, so Matt wrote it off as a solicitor. He flipped so he was lying on his stomach, his face squished against the arm of the couch and the pillow between them. His mind went silent as the migraine seemed to vanish, but there, as persistent as ever, was that God awful sound of someone knocking at the door. He rose from the couch, swearing under his breath, and opened the door to be greeted by Anna. All of his anger was gone at the sight of her and he took it as a sign that she was here to help him with his pain, whether she knew it or not.
He felt self conscious suddenly at the sight of her; his hair was messy and knotted and he hadn’t taken a shower in a week, he’d worn his standard hoodie and jeans for the past two days without changing, and the freakish sight of his eyelids being sewn to his brow bone and under eye disturbed her, Matt telling himself he’d have to go through the hassle of removing them. Anna looked as if she were glowing to him. She had her signature red scarf wrapped around her neck, her blonde hair moving slightly in the breeze. In the dark lighting of the cloudy, cold environment, now sprinkling, and from the lack of light from the house, she looked brunette and he could see the little drops of water that clung to her hair sparkle as they reflected light. She was beautiful and she always would be, but the thing that was preventing her from being perfect was the look on her flushed face. Her heart was broken from the way he looked at her and she tried her best to not frown, knowing a smile was out of the question from how she was feeling. He assumed it was from the weather.
His worry about her expression and how he looked lessened when she side-hugged him, but not long enough for him to help warm her or for him to greet her. She tried to get as far away from him, knowing she’d want to hug him forever and pulling an excuse out of her head, quickly saying, “I’m sorry; I’m not feeling well; maybe the weather’s making me sick. Can we sit down?” The icky feeling came back to rest at the bottom of his stomach, but only because he believed her lie. He skipped the formalities and turned on the light, sitting down at the table with her. The transition may have made his migraine flare up, but he disregarded it, trying to focus on being happy to see her. He smiled at her warmly, taking her hand in his. She all but smiled back, patting his hand lightly before moving her hand out of reach, frivolously playing with the end of her scarf. She excused it for the possibility she could be sick. He looked at her, sad and concerned, then tried to start a conversation.
“Sweetheart,” he chuckled, “why didn’t you call? Or at least text? I’m happy to see you, of course, but why so suddenly?” Anna heard a trace amount of a threat in his words, or him insinuating that he was going to kill someone, so she tensed slightly. There was little space between them at the table, and she never wanted to be so close to someone and yet be as far away as possible from them at the same time.
“Sorry. I just got bored at home,” she answered, then forced herself to say, “and I missed your voice.” What she was saying was true, but it still sounded wrong to him, to both of them. Matt called it off as him being paranoid or maybe his migraine made it hard for him to focus. Neither was the most reasonable explanation but he clung to them desperately.
“Oh, okay,” he said, mainly to himself. She lowered her hand, then clasped it together with her other, her elbows on the table. She squeezed her hands tight as his eyes met hers and she looked away quickly, focusing her eyes on the ground. Subtle, she thought, subtle.
“Did you guys clean the tile? It looks nice,” she observed lamely, her pointer finger tapping the table to no set rhythm. This managed a laugh out of the ginger, making Anna realize how much she would miss it.
“It was about time we did. Things can get messy,” he said, meaning to be innocent but it made both of them unhinged. “Four guys living together, I mean,” he added. She shook her head no as a way to tell him he couldn’t save it, and he sighed. The only thing that broke the silence was Anna’s tapping, which started to bother him. Mid-way from her bringing her finger down, Matt grabbed her finger and pulled her forward, Matt turning his head so he could kiss her. Before he got too close, she used the hand he was holding to push him away, leaning back. All hope left him and he felt stupid, realizing it wasn’t because she could be sick. And what would kissing her do? Idiot.
“Why are you here, Anna?” he asked softly. She felt tears forming in her eyes and she breathed in quickly, then covered her mouth with her hand so he couldn’t see her lip quivering. She told herself she should just rip the band-aid off now instead of dancing around the topic.
“Matt, what we had was something magical and I’m grateful to have had you in my life because you’re an amazing person and you made me so unbelievably happy and made me feel so loved — ”
“But?” he quipped, getting angry for the fact he didn’t see this coming from the moment she got her. She didn’t let him touch her for that long, she wouldn’t look at him, and she came unannounced. The words she was saying didn’t really apply to him; not anymore, at least. She thought of backing out, blaming her actions on nausea and a headache. Yeah, and he could nurse her to health and they’d be okay. She could say the mantra she had rehearsed over and over again in her head and was reciting to him now was just because she wanted to remind him how lucky she was to have him in her life. She got cowardly hopeful and she started to form the words but the feeling left as quickly as it came. The tears came back and this time they threatened to spill. God, how much she wanted everything to stay this way, how she wished she could fix it simply and have everything work out. Anna wanted to kiss him so badly, a wave of wanting, love, and sorrow hitting her. She looked at him: at his glare and arms folded over his chest defensively, the frown on his face and the slump in his shoulders; the little fear and panic she’d get sometimes because of him and the awareness of what he was everytime she was around him at the back of her head, and knew for certain that no, this wouldn’t work out. It simply couldn’t. She had to do what was best for both of them and let him go. Get it over with, she thought.
