#can smell is the litter & its disgusting! i start having breakdowns just @ the thought of leaving my fucking room and i hate it! i pay $550

[gumdecay]

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[txladyj-blog]

Chapter 6 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 15/?

Jess wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking, but the sun had changed position in the sky considerably since it had risen shortly after she’d left the camp. Her heels burned with the first signs of blisters and her stomach growled so loud, a jolt of anxiety came with it every time it protested at the lack of food. She was sure every animal and walker within a five-mile radius could hear how hungry she was, but she pressed on anyway, knife in hand and listening for the slightest snap of a twig or gurgle of a ripped-out throat.

With every glimpse down at her T-shirt came a reminder of the two walkers she’d already encountered on her travels. Blood from their battered and diseased bodies now covered the batgirl image on the front of the shirt. That, and a ring of sweat had already made itself at home around her neckline.

At least it goes with the two maps of Africa under my arms. She thought

Contrary to what she’d expected, she managed to eliminate both of the Walkers with minimal issues. A small stumble here and there and one missed attempt at impaling an eye and before she knew it, they were both down and she stood over them with a sense of twisted pride at her new skills. Ignoring the fact that she’d screamed twice and bit her own tongue when she lunged at the second corpse, she thought it to be a success regardless. She couldn’t deny that if it hadn’t been for Daryl and his insistence on teaching her how to defend herself, she would most probably have been dead by that point.

Her stomach raged with hunger once more and she wrapped one arm around her middle, hoping the pain of starvation would subside soon and she would enter into that strange, not so uncomfortable, over-hunger that meant her energy levels would plummet but she’d at least be quieter. Her bones were beginning to ache as she glanced up at the sky through the spiked branches above, it was lower than when she last checked and the air was beginning to cool. Night was approaching and she knew she needed to start seeking out a shelter.

She wiped the back of her hand across her soaking brow, grateful for the evening air that was now licking at the perspiration covered areas of her skin. Her sneakers continued to thud against the woodlands blanketed, mossy ground as her skin stung with every single step. She wished she had band aids, or different footwear, or a bed and a bath and food and all the things she took for granted before the turn.

In her heart, she had no regrets about leaving the camp. It felt like the right thing to do at the time and even as she trudged through the thick and imposing trees, all she felt was relief. Relief at not having to deal with Sarah or Jodie anymore, Relief that she’d managed to leave behind the gnawing nervousness that being around so many people she hardly knew induced. Above all, she was relieved that she would no longer have to invest any more of her time, effort and feelings into a man that thought nothing of her.

Just as she was beginning to imagine herself falling asleep as she walked and getting eaten by another human being, the ground beneath her feet changed from twig ridden to hard asphalt. She looked up, blinking sweat from one eye and inhaled sharply at the sight before her.

The windows were still intact and the door was closed. The forecourt and gas pumps were still neatly hooked up and the entire gas station and store was seemingly untouched. For a fleeting moment, Jess thought she may be hallucinating. A kind of mirage in the desert situation. She didn’t have such luck. Or, did she? Surely, she was due some. With a lingering look up and down the street, she took a deep breath and focused on the building. It was silent and inviting.

They sell maps. And food.

She surged forwards, her feet skimming across the roads surface and emitting hardly a scuff as she raced to the door. Peering through the glass, she rapped lightly on the frame and waited. Inside was dark and still like the night and Jess could see aisle upon aisle of food and supplies. Her head told her it was too good to be true and that she shouldn’t charge in expecting a three-course meal and a map to freedom. But her heart was arguing that what she could see in front of her was to the contrary.

Irrespective of her misgivings she tried the door and huffed in irritation when she found it locked from the inside. Searching the forecourt for something to use to break the glass, she resigned herself to entering back into the woods when she came up with nothing. Picking up a rock and heading back, she hoped with everything she had that the noise would not attract any Walkers from the surrounding woods.

The glass panel in the bottom of the door shattered with ease and allowed for a narrow but useful entryway into the store. Thousands of tiny blocks of glass littered the floor as Jess climbed inside and straightened herself up. She brushed her stained and dirty clothes down and set about filling her backpack with packets and tins. As she worked, she opened bags of potato chips and lined them up on a shelf, stuffing her face with a myriad of different flavors and wondering if she’d ever been so happy to see a gas station before. She moaned with happiness as she munched along the shelves, grabbing bottles of water and a can of soda for good measure.

“Maybe I should just stay here.” She said to herself. The sound of her own voice seeming so alien after hours of not uttering a word other than two panicked shrieks when she was attacked by Walkers.

Her heart nearly stopped when a hand slapped against the counters surface from below. She spun around, locking her eyes on the gnarly, discolored fingers with missing nails that were clawing over the counter for grip.

“Oh shit.” She whispered, sliding her knife out of her belt and gripping the handle so hard her knuckles turned white. Urging herself to remain collected, coordinated and quick to react, she heaved in a deep breath and stepped into the middle of the aisle. The Walker seemed to pause when it noticed her standing before it, knife raised and a bead of sweat racing down one temple. She slowly edged forwards with a sideways stance, ready to steady herself should she fall. It was another thing Daryl had taught her on one of their training jaunts and in that moment, while she stared into the dead, rotting eyes of a reanimated corpse in such an enclosed space, she was more grateful for the knowledge than she had ever been.