“This has to end,” she said quickly, “I love you deeply and I always will but it would be naïve to say this would last. We’re young and maybe if we were older and more mature it could work but I don’t see it happening now. I care about you a lot and I always will have a special spot for you in my heart but this can’t happen anymore,” she said. She wanted to say so many other things, to gush out to him in a very long speech about love, but this was all she could manage. She gave herself sarcastic praise over how lazy and generic her explanation was.
Matt laughed, bitter from how sudden everything changed just like that, an inappropriate reaction given the circ*mstance. He knew this day would come, and though he always heard of people predicting a break-up, he never understood that it wouldn’t ready him for the pain he’d feel when it happened. He drew out a long breath, trying to not scream and cry. His head started hurting again and his throat felt like static. He should’ve seen this coming. It didn’t take a genius to see the signs, he told himself. He was emotionally shutting down and he was compelled to tell her to leave so he could sleep. Though he wanted to, he didn’t think he had the willpower to talk her out of it.
“Anna, we’ve both more or less accepted the fact that we don’t have a normal relationship so please don’t give me the excuses someone would say in one; make an effort and skip the “it’s not you, it’s me” crap, okay?” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He immediately wished he hadn’t said anything that would make her keep the conversation going after the words came out of his mouth. He wished he had said “okay, Anna,” and some other common response to a breakup. He had too much emotional turmoil rising in his chest and he felt like banging his head on the table over and over again.
“I thought I was sparing your feelings.”
He let out another sarcastic laugh, propping his head in his hand and analyzing her. “Sparing my feelings? Oh, no. More like patronizing if you want me to be honest, sweetheart.”
She shook her head, frustrated. This wasn’t her Matt. It hurt to see him like this but it was just proof that this was the proper thing to do, which stung even worse to the point she was tearing up. She didn’t want to be right about this; she wanted anything but this. She covered her hand with her mouth, thinking for a moment that maybe, just maybe, this was a rational reaction and she could save it. He hated how childish he was being and so did she.
“Okay; I’m sorry,” she started, breathing deeply, staring at the ground, “you knew this couldn’t last, right?” It seemed harsh to both of them, but she’d been thinking and feeling this for so long that even when she left, she still didn’t feel safe. She reminded herself of that as she started crying. “I tried, Matt, I really did. But no matter how hard I tried or how many excuses I made, this was unhealthy. It was damaging to both me and you. You were wonderful at certain times and I saw what you used to be and I was so utterly happy to see that, but I was in love with the image of what you were in the past, not you now. I thought with enough time and effort, this would smooth itself out and after a while of feeling mild panic when I was with you and restless nights, I stopped lying to myself that I could fix this. Being in a relationship, you and your partner work together to make themselves better people, that’s normal, yeah, but not like this. It had to happen at some point; at least the hard part’s over, yeah?” she asked, smiling weakly and wiping her tears.
“I am more than aware that sorry can’t fix this, Anna, but I’m deeply sorry for what I’ve done to you,” Matt said, seeing it was the only appropriate thing to say. He wanted her to tell him it was okay, but she didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out. It didn’t fix anything, which they were both aware of. He took it as I’m sorry I can’t fix you, I’m sorry I can’t forgive you, which stung, and he for a moment, foolishly wanted to ask her what he did wrong. He balled his hands in his fist, about to cry as well.
“I’m sorry too. I’m so f*cking sorry, Anna,” he answered.
Neither of them were content with the fact that this all happened so quickly or that they had a poorly structured conversation to begin with, and that so little words were said, it was hard to process that it was coming to a close. It couldn’t end like this, they both thought, but Matt didn’t know how to fix it. If I can’t function like an adult in this situation, then I sure as hell can’t make it easier for us, he told himself, watching her rise. Though, there was no good way to break up with someone in general.
“I love you,” she whispered. It wasn’t her attempt at having them salvage this, but a reminder. He would say it back, she’d leave feeling contempt, and it would all be over, she told herself. How desperately she wanted this to be over.
“I’m so genuinely sorry that you do,” he said back instead, letting go of her hands; he now understood in full he could never and had never given her what she wanted; even now, in their parting moments.
Disappointed with his response and the truth, she stepped back. “Goodbye, Matt,” she said, wiping her tears.
“Goodbye, Anna,” he responded, trying to force the horrible feeling that was rising inside him down.
After he watched her leave, he laid back down on the couch. He played the conversation over and over in his head, trying to find a time where he could’ve saved it. When he realized that there was none, he told himself he was okay with that and that they should’ve broken up ages ago. He sat up, feeling content with the events.
Then the false sense of security he gave himself shattered almost immediately and he started crying. It was silent at first and he thought he could stop, but he quickly downspiraled to the stage where he was trembling a little. His head hurt, his throat burned, and he needed to breathe but instead, he made awful noises where he tried to take in oxygen but all he could manage was inhaling over and over again and hiccuping. Dread and anger was clawing at him, growing higher and higher until he could barely breathe. He moved so he was facing the wall and wiped his tears, swallowing painfully. He took a few steps back, readied his position, and punched a hole into the drywall. He looked in awe and satisfaction at the damage, clenching his fist to try and numb the pain, adrenaline running through him.
All three of his roommates scrambled out their rooms in response to the sudden, loud thud. They asked various versions of what happened and if he was okay to Matt and he moved away from what he was concealing, stepping into the weak lighting from the hallway and the kitchen. They looked at him in confusion and fear momentarily, then saw the murderous intentions in his eyes and heard the instability in his voice as he ran his undamaged hand through his hair, smiled, and said, “i just got broken up with, but I wanna play hide and seek.”
He paused and waited for them to understand his request. All of them were concerned by the hysteria and frustration he showed and they were unnerved from his saccharine-sounding voice, mainly focused on the news of his relationship. He then added, “Here. I’ll go in the front yard and count to, hm, how about thirty? Does that sound good?” He scanned their faces for an answer, but shrugged it off when they gave none. “Whatever. Um, come up with some way to defend yourself. Make it interesting for me, okay? Thanks.” And with that, he opened the front door and stepped out into the rain, leaving them to their own devices. He shielded himself from the weather by the overhang of the roof, propping his head in his hand. It’s a terrible day for rain, he joked in spite of himself, sighing. He took his attention off of Anna and Tord’s jokes that he said far too much but still made him laugh — why was he thinking of Tord now, anyways? — by imagining all the creative little ways he could kill them.
Inside, Tom, Tord, and Edd all listened to his instructions. They didn’t know what triggered this hysterical response out of him and they hadn’t seen something like this before, so they felt it would be best to do what he said. Sure, they were victims to Matt in a plethora of emotions, but this was different, so it made them uneasy. They went into the kitchen to arm themselves with weapons, then split up to look for good hiding places. They sprinted around the house, looking for somewhere to help keep them alive for as long as possible. Multiple things happened at once. Edd went everywhere in the house, searching in great detail for a spot to hide. It was smart of him, but due to no time restraints on how long he’d observe each room, he wasted what advantage he had. He decided he’d move from one place to the next when he was near being discovered and hid in his closet, cursing himself for being an idiot. Tord couldn’t focus that well because he’d been concerned for Matt, wondering why he was the way he was. He put water on the floor to be compliant in Matt’s rules, but didn’t really think of any other counter measure; hoping his friend would slip when he’d walked in was the only real advantage he had. Tord wanted this to be over quickly so he could ask him what caused this when things cooled down. It was dumb of him and illogical, but he genuinely cared. Keeping true to that motive, he hid in the tub so he’d be quick to find. Tom filled a pot with water and left it on the stove to boil. As he did so, he almost had a mini breakdown as his paranoid ways started getting to him. All of them were uneasy, as they always were when Matt did this, but it unsettled Tom. He didn’t have much time and he didn’t know if the water would help, but he couldn’t think of much else. His time went away quickly from the fact that he used it all trying to calm himself down and staring at the pot. When he came to his senses, he realized he hadn’t moved that much and hid under the table.
Matt came back into the house, ecstatic to have them pull up a fight. “I hope you guys didn’t choose bad spots. I wanted you to make this like a hunt for me,” he called out to them, “I counted to sixty just to be nice. Ready or not, here I come!” He walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the set. He took a lemon from the fruit bowl on the counter, looking at it carefully and thinking over what he was about to do before cutting it in half. He squeezed the juice onto his damaged hand experimentally. He dropped the lemon and the knife on the floor and hissed in pain, tears forming in his eyes. Forcing himself to ignore the stinging, he licked the rest off, feeling the uneven skin that peeled off his knuckles and tasting the sourness of the fruit and iron on his tongue. Matt saw the pot on the stove; the water was barely warming now. He scoffed, then dumped it down the sink after he turned the stove off, much to Tom’s dismay. He then realized Tom under the table, which was delightful for him. Tom had been hard for him to put up with recently, so it only made sense for him to start off the killing with the annoying one, right? He noted a roll of saran wrap left out from Tord unsuccessfully trying to make pie when he was bored and a carving stick on the floor near Tom’s foot from what he assumed was the guys’ rushed pillage for weapons. He crouched down to look at Tom and said “Hi, Tom,” tauntingly and he jumped, banging his head on the table, shakily holding a corkscrew.