It lumbered towards her, rounding the counter and reaching out with bony, blackened fingers that made her empty stomach bubble with bile and pure disgust. The smell hit her like a freight train and only grew more intense with every step the corpse made. Like a million, rotting rats in a room full of pork roasts left to fester. Her senses were overwhelmed and she blinked back a wave of nausea as she forced herself to move and eliminate the threat lumbering at her from the dim, dusty corner of the store.

Squinting at the throbbing mass of maggots that were living in one eye socket of the Walker wasn’t the best idea she’d had so far, especially when it almost cost her life when teeth were gnashed at her arm, missing the skin by a hair’s breadth. Startled, she screamed and dropped her knife, shrinking back down the aisle and backing away.

“Oh shit. Oh shit.” She gasped, panic now driving her every move.

In the blink of an eye and without even registering the movement of her own body, she found herself running around the shelving, heading for the counter and hearing her sneakers slapping against the shiny flooring. Reaching the register, she dove behind it and frantically began scrambling around on the floor for something to use as a weapon. Her fingernails dragged over the surface of the wooden shelves below and her breathing was now thundering so loudly through her chest that the snarling of the Walker was now just a distant interval in a chorus of terrified gasps.

Cold metal against her skin stopped time and she widened her eyes at her discovery. Under the counter, mounted on two hooks was the most glorious sight. She ripped the shotgun from its place and swung it around just in time for the Walker to lurch into view around the counter and stepped over her. Her finger squeezed the trigger as her back hit the floor and all at once, a deafening bang blasted through her head, straining her eardrums and leaving nothing but a whistle. Red mist fluttered in the air and brain matter splattered her clothes from the one well-aimed bullet that had saved her life and completely changed the color of her clothes and skin. The Walker’s body slumped down onto her and her face crumpled with irritation and dismay. She shoved it off to one side and sat up, drawing her knees up and hugging them. She buried her blood-soaked face in her arms as sobs choked an escape from her throat.

Minutes must have passed but she wasn’t counting, consumed only by a baffling mixture of feelings that had risen in her chest and erupted from her body in a sudden and overwhelming rush. Her shoulders juddered as she sucked in breaths and rubbed her face on the sleeves of her T-shirt. Tears soaked the fabric and before long, she felt the niggling knowledge that it was too dangerous to have a breakdown in her current location.

“What would Daryl say?” She asked herself aloud. After all, it was Daryl’s teaching and insistence that she knew about self defence that meant she wasn't dead right then and there. “He’d tell me not to be a pussy.” She concluded.

Hissing a breath through her teeth, she reached up, dragging the heavy weight of her tired body from the floor and managed to stand on her feet again. She scanned the room, now coated in a thick layer of crimson and body parts.

For the next ten minutes, she found as many bags as she could and stuffed them full of food and supplies before heading back outside and skidding on her heels when she noticed a car parked at the side of the building. She crunched over the uneven ground towards the vehicle and opened up a map she’d retrieved on the hood. It took some time to figure out exactly where she stood on the map and after three incorrect guesses, she finally figured out her location. Checking the area around the pinpoint on the map, her eyes stopped over a large expanse of fields and she held her breath.

“The faire. I need to go back to the faire.” She whispered.

She threw open the car door and searched the glove box, the sun visor, every compartment and nook and cranny she could find but could see no sign of any keys. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she wished she’d led a more rebellious lifestyle, or at least one in which she would have gained the skill of hotwiring a car. Accepting that the most she’d been blessed with was a knowledge of weapons and armor from way back when, she glanced over her shoulder, seeing a discarded jacket with a name tag pinned to it.

Clive.

The pin badge boasted the logo of the gas station store and Jess quickly put two and two together in her head. Shooting across the empty gas station as fast as her legs could carry her, she crashed back through the stores door and sprinted to the counter, narrowly avoiding slipping on the wet, bloody floor. Bundling to her knees, she quickly searched what was left of the body that tried to attack her. Reaching into its pants pocket, she cringed at the thought of having to search a dead body that had tried to eat her previously but was soon over the notion when her fingers grasped a set of keys. She ripped them from the clothing and stood up, picking out one in particular that matched the make of the car outside.

“Thank you, Clive.”

Hoping with all of her heart that the car still had enough gas in it, she ran out of the store and jabbed the key into the lock.

  Three days had passed and Daryl still carried the weight of Jess’s departure upon his heart. Blaming himself for her decision, he considered that maybe if he’d had more understanding of what it was to be someone’s friend, maybe if he’d defended her when he should have done, maybe if he’d tried harder to tell her that he was grateful for her willingness to try and see past what everyone else couldn’t when they looked at him, maybe…Just maybe, she wouldn’t have left.  He tracked her with such determination that he had failed to eat or sleep much in the days that she’d been gone. Carol and Carl had asked for updates away from the listening ears of the others in the camp. He wished he had more to tell them and felt like a failure every time he shook his head and signaled that no; he hadn’t found anything.

With each new, more obvious part of a trail, his heart rate quickened and he tried to prepare what he wanted to say to her if he was to find her. But, the blank page inside his mind remained crisp and white. He didn’t know how to tell her that he missed her already, that he liked her company, that she made him smile and laugh for what felt like the first time in his entire laugh. He didn’t know how to tell her how her strange quirks and hobbies actually did interest him. He also didn’t know how to tell her that he cared about her and how pretty he thought she was. Difficult communication was a bridge he would have to cross if he ever managed to find her.

The trail in front of him became so pronounced that it made him stop in his tracks. Footprints from sneakers were clearly visible in the dampened mud under the trees and stretched for as far as he could see into the trees. He tightened his grip around his crossbow, well aware by now that if he did find Jess, there was a high possibility that she had succumbed to the bite of a Walker. Daryl wasn’t a religious man, but something inside him urged him to pray to whoever might be listening that his friend had come to no harm. That he would find her wandering the woods, lost and lonely and she’d beg him to take her back to the camp.

The footprints came to a stop in front of a tree and Daryl slowly raised his vision, taking in every slight movement and around from his surroundings. He froze when he saw the note pinned to the tree in front of him. A biro pen had been worked through the top of the paper and between the bark, a pen he recognized straight away.

I got her those.

He plucked the note from the tree and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the writing with fatigued eyes.

‘Well Stinky, if you’re reading this then you’re more stubborn than I thought. I’ll let you off the hook with anyone that’s actually asked about me. I’m guessing it’s Carol and Carl that wanted you to look for me. You can tell everyone that you found me just as I was being attacked by walkers. I fed them for days. The Twisted Sisters will cackle over that, I’m sure.

In the meantime, it might be beneficial that I unburden my soul right now as I will never see you again. At least this way I won’t be hurt by your indifference or disgust when you read it.

Daryl, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that someone like myself - A fat, irritating burden like myself remotely thought that we could be friends. I saw you as someone strong, brave and smart. You are a survivor. Someone I looked up to and could be myself around. I guess I took your quiet demeanor as acceptance when I should have understood that you were barely tolerating me. I get it now. I know you just didn’t want to tell me face to face and cause another embarrassing scene. Those seem to follow me around, right? I’m hoping by telling you this, it will release me from how much I cared about you.

But until then, Love, Jess’

The air left his lungs in an involuntary rush and he slowly turned, thudding his back against the tree as he gripped the note in his hand. He bit down on his lower lip as anger tightened his muscles and jaw. The words he’d read were still at the forefront of his mind. Tolerating. A burden. Irritating. Fat. He slid down to the floor, his crossbow clattering on the ground and he rested his arms on his bent knees with the note still screwed up and gripped in his fist.

No, Jess. No.

Unable to summon the motivation to get up, he stayed there until the sun started to lower in the sky, trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d managed to make the one person he’d ever given a damn about believe that he was merely tolerating her. Every conversation they had ever had was scrutinized inside his head and he could only conclude that which he had thought all along. It was his fault. Somehow. Someway, with the help of Jodie and Sarah, he’d driven her away. Although the words on the paper were now distorted and crumpled, he read them over and over again, each time worse than the last, before he finally shoved it in his pocket and headed back to camp.

  The camp’s atmosphere upon Daryl’s return was noticeably tense and if he was honest with himself, he struggled to care about any of the possible reasons. All he wanted to do was sit away from everyone and read Jess’s note, but such a simple desire was not to be. As soon as Rick and Shane saw him emerge from the trees, both of them stopped talking in their hushed tones and exchanged an awkward glance. Everyone else that was visible in the clearing wore the same expression. Daryl couldn’t be bothered with this.

“Merle! Get ya ugly ass out here! Ya get any whiskey?” He called out while skirting around the fire and stalking over to Merle’s tent.

“Um…Daryl?” Shane tried

“Merle!” Daryl shouted, ignoring his pursuer. He threw his crossbow down and swept a hand into the tent, tugging the opening to one side and finding it empty.

“Daryl, I need to talk to you.” Shane continued.

Daryl whirled around, noting the solemn look on Shane’s face and quickly checked everyone else as they gathered together. They were all staring at him as if he was a bomb about to go off.  

“’Bout what?” He wanted to know.

“Merle. There was a uh-a problem in Atlanta.” Shane told him.

His bones seemed to lock at the thought of losing both his friend and a brother in as many days. Merle wasn’t always the best big brother in the world. In fact, he was downright useless and more trouble than he was worth most of the time. But blood was blood and Daryl loved him regardless. He didn’t want to ask the question, but Shane was obviously struggling with something.

“He dead?” Daryl asked.

“I’m not sure.” Came the response.

Daryl furrowed his brow and once again, looked at the others for some kind of clue as to what had gone on. Carol hugged her own torso as Sophia clung to her leg. Sarah and Jodie, for once, were silent, their eyes locked on him as they slowly stood up from their chairs outside the RV. Dale’s gaze quickly shot from Shane to Daryl, then to Glenn and to Lori as if he was waiting for one of them to intervene, but no one did until a voice rose up from behind Shane.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” Rick announced, stepping into view. “Your brother was a danger to us all. He almost got us all killed. So, I handcuffed him to a pipe on a roof. He’s still there.”