“Hey, buddy, let me help you out,” Matt said, pulling him out from under the table and up with him. Tom responded quickly by trying to stab Matt in the heart, but he dodged it enough to take it in the shoulder. He cried out, grabbing at his shoulder to take the bloody kitchen tool out. Matt kissed his teeth in distaste, throwing it over his shoulder, trying to push through the pain. “Didn’t think you had it in you,” Matt sneered and swooped his foot behind Tom’s leg and grabbed the saran wrap simultaneously. As they went down to the ground, Matt wrapped the cling film tight around Tom’s head, and watched happily as Tom slowly started to run out of oxygen. Tom tried desperately to stay conscious and get away from Matt, but it was in vain. Their resistance against Matt was almost always unsuccessful, but Tom’s instincts kicked in, trying his best to fight for his survival. Tom gasped for air as this continued, panicking as he knew his oxygen was wearing thin. Matt had originally planned to stab him in the mouth with a knife taken from the carving block, letting Tom choke on his blood, but he decided against it. His shoulder throbbed from the pain, blood steadily streaming down his arm. The longer he fought with Tom, straining his arms to keep him in place, the more it pained Matt physically to keep going. His initial happiness in killing Tom was gone, ready to move on, and he stabbed Tom in the stomach four times, ultimately killing him. It was simple, but he didn’t really care at this point; even killing him was a nuisance. He cut at Tom’s pant leg vertically, wrapping it awkwardly around his shoulder by his armpit and tying it to help the wound. He could’ve got bandages and he planned on doing so, but it was mainly in spite of Tom, upset that he was able to injure him.
As he looked down at the body, he realized how good it felt to get him out of the way. His current plan was to kill Tord next. He was feeling really emotional and didn’t feel like he’d enjoy doing this as much as he usually would, which confused him, and then he’d kill Edd. While killing all of them was fine by Matt, Edd and Tom were on opposite sides of his satisfaction spectrum; while getting rid of Tom for a few hours was great — everything he was saying was just making him mad and he was sure he was the cause of his migraine —, he took it as a pity kill, thinking that both he and Tom himself needed him to be dead for a while. That was how Matt saw it, anyway. For his current emotions, Edd would be the one he’d have the most fun with. He couldn’t wait until then, but he needed to find Tord first.
It didn’t take much exploration, a few yards really. Tord slashed at Matt when he opened the shower curtain, getting his cheek and the back of his hand. Matt hit his closed fist holding the knife with his hand hard and stepped back, making him lose his grip. Just for show, Matt threw it in the air after he picked it up and it landed in his hand gracefully.
“I get to torture you guys for as long as I want and it’s painful, yeah, but I kill you in the end and you guys come back fine, physically, at least. But you do this and I have to deal with it. How unfair is that?” Matt commented.
“Sorry,” Tord said awkwardly.
Matt dropped the knife and kicked it away, scoffing. He was growing tired of getting injured. He envisioned these kills as a game of cat and mouse, that he was hunting his roommates to get the turmoil of his breakup out of his system. However, he saw killing all of them now as a bit of a chore, growing tired the longer the killing went on. “Whatever,” he replied, shrugging, “come on,” he ordered, grabbing Tord. Every movement Matt made only hurt his damaged shoulder more. Sure, Matt’s ability to stomach killing people in gruesome ways was higher than the average person, obviously. On the other hand, Matt hadn’t died often; his pain tolerance was a bit low in this respect. Matt wondered if he should die, too, to get rid of this injury. He was lost in thought for a bit, leaving Tord confused and disappointed that he wasn’t dead by now. Snapping out of it, Matt forcefully pushed him to the sink, bending him against it with his knee to his back, pinning his hands behind him with his injured hand. Tord was nervous, knowing how he’d be killed, and he laughed anxiously, aware of the odd position they were in.
“Um, whatcha doing there, buddy?” Tord asked, his voice wavering. Matt understood what he meant and he frowned, surprised by the joke he was making.