Daryl’s entire demeanor and body language morphed into that of a brawler in a single second. His eyes narrowed and the veins in his temples protruded. He began to pace about in front of Rick, kicking up dust with every turn. Dale signaled for Carol to move the children back and Sarah’s jaw dropped open like a trap door.

“Lemme process this” Daryl snapped, whirling a finger around at the side of his head. “You’re sayin’ ya handcuffed my brother to a goddamn roof…” His voice was louder with each word and Rick prepared himself for what was to be an explosion of rage that was not only fueled by his actions against Merle, but by the loss of Jess also. “…and ya LEFT HIM THERE?!”

“Yeah” Came Rick’s feeble reply.

He turned his back to everyone, took a deep breath and spun back around, launching himself at Rick and tackling him to the floor. Withdrawing his knife with effortless precision, he raised the blade and prepared to deal out as much damage as would quell his fury. But Shane had other ideas, running at him from the side, he barreled into him, knocking him free of rick and maneuvering him into a chokehold. Carol ushered Sophia into the RV and continued to watch in horror as everyone else observed the drama with keen interest. Rick wasted no time in getting to his feet and gathering Daryl’s arms behind his back, disarming him as he bucked and kicked against the weight of the two men, gasping and grunting from the pressure in his head and neck.

“Chokeholds illegal, asshole.” He managed to wheeze.

“You can file a complaint.” Shane quipped in response. “C’mon now, I can keep this up all day.”

It seemed like forever that the three men remained there with an enraged Daryl struggling in their grip. People had started to make whispered comments to each other.

“We’re going to have a nice, calm discussion on this topic. You think you can manage that?” Rick hissed at Daryl as his breathing began to slow from its rapid speed. A small nod from Rick to Shane saw Daryl released and tossed onto the dust.

“What I did was not on a whim” Rick insisted as he knelt down in front of Daryl “Your brother does not work and play well with others.”

Before Daryl could answer, screams pierced the atmosphere and people started to run at him, darting past him and every which way, so fast he couldn’t see what was happening. Rick stood up and accepted a rifle passed to him by Shane. Daryl scrabbled back on the ground, turned around and staggered to his feet in enough time to retrieve his crossbow before the first bullets started flying. As his vision cleared, he could see at least a dozen Walkers emerging from the tree line, all evenly spaced out as if they were the soldiers of some kind of miraculous and coordinated attack. In the chaos, the panicked shrieks of children rang through Daryl’s ears and he zoned in on Sophia, who was being hurried behind Carol as Rick triggered shot after shot at the approaching Walkers in front of them.

His crossbow popped as a bolt was released, hitting a walker square between the eyes just as it reached for Sophia. He hurried to his feet and raced over to her, swinging the weapon from left to right to check for any more threats. Seeing an opportunity, he swooped Sophia up into his arms and sprinted to the open door of the RV, where Dale stood, firing off shots from an ancient looking rifle.

“Carol! C’mon!” Daryl yelled behind him, willing Carol to follow him. She complied and left Rick, who by now was edging towards a truck that he could see Lori and Carl climbing into. Shouts and yells filled the area and it was difficult to distinguish between instructions, cries for help and screams of pain and death. Daryl shoved Sophia, then Carol into the small space behind Dale.

“I got this, get the engine started!” he ordered. Dale gave him a nod and disappeared inside as Daryl inched forwards, firing bolt after bolt and reloading faster than he had ever done before. His fingers were raw from the crossbows drawstring but he paid it no mind as he successfully managed to rescue three people from being bitten. Seeing some of the camps occupants flee into the trees on the other side, he decided to follow them.

Jodie was a sight to behold as he shoved through the thick bushes and found her on her knees and clinging onto a tree trunk with one hand. Her neck sported a gaping hole, flesh literally torn from the bone and blood pumping from the wound in waves. He slowly approached her, crossbow raised and ready to pick off any nearby Walkers. When she saw him, she reached a shaky hand up to him, her blood-soaked fingers sprawled out, begging for assistance.

“Please, help me.” She croaked.

He aimed the weapon at her head as tears fell down her cheeks. There was no helping her even if he wanted to. They now lived in a world where a single bite could kill, reanimate and turn a corpse into a disease of pandemic proportions. A bite that literally triggered the end of the world.

“No. Please. Daryl. No.” She begged.

“Sorry.” He grunted, squeezing the trigger. The bolt shot through her skull like it was butter, pinning her to the tree, silencing her and freezing her face into the same pleading expression she had used to beg him to spare her. Had she been aware at the time, she would have known he was in fact showing her mercy above all else. He stepped closer, tugged the arrow from her head and moved on as if it was nothing, because to him, it wasn’t. Jess and Merle were gone and he wasn’t sure if he had much else to live for.