“Dude! That’s distasteful; we’re in the bathroom. And even if we weren’t, I have a stab wound in my shoulder,” Matt scolded, then paused, thinking about it, jokingly, “I’m not really in the mood right now, per se, but if you wanna take a raincheck —”
“Shut up, Matt,” Tord commanded through gritted teeth, “flirt with me later, kill me now.” He didn’t expect him to go along with it, which made slight heat rise to his face.
Matt turned the water on high blast and lowered his head into the bowel. “Ah, of course. The quicker I do this, the sooner we can make out,” he remarked.
Matt dug his knee farther into his back and plugged his nose, forcing the water down his throat. This lasted for half a minute until Matt pulled him away and let him breathe. Tord panted, coughing water out. This was painful enough to satisfy his murderous needs, and though drowning is often classified as the most painful ways to die and on other day he’d have Tord pass out and he’d revive him only to do it over again, he only wanted Tord to pass out once so he could kill him when he was unconscious and have it be done with; he was already in here and couldn’t think of a better way to do it. He made him get water in his lungs a few more times until Tord grew weaker, succeeding in his goal and stabbing him with the knife quickly. Another mercy kill. This made him ache a little and he again wondered why. He put his body against the wall, then took ample time tending to his wounds. What happened this night was messy and lackluster; he would call it mediocre, and that was being generous. He was ready to top it off with Edd’s death, the final one to help get all his frustration and sadness about Anna breaking up with him out. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but he believed everything would go smoother afterwards. He rarely ever acted out of frustration or any other extreme emotion, besides the urge to kill them, obviously, so it would be interesting to look back on, at least. He took one last look at Tord’s body, trying to decipher his ratio of happiness and discomfort over this kill, before he found it pointless; he’d probably hang out with him for a good while after this and maybe vent to him about his conversation with Anna to get this dread out of his brain. He grabbed the knife, closed the door behind him, and went to raid the house for Edd. Finding him was easy as well; all of them, for that matter. He asked for a challenge and they delivered, barely. A stab to the shoulder from Tom, a cut on his already banged up hand, remorse, and other complex emotions Matt wouldn’t dare read into currently from Tord, but what would Edd bring, he wondered?
Just then a picture frame that was from Edd’s room came at him, which wouldn’t have hurt him that much if it hadn’t got him in his wounded shoulder, followed by a book to the face that disoriented him for a few seconds while the man in question fled. He ran quickly, banging into things hard and stumbling a little as he got away.
Ah, a chase. It’s an okay countermeasure, I’ll give him that, Matt thought, smiling and running after him.
They ran through the hallway, Edd almost tripping at one point, and then they were in the kitchen. Edd looked at Tom’s corpse, trying to find out if the lack of much blood was more or less terrifying. He decided it was definitely more horrifying, then ran to the living room as his killer almost reached him. Matt nearly slipped on the lemon, frantically grabbing the counter for support, then followed Edd. By the time Matt had caught up to Edd, he was in the bathroom, looking at Tord’s body. He gasped and ran at the sound of Matt’s footsteps, actually tripped this time, and was closed in at the corner of the hallway by the ginger. He thought frantically of what would work, what would get this psychotic boy away from him, and an idea came to mind, a suggestion that Tom had given him a while ago. It never really worked in the past and every one in the house kinda accepted what happened between the four of them and adapted to it, but he felt it would be a good time to do this, given Matt’s current state and all. He’d been thinking of this for a very, very long time and he was happy to have it be voiced. If it didn’t work, at least he’d annoyed him.
“You know what? I think I like it best when I trap you guys in the corner,” Matt told Edd, slamming his hand against the wall near his head so he couldn’t leave. Edd slumped against the wall, breathing quickly from Matt chasing him, searching his eyes frantically. His arms hugged his abdomen protectively, not sure of what to do. To Matt, it seemed pretty pathetic and kind of cute for him to think it would help him, reminding Matt of a kicked puppy still loyal to its owner. “What? I know it’s cliché, but it’s not as bad as when the killer is chasing the victim and the victim trips and falls on literally nothing, then the killer catches up to them and kills them,” he made a face that mocked realization, “Oh, wait, that happened too,” he said, co*cking his head to the side, smiling.
Matt had been in this position before, not just with Edd, but it seemed different to Matt now; he realized it’s because he never liked it this much. He felt more energetic this time and he didn’t know why. Maybe because the last kills sucked so much? Due to getting the enjoyment he was searching for in killing the others, he intended for this to be slow.
“Please, Matt,” Edd pleaded desperately, “you don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, Edd, you and I both know that’s not true,” he answered coldly, smiling. He ran the blade of the knife down the side of Edd’s face, cutting his cheek in the process, wondering what he’d do to the man. Edd hissed lightly in response, gripping at his shirt.
“Matt, are you in there? It’s me, Edd,” he tried again.
His grip on the knife tightened as he retorted, “that’s not gonna work.”
They made eye contact and something in his stomach flared up, which he thought was from the desperation in his eyes; he told himself it was the pathetic look he was giving him that made him feel like this, and what he was feeling was enjoyment. Shakily, his hands cupped Matt’s face.
“Where did my best friend go?” he asked. His face heated up from embarrassment as it clicked to him why he liked this. Why he liked Edd’s look, his hands on his face, how close they were; if he moved a little, they’d practically be kissing. It was dumb and weird to him. He didn’t want to hurt him now. Well, maybe a little for making him feel this way. Matt screamed internally at how cringy he sounded, over how confusing and idiotic this was, how quickly this all happened. He ran his hand over his face, annoyed. His feelings for his roommate killed it for him. He wanted to know why here, why now. He just got dumped and Edd was being uncharacteristically passive. It was so sporadic and he prayed it wouldn’t last long. He wanted to cut his arm and look at the bones and inner workings, but much like with the last two kills, he wanted to get it over with quickly. He was agitated and thought of sparing him all together.
“How long have all four of us been like this?” Matt asked.
Edd paused, thinking. He continued speaking so he couldn’t answer.
“Yeah, longer than either of us can remember, so that’s kinda pointless, Edd,” Matt stated.
Edd frowned at this, unhappy at his words. Matt didn’t like the way he was looking at him. He wanted to kiss him, kill him, and leave all at once.
“But,” he began, over enunciating, “your dumb little speech got to me. I won’t stop killing, but I won’t kill you today. You ruined it for me with you and your “Kumbaya” crap. So, thanks for that. And congrats for surviving and winning the game, I guess? Creative way to stop me and whatever. Go chain yourself to a tree or something, you freaking hippie,” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair.
Edd smiled, happy that it worked greater than he’d expected, that it even worked at all; something inside Edd stirred, and he felt hope, appeal, and a microscopic level of attraction to his murderer for not hurting him. He could go a while without killing, but Edd saw a potential for something greater this time, just maybe. Matt then moved away from Edd, took the stairs to the attic, his footfalls way heavier than needed, opened the door to his room and slammed it shut loudly, then jumped into his bed.
He couldn’t sleep. He wandered around his room, flopping down on the bed and thrashed around, and stared at the ceiling out of sheer boredom to pass the time. He kept thinking about Anna, no matter how hard he tried not to. He didn’t want to accept it, not ready to give into his world crumbling around him. He thought of calling her, but immediately dropped the idea. It would be desperate and creepy and they’d usually talk in the midmorning, not randomly at 8:13 P.M. He wouldn’t know what to say even if he did call her, probably just panic, awkwardly apologize, and hang up. Matt thought of their parting words and kiss, trying his best to remember it in great detail. She was great and pure and he would give anything to just hold her. He ended up crying soon afterwards: big, blotchy tears that made his head hurt really bad and wiping his runny nose every few seconds as he hyperventilated. He didn’t know how to calm down and he was basically alone for the next seven hours; he cried for ten more minutes until it eventually stopped. He sat at the foot of his bed, sighing and digging the palms of his hands in his eyes. He stayed like that for a while, his mind finally quiet. Then, of course when he finally found some peace, he started thinking about his last kill. Could he even call it that? It was an attempted murder, and he couldn’t even be proud of that. Sometimes he’d randomly lose motivation to hurt them, so he left them alone. He’d have a burst of motivation and then it would dwindle out quickly as time went on. It wasn’t often, but still something. Matt told himself that was what happened, but he didn’t care to convince himself of anything else at this point. He was alone with the man that was consuming his thoughts and he accepted that he simply didn’t want to kill that boy anymore due to a sudden attraction for him. It was a logical reaction, in the sense that he wouldn’t kill Anna, but everything else about his crush on him made him think. He liked Edd but the feelings weren’t mutual. It would’ve been easier for him to like him and deal with this one-sided liking, but he wanted Edd to like him back. He didn’t fully understand why he suddenly liked him anyways. It was most likely a rebound, he assumed, but why Edd? When he really dug deep beyond the layers, Edd was the only plausible person who could be his rebound, so that’s probably what made Matt like him, he self reflected. Tom was a definite no and Tord and him were best friends, so he obviously couldn’t do that with him just to make himself feel better about the end to his relationship. For a moment, Matt considered what it would be like to date Tord seriously, then his curiosity vanished as he felt heat in his chest from the thought. They were friends, on a you’re-like-a-brother-to-me closeness level, so he didn’t want to potentially damage that. You can’t go back to “just being friends,” and Matt was desperate and hurt, already on to liking someone to distract himself from Anna.