Pushing his way out of the trees, he witnessed the trucks and RV heading off down the graveled path to the highway. Everyone was leaving with a trail of Walkers behind them. Glancing to his left, he spotted Merle’s motorcycle and was revving the bike to life before he even had time to think about it. Walkers were now emerging from everywhere around him but his fear was still minimal. Fear wasn’t something that came easily to Daryl after growing up beside it like two best friends. Fear guided him through his darkest moments, it wrapped him in its arms while he tended to his wounds and warned him not to disrespect or answer back. That was, until he reached an age where he could use his fear to fight back. It was what had got him where he was in life and now, at the end of time, he had almost disowned it altogether.

The bike roared to life and he eased the clutch out, swerving grasping, rotten hands and following the taillights of the RV.

“WAIT!”

A desperate cry came from behind him. He knew the voice and as a result, opted not to turn around. Instead, he watched Sarah run at him in his rear-view mirror with two walkers on her tail. Her feet were bare, her long, peroxide hair was being ripped from her head and her face was twisted into a terrified, doomed grimace.

“Daryl! Please! WAIT!’” she tried.

But Daryl only gave the bike more speed, approaching the RV faster and joining the rest of the group in abandoning their camp. He knew there was space on the bike for her. He knew he could slow down, hit both walkers with bolts due to his exceptional aim and save her life. But he did no such thing. He watched in the mirror as she was dragged to her knees, her arm yanked out and subjected to the vice-like grip of a Walkers teeth. Her screams seemed to melt into everything else. The sounds of engines and rubber on gravel, the sobs of people sat in the flatbeds of trucks, the gunfire still going on from somewhere, the growling, gurgling and rasping noises of the dead. She was just another noise and for a few seconds, he allowed himself a vengeful satisfaction.

You got what was coming to you.

  Jess had been in the city for two days and was in the middle of clearing an apartment block to live in. A tall, secure building with small windows and a heavy front door that she struggled to open on her own. Each apartment she’d worked on so far had only contained one walker each and by the end of the first day she had cleared two floors, reinforced the doors and blocked the stairs with shopping carts, boxes and trash to prevent any unwanted visitors from the upper floors without making a hell of a racket.

Re-visiting the Renaissance faire had not only provided her with chain mail that did a good job of protecting her arms and torso while she was checking the rooms of the apartments, she had also gained a bow and arrows, three daggers and a sword that she was still unsure of using, preferring the distance and lightweight ease of the bow over anything that involved too much close combat. She just needed practice, practice at everything. Finding a closet full of Kevlar and a case of handguns and ammo in one of the apartments was even more of a win and she considered that maybe, just maybe, her luck was about to change due to someone’s one upon a lifetime gangster activity.

A camping store was her aim for day three. She watched over it for an hour from the rooftop of a building opposite and saw no obvious signs of danger on the outside. The street was quiet save for two walkers ambling along a couple of blocks away. She was confident she could get in reasonably quietly and without being seen if she managed to gain access to the roof. She pulled her plain, black bandana up over her mouth and nose and set off for the stairs that scaled the side of the building. Aside from not being the nimblest person, she also wished she was a little lighter footed, her new, heavy boots only making her approach seem even louder than it was. When she scuttled along the alley beside the camping store, she raced up to the roof and was surprised to find the door open and a trail of blood drops leading down the concrete stairs inside. She pulled a flashlight from her belt and clicked it on, following the blood but hearing nothing that would indicate the presence of any Walkers. 

At the bottom, she tapped on the metal railing with the handle of one of her daggers. The noise was louder than she expected and even she startled when the clink rang through the open door to the aisles of the store. Nothing, but still, she waited.

Give it a minute. You’ve got this wrong before.

She swiped at a stray piece of hair that had worked free of her ponytail and slowly shone the flashlight into the store as she crept through the door. Hearing no movement certainly didn’t mean there wasn’t anything inside that could kill her, a lesson learned the hard way when she wandered through the Faire, expecting it to be empty. It wasn’t and she’d left completely exhausted and glad she had Clive's car to drive herself back to the city.

As she started to quietly pick at the shelves and select appropriate clothing for all sorts of weather, her boot hit something in the darkness that felt soft and more human than a fallen backpack. She pointed the light at it and gasped when it moved. It was a man, a live man. He lifted an arm across his face, shielding it from the light. At the end of his arm, was a bloody stump, dressed with thin, bleeding bandages. Jess’s body stilled with shock.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She whispered.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” The man croaked.

“Merle?!”

Next Chapter

Soundtrack Inspiration

[plague-doctor-jules]

“Qui me defendet ab me terribilissimo ipse?” - The angsty Julian fanfic noone asked for

This takes place on a ship, sometime during the three years of Julian being a fugitive.

Triggers: Blood, self harm, self-mutilation, depression, suicidal ideation, hints of sexual exploitation, MANY mental health issues in general. If you do not consent to read such content, do not open the link.

He had sunk in again; into the mouth of that kind of madness he had fought time and time again, but never defeated.  It was one of the moments he dreaded anyone’s presence; even more so those whose opinion mattered to him. He was still human enough to wallow in a sea of sorrow, after all, and when that happened he wanted to go through the breakdown in secret, afraid that these moments of weakness would destroy the last traces of decency he had left if a prying eye ever saw him in that condition, like the one he was in that night.