He wanted someone he could kiss, someone to distract him from the pain he was feeling. Again, the definition of a rebound. Most of the time, talking to Edd would be like having a conversation with a brick wall and he was more immersed in his games than the rest of the world, but Matt still liked him. He liked to watch him play, to see his muscle memory kick in and reminisce on the games from his childhood, the ones he never really had an interest in before but appreciated now in their semi self-destructive life. Edd smelt nice and looked good in a messy way. He could relax around him in a way he couldn’t with the others. He wasn’t a person he’d surround himself around for an entire day, but on the hypothetical event that Edd would like him back, it could evolve into something else, couldn’t it? He didn’t have a plan but he was filled with determination to win Edd over. Something about this made him feel shameful, and warmth spread from the back of his neck to his face.
He cursed at the fact of how Edd, an average person who he never really considered dating before, made him feel like he was crushing on someone for the first time ever. It was overwhelming and he liked the feeling but hated it at the same time, still praying for the chance that his feelings for Edd to magically go away. He buried his face into his pillow and screamed, the muffled noise relieving some of the pent up pressure in his chest. He turned his head so he could breathe properly, letting out a short groan. This was horrible.
Matt felt at his eyelids, pulling a little on the stitches. After seeing Anna and his body adapting to sleeping with his eyes open, he decided he should take them out. He needed a distraction, so why not impulsively remove his stitches?
He searched online on how to remove them, skimmed through an article, and got the items he needed from the first aid-kit. When he got to the bathroom, he set everything down on the sink, then read through the article carefully. He took little to no precautions when he did this originally, so he wanted to do everything properly this time as a way to avoid the possibility of this hurting again.
He used tweezers to pull at the knot, then looped the scissors under the stitches and snipped, then nervously pulled the thread out. He was happy and relieved that he did this properly, then continued carefully. Once all of them were gone, he threw away the pieces of thread, cleaned the tools he used, and put adhesive bandages over his lid and under his eye. He couldn’t get them wet for the next two days, he realized. This was fine by him because he didn’t plan on leaving his room for a while anyways.
He left his bathroom and went back to his bed. He curled up into a ball, stretching the fabric of his hoodie over his knees.
And with that, he slowly fell unconscious.
•
He wasn’t able to sleep for that long. He would wake up abruptly, staying awake for five to ten confusing minutes, then fall back to sleep; this cycle happened every forty-five minutes or so. Accepting the fact that he wouldn’t get more than three hours of sleep, he started to clean his room. He made his bed halfway before picking up a few dirty clothes and folding a couple clean ones, then rearranging random miscellaneous items. He decided to drop the entire chore, taking everything off but his shirt and pants and throwing the rest of his clothes into his hamper. He thought of looking at his death notebook, but it was filled with such confusion and insanity that he didn’t need more added on to what he was swimming around already, so he chose to read a normal book. One that didn’t include murder or liking your friends randomly. A chill, calm book that he burned a fifth of the way through rather quickly. A little bit later, he closed the book because the plot was kinda sluggish at the spot he was in and he made some progress on his catastrophe of a room. He danced around awkwardly and counted to a hundred, thought about what the square root of certain numbers where, and exercised. He was four pull-ups, six sit-ups, and ten push-ups in when he tried to sleep again, giving up on different ways to entertain himself. If he stayed still for long enough, he would fall asleep, he told himself. As expected, it didn’t work. On the bright side, it was almost midnight. He alternated from watching random videos on Youtube and reading for the next three hours then realized Tord and Tom would be back soon. Once he remembered this, his thoughts of the group came swarming back, as did the strange feeling in his chest.
“This is too hard to understand,” he lamented, annoyed, “maybe I should vent to someone?”
He rubbed the palm of his hands into his eyes harshly until he started seeing afterimages and moving static; opening his eyes, everything was black and fuzzy around the edges until he blinked multiple times to clear his vision.
He got up quickly, exhaling deep from within his chest, “Let’s go visit Tord,” he mumbled to himself, walking out of his room. He felt nervousness brewing in his stomach as he made his way towards Tord’s room. Part of him wanted to run back to his room, insisting that Tord would laugh and scold him. He felt a small voice whispering in his head, nagging at him. At first, it was indistinct but then he realized what he was thinking, the doubt making more thoughts rise up by the second.
You’re a murderer and you want someone to fall for you? You can’t be that dumb, Matt.