The atmosphere was heavy from the smell of alcohol, blood and virginia smoke and the walls bared obvious dents of slammed fists and large stains, as if it had received some kind of liquid projectile, whereas the floor was littered with glass shards and crumbled pieces of paper. A bloodied knife was carelessly tossed to a corner, from where a trail of blood started, leading to the bed. Lying there naked, the plague doctor’s long, bony frame was half-shrouded by a soaked with blood and indian ink sheet, head hanging from the edge of the bed and the mane of unkempt auburn curls sweeping the floor. His deathly pale skin seemed even more sickly, almost translucent and his usually vivid stare was now rigidly fixed on the ceiling, as if the engravings there were suddenly the most fascinating spectacle. He barely breathed, or did his heart palpitate; nor any other muscle made the slightest twitch, save for his occassional blinking, and the tears which rolled soundlessly, mingling with the reddish roots of hair.

Upon the bedside table a sole sheet of paper, crumbled but straightened again, quill pen crushed next to it. The paper wrote:

The bloods of love shrouded me with crimson And joys untold overshadowed me with fear I rusted in the humidity of humans; mother afar -rosebud-oh! rosebud unwithering. At my road’s turn they awaited me, A heard of conflicting passions, and they tore me apart. It was a sin of mine to be able to love; mother afar- rosebud- oh! rosebud unwithering. Sometime, in the timeless void they half-opened; Ebony eyes In my insides- and they chained me in.

The poem did not end there, but the handwriting was even messier to the point of being completely unintelligible, and the ink was still wet, mingled with fingerprints of dried blood. On the doctor’s neck, the mystical sign was glowing; pulsating with light; and angry stab wounds on his chest and abdomen were already shrinking. New tissue had already started lining the inside of the larger one, filling in the hole he had stabbed into his heart. Ironic how sometimes physical wounds seemed to be the only ones healing, no matter how severe they were; for the gaping hole into his soul was still abyssmal and bleeding.

Julian’s tears kept flowing down.

I... can’t die... I can’t... I must be cursed.

This had happened many a time before, and each time it ended up the same bloody way. He would rise up some hours later or whenever duty called, appear and behave immaculate and make sure that noone could have the faintest suspicion of his previous state of mind. That was just a small price to pay for achieving to separate the “doing well” from the “being well” altogether; which he had been doing all of his life. But never was it so bad; never before.

I am a failure; I will always be one... I cannot even kill myself successfully... Why do I have to keep burdening this Earth with my existence?

After a while, doctor Devorak wiped his tears and got up from the bed. Stumbling, he reached the bedside table and grabbing at the piece of paper he threw it into the fire with a scowl. He looked at himself in the mirror; he was a mess. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot; and very very tired. He could barely recognize himself in the eyes of this weak, tired person who was staring at him from the other side of the mirror. God, what had he done to his vivid, filled with life stare? The rest of him was in no better condition, though. He had always been on the gangly side; but now he looked completely emaciated and sickly; almost as bad as he was when he had contracted the plague. Though most of his wounds had healed by now, he was covered in blood. His cheeks were stained with tears and scruffy to the touch; he hadn’t shaved in days.

Opening the drawer, he absentmindedly rummaged through his belongings. A small picture of his sister, back when they were children; that was pretty much the last time he had seen her. Some bottled leeches. A dried bouquet of wildflowers that someone had given him, though he could not quite remember who. A set of golden cufflings given to him by Lucio... the man whom he had supposedly killed. And a small pouch of herbs gifted by Asra... the man who gave him the curse.

Julian’s fingers finally found what he was looking for, and retrieved a straight razor. Julian stared at it expressionlessly for some seconds before he sat back onto his bed and started shaving with the languid strokes of someone who was only half heartedly performing a routine. Three years had passed; and yet, his memory did not seem to come back... though Julian wished he could somehow forget even more. The war, for instance. Or the time when he was captured by pirates. Or the plague. Lucio dying. Lucio using him and hurling him down the stairs like a rag doll after he force-fed him a plague beetle. The satisfaction and excitement in Valdemar’s eyes when he observed his scleras turning crimson.

The sudden sting of pain made him break free from the bad memory lane, and come back to reality. He idly looked at the nick on his chin, and the sign at the base of his neck that started glowing anew. That damn sign... Julian did not quite register his fingers leading the razor to it, until the pain came; as relieving as it always were. He ripped through his flesh desperately, cutting skin muscle and tendons alike; anything to get rid from that glow thaht stubbornly insisted on keeping death from taking him and putting an end to his misery. Finally the piece of skin was loose... But the glow was still far from fading, even through the blood; mocking him. Julian could only stare with disgust as the wound shrunk and disappeared like the rest of them, leaving no trace.

Julian sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a long time; as if he wished the world disappeared alonside with his vision. The sea seemed to be treacherously calm that night; much unlike so many nights before; when the tempest required even the doctor to lend a hand to the crew in order to avoid becoming fish food; and in the process he was busy enough to keep his thoughts at bay, for during a tempest one does not think; merely act and think about why acted like that later if lucky. However the waters seemed to be as still as stone that night; even the usual rocking that can be felt in every boat no matter the weather was barely there. The doctor looked around his cabin and sighed again; it was trashed. Shaking his head, he opened the door and stepped out, making a mental note to find a good excuse if someone happened to get in and see its state.

“Something the matter, doctor?”

The voice that sounded from across the corridor made him jump with surprise and he turned to see the ship captain peering at him; confusion turning into mild shock when he saw his bloodstained shirt and tear-stained face. “Was going out to take some air” Julian hurried, to avoid a cataclysm of questions that the captain seemed to be about to unleash. “I thought I heard a racket coming out of your room, but I didn’t think it would be that bad.... damn.” He only muttered, looking at him up and down. “You look like you could use a distraction.”

“I would, yes.” Julian sighed in agreement. “It seems that alcohol didn’t do much this time around.” he glanced at the captain sideways. “Why, you interested in helping?”

“I might be.” The captain replied, licking his lips.

Julian rolled his eyes. “Because you pity me?”

“Call it what you will.” he shrugged. “It’s your problem, not mine. Not that I care, anyway. You suit yourself, like the rest of us do.” he turned to leave.

“No no wait!” Julian’s voice sounded way more desperate than he intended. “Please... I need the distraction. I need to forget. please, make me forget, even for a while... I don’t care who it is, or why, just... please... hurt me... I want it to hurt...”

The ship captain chuckled darkly. “That sounds more like it.” He grabbed Julian by the shoulders and pinned him roughly on the wall.

And Julian did not bring any resistence.

((title translation: “...Who defends me from myself, who is the most terrible of all?”))

[minusthemurderfantasies-blog]

“Listen, there is something you gotta know before we go in there.” Erik warned. “I should’ve told you this a long time ago…” My thoughts raced in that pause.  Oh god that pause.  What could he have to tell me?  Was he married? Was this not his apartment? Was he homeless? Did he have a secret Joe Dimaggio bobblehead collection?  Oh god I don’t even know who Joe Dimaggio is? Or was? Is he dead? Can I google that without him noticing?  He saved me from my breakdown.  “How do I say this? My roommate, he’s uh, he’s… he’s a serial killer.”

A euphoric rush gripped my body and I started laughing harder than was socially acceptable.  I managed to regain my composure and reply, completely ignoring his stone-faced expression.  “Geez, you had me worried.  It’s no big deal, people have bad roommates.  I still want to meet him.”

“No you don’t understand, he is legit a serial killer.  He murders people.  What am I doing? I shouldn’t be getting you involved.”  Erik started to walk away from the door.  I put my arm out to block him.

“Nope, you’re not getting out of this that easy.  After all you’ve told me about your roommate I am going to meet him.”  He gave out an exasperated sigh and turned back towards the cheap wooden door.

“Your funeral,” he mumbled to himself. “Let’s just hope not for real this time.”

The lock turned with a rusty squeak and the door swung open and revealed the most stereotypical apartment owned by two twenty-something men.  An off-green sofa sat in the middle of the room in front of a coffee table littered with comics, magazines, and small origami figures.  The couch was flanked on either side by two chairs which could only be described as matching if you completely forgot what matching meant and were also blind.  One was a large recliner style leather seat and the other was a worn wooden chair that one would see in a museum of the earliest American colonists.  Both were probably found on a curb and hauled up to the apartment.  The seating trifecta was opposed by a large CRT TV.  You know the kind that would make your hair stand up and could transmit messages from the spirit world?  Their small kitchenette area was barren and most likely unused.  One wall of the apartment was mostly dusty windows with a poor view over the city.

The most interesting part of the room was the man standing at the other end, tossing darts at a board with casual accuracy.  He looked like the first search result for the word “hipster.”  He looked like he only listened to bands with more syllables in their name than fans.  He looked like the one to bring a complicated board game to a party and insist that everyone play it, no matter how little sense it made.  He did not turn when we entered. “Hey man.  Back so soon?  Did things not go well with whatsherface?”

Erik cleared his throat.  “Actually, Christine is here with me.”  The man spun and froze like a kid with a stutter at a spelling bee.  He raised his hand in a wave and his mouth hung open.  Erik continued, “This is my roommate, James.  James, this is Christine.”

I smiled and shook the embarrassed James’ hand.  “Nice to meet you, James.”

“Nice to meet me.”  Yep, this smooth operator was totally a serial killer.  “Oh wait, no, I mean, uh… oh hey, you’ve got something on your hand.”  I looked down and sure enough there was a red stain where his thumb had been.

Erik, pointed at the door that the dart board hung from.  “There’s a bathroom right over here, you can clean up in there.”  James stepped aside as I hurried into the bathroom without looking back.  What did I get the mark from?  I must have spilled something on me during dinner.  Such a great first impression.  I walked in and closed the door tightly behind me.  Oh god, this room smelled like death poorly covered by expired air freshener.  Okay, take it slow Christine, it’s not that bad.  And I’m sure Erik doesn’t care if I look a little dumb.  I looked into the sink.  Outside I heard James shout, “Wait, no!”  The sink was filled covered in a dark red liquid congealed into globbed.  At the drain lay an oval object covered in the red.  Oh god, is that… a human ear?  The world focused in on that ear.  My ears rang, my knees wobbled.  I did not hear the scream start to escape my throat, I did feel the gust of wind from the door flying open, I only smelt the chemical-scented rag which was clasped over my mouth and nose, I only saw the world go dark.