He nipped on his bottom lip as he opened the door. Stepping in, He closed the door behind him and stopped at Tord’s bed. He noted how the red night light in Tord’s room casted shadows on his face, making him resemble a serial killer from a cheap eighties movie. Snapping back to reality, He moved his shoulder lightly, Tord’s face contorting into an annoyed one as he mumbled and groaned. He did this a few seconds longer before he actually replied.
“If you’re here to kill me . . . just get it over with, Matt,” Tord hissed huskily. He gasped almost inaudibly, feeling slightly offended.
“What? No! I wanted to talk to you about something,” Matt mumbled, embarrassed. He knew Tord had every reason to believe that’s what he was doing, but seeing Tord view him that way stung a bit. Tord rubbed his eyes and stretched, bringing his knees into his chest so Matt had room. He sat down and opened my mouth but Tord pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him.
“Unlike you,” Tord looked at him, eyes narrowed, “some of us have to sleep, you insomniac,” Tord told him. His face and voice was obviously annoyed and sleepy, not fully awake and processing that Matt disrupted his sleep. “You think I’m energetic all the time? I need to sleep in order to be as hyper as I am throughout the day.”
“Sorry,” He mumbled, stifling a laugh. Even when he was tired, Tord still managed to make him laugh.
“Being the one with the best humor in the group is hard work, you know?” Tord flaunted, closing his eyes as he yawned.
Matt groaned, pretending to be annoyed with him, though he found it funny internally.
“Don’t ‘ugh’ me! You’re the one who woke me up in the middle of the — oh, Matt, why are you here again?” Tord pondered, head co*cked to the side as he squinted at him.
“Um,” he felt his face flush, stopping momentarily, then continuing again, “it’s about Edd,” he said, cringing at how he sounded. He felt embarrassed and confused admitting it.
“Okay? What about him?” Tord asked, confused.
He shuffled in place, mirroring Tord’s position. Hugging his knees, he looked down embarrassed.
“I have a crush on Edd,” he whispered painstakingly.
“That’s kinda sudden, isn’t it? I didn’t think you were the type to move on so quickly,” Tord blurted out immediately, not missing a beat. While his reaction was a bit inappropriate, Tord’s hurt from this news made him speak without thinking.
“I know,” he responded, furrowing his eyebrows at Tord’s joke, “it’s so weird.” He meant it was weird how he suddenly liked him, how it was strange that he was already into someone new after just being broken up with, how it was strange that he didn’t want to kill him. Matt knew it was because Edd showed him compassion and care, touching him gently with love and concern, when he was starved of affection and confused after his breakup with Anna. It wasn’t healthy obviously but he dived right into it, chasing a distraction. He felt upset that he was that desperate for love from somebody that Edd showing an ounce of decency made his heart race. There were so many feelings he forced down, desperate to keep them hidden.
It’s wrong. Even an insane person like Tord could see that Edd won’t like you back.
“Well, what about him do you like?” Tord asked, seemingly intrigued as a highschool girl would be about her friend’s new boyfriend. He was trying his best to act excited, but it hurt more as the conversation went on.
Matt thought about it. The fact that he needed time to think showed how his attraction was a bit shallow. “I find him comforting. We’ve been friends for such a long time and he’s always helped me, even now when I’m a murderer. He helps me calm down, I think, like he did today. I like his voice, and when he says my name. I like how caring he is for all of us. I always liked how he was kind to me before all this happened, despite me not being the smartest then.”
“Do you want him to like you back?” Tord questioned, wanting to know more and ask as many questions as he could. He felt nervous and sad.
“Yes, I want him to like me back.”
Tord shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t mean to hurt you when I say this, Matt, but that’s gonna be kinda hard.” Matt felt a pit form in his stomach; it felt like knives were stabbing into his heart. It was a painful and anxious sinking feeling. Selfishly, he hoped him making Matt doubt his crush on Edd would make it go away all together.
He noted his obvious expression of hurt and Tord panicked a bit, not liking seeing him in pain, gripping his sheets, “But, if you really want this, then maybe I can help you? You do want this, don’t you?” he asked, squinting. He needed confirmation that this was truly what Matt wanted. Even if it hurt him, he wanted Matt happy.
“Yeah, of course, I do. As you said, though, it’ll be hard,” he replied. Matt questioned why talking about this felt off to him. He wrote it off as him just being scared Edd wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings. It felt weird venting like this, so vulnerable and exposed. Tord shuffled closer to him, placing a hand on his knee.
“Hey, relax. I’ll help you through this, ’kay? One day at a time,” Tord said softly.
“Yeah,” he responded, nodding lightly. He rolled back his shoulders, trying to be less tense.
“Us crazy guys have to stick together, right?” Tord said, smiling a bit. Matt returned the smile, looking into Tord’s neon eyes.
“Right.”