I awoke to shouting.

“What was that, James?!  You can’t just chloroform my girlfriend!  We have rules about this!”

“No, we have rules about killing your girlfriend.  Chloroforming is okay.”

“Chloroforming is not okay!  That shouldn’t have to be said.  It’s common sense.  Where did you even get chloroform?”

“It’s a mix of rubbing alcohol and bleach.  Look, I did what I had to, if she screams people ask questions and it gets bad.  What was she doing here anyway?”

“It is a perfectly normal thing for a guy to bring his girlfriend to meet his friends.  What was an ear doing in the sink?”

“You consider me your friend?” James’ tone was candid and slightly proud.

“Only because you keep killing the rest of my friends and girlfriends.”

“Name one time.”

“Lauren.”

“That’s not my fault, she wore orange on the sixteenth!”

“Her dress was peach!”

“Fine, name three more.”

“Assad, Cindy, Greg.”

“Assad took up two parking spaces, and you have no proof that I am to blame for Cindy’s disappearance.”

“What about Greg?”

“Greg was a dick, I did you a favor there.”

“Greg taught underprivileged kids music.”

“Yeah, but did he have to be so pretentious about it?  Oh look at me, helping the children, I’m so righteous.”

“You’re a monster.”

“I’m a monster that pays rent.”

“Really, you’re bringing this up now?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Okay how about the fact that there was a human ear in the sink.  What happened to keeping it out of the apartment.  Rule seven James, rule seven.”

They stopped shouting when they noticed me watching them.

Erik started, “How you feelin?”

“What. The. Fuck. Erick?  ‘How you feelin?’  Really?  Is that be best you can do.  There is a dismembered body part in that bathroom and you want to know how I’m feeling?  I’m feeling scared, I’m feeling confused, I’m feeling pissed the fuck off.”

“I… I tried to warn-”

“Oh no, don’t you dare tell me you told me so.  I thought you were kidding and you didn’t stop me.  How could you bring me here?  How could you live with this freak?”

“Don’t call me that,” James growled.

“What, you don’t want me to call you a freak?  I’m sorry, I should be more considerate of the fucking murderer.  You are a sick, psychotic freak.  So what, you’re going to kill me too now?  Am I just going to become another ear in your sink?”  I glared at Erik with disgust. “Is that why you brought me here?  Am I just another victim?”

“It’s not like that Christine.  We made rules for him, he doesn’t kill anyone I know.  He only kills bad people.”

“Oh great, he’s like fucking Dexter.  And from what I hear his track record isn’t too good with that anyway.”

“That was before the rules.  Trust me, you’re safe.”

“Trust you?”  I shook my head in disgust and stood up.  “Goodbye Erik, have fun in jail.”  I strode towards the door.  I felt air rush pash my hair and heard a loud thunk as a knife embedded itself in the door.

“Sit down,” James commanded, his hand already grabbing at one of the knives at his belt.  I obeyed.  “Now shut up and listen.”  Erik tried to intercede but James silenced him with a glare.  “You are not a victim.  As far as I am concerned you are a friend.  Your protection continues until that ceases to be true.  Now going to the police and turning us in is not something a friend would do.  If I see you climbing the steps to the precinct, you will be dead before you reach the top; if I hear you calling the cops, you will be missing by the time the operator picks up.  Do you understand me?”  I nodded, too scared to breathe.  “You have learned a lot today, and I don’t expect you to like all of it.  However, you will live with it.  Understood?”  This time I managed to whisper a meek affirmation.  “Good, well in that case I am going to bed.  Erik, would you please drive Christine home?  Good night and good luck.”  And with that James retreated into one of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Erik and I did not speak the entire drive back to my apartment.  The silence was too thick to be cut.  The dark of the city was oppressive.  I shrank with each shadow and rejoiced in the light.  That car ride may have been the longest of my life.  Finally, like hikers summiting Mount Everest, we reached my apartment building.  I unbuckled and fled the car without waiting for Erik.  I locked the door, slid the bolt, and checked each window securely.  When I was ensured of my isolation I fell upon my bed into a deep sleep.

I awoke beneath my sheets refreshed and anew.  Free from the nightmare that plagued the night before.  That’s what it had to be right?  A nightmare?  I would tell Erik all about it today.  He would enjoy it, he always enjoyed hearing about my dumb dreams.  My relief was short lived.  Its end was marked by my heart stopping for several beats.  There upon my dresser, something that was not there the night before.  I approached the dread object like a parent in a horror movie approaching their child’s crib.  Sitting amongst frames filled with family and sanguine memories was a leatherbound journal.  Laying on top of the journal was a note:

“Sorry for snapping last night.  It’s going to be rough, but here’s a friend that you can talk to

-James”

    And that was the beginning of my friendship with a serial killer.