BLOODY KISSES ➯ NICOLAS BROWN
血まみれのキス
Chimamire no kisu
Anger.
A feeling that could never be sate by the simple words 'I'm sorry.'
When angry, it's said that you are ticking, like a bomb; waiting involuntarily for the next set of actions that will be just enough to push you over the edge and make you explode.
The tag's grip tightened.
He trudged slowly up the stairs of the building. The repeated sound of a thud following his every step as he edged closer and closer towards the front door. A heavy silence kissed greedily by the thing in his clutches, striking horror upon everyone he'd managed to encounter on the backroads he'd snaked his way through on his return.
Whether it was the stench of it or the sight, he didn't care – he'd gotten what he'd wanted now and that was all that mattered despite the red liquid that followed in it's trail.
The man came to a stop, face to face with the brown wooden door. His grip on the stranger's blonde bloodied locks growing impossibly tighter as he listened carefully. Subtle but noticeable vibrations audible to his feet, setting a wide, heinous, grin upon his face.
Unaware of the presence of the man on the other side of the door, you continued to stare through the thin glass pane shielding you from the outer world; feet swaying lightly and colliding softly with the couch every now and then, letting off small vibrations.
The door busted open, slamming itself into the wall.
You jolted, spinning around to face the brunette who's face was bare of any emotion. A foul smell creeped it's way into the apartment as Nicolas slammed the door behind him, dragging the rotting corpse into the room before throwing it onto the floor ahead of him.
Your hands rushed to shield your nose from the stench as you pushed yourself up from the couch to face whatever delight he'd brought along with himself.
A look of horror settled upon your face as you stared down at the sight before you.
Distress painted the face of the blonde corpse. It's neck was slit wide open, and a deep red liquid continued to roll from the gash seeping into the wooden floor boards of the apartment.
You would have been calm, if anything desensitised to the scene – but when your eyes met with the lifeless blue eyes of the victim you were hit with a strong wave of realisation.
'This. The one you wanted right?' His hands signed slowly as if he'd wanted you to take in every word he made out. 'I got him for you. I saw you staring at work. Remember?'
The tag's expression continued to remain unfazed as his dark eyes stared at you coldly, analysing your every move carefully.
Your hands began to tremble as your gaze fell to the floor; chest rising and falling heavily as you stared down at the victim before you. Serving him once and finding him attractive with unknowing eyes watching you, ended with his fate being sealed sooner. His name you didn't even know, you couldn't even remember what he'd sounded like, but of course Nicolas, had assumed otherwise.
The tag sighed in frustration. "You seem mad." He spoke with a slight slur in his tone. "I got you a new fuckin' toy. Now fuckin' play with his lifeless body-."
"What the fuck is wrong with you Nico?" You screamed in his face. He stared back at you with a blank expression, eyes locked on your lips as he tried to control the anger that had been building up inside of him.
"Jesus fucking Christ." You sighed pacing alongside the body before you. "You did this because you were jealous?" Silence. "I'm not even fucking dating you first of all-." The bomb went off.
A firm grip was met with your throat. You whimpered, soon gasping for air as the tag dragged you closer towards him with a snarl on his face, watching mercilessly as your hands reached up to claw at his own.
Your words rang through his head like an unwanted melody, reminding him of what he'd meant to you. He'd felt devalued, like his feelings meant nothing to you after meaning nothing to anyone. It enraged him.
"L-let go." You croaked. His expression softened back to it's usual blank state and the grip was gone.
Falling to your knees, you began gasping for air, hand clutching and rubbing your poor throat that would surely be bruised in the morning.
Without a further word or sign, the brunette left the room, leaving you alone with the corpse before you.
☠︎
"He doesn't mean it, you know." Alex's hand rubbed at your side soothingly as you continued to cry onto her chest. Her and Worick had come home from a trip to Connie's to find you crying on the floor beside the bloody corpse. It hadn't been the first time they'd come home to you crying because of Nicolas. Worick growing used to the whole ordeal would often make sure to come home with chocolates just for you if he'd had the money. He'd felt he wasn't the greatest at empathising with you and so he'd leave that to Alex. But he'd hoped the chocolates would let you know he'd tried in his own way.
"He just doesn't know how to express things to people in a... let's say normal way. But he does love you Y/N."
"That explains the bruise on my throat." Alex stiffened. That was the seventh one this month and it was only the twelfth day in. She'd never know how to justify him putting his hands on you like that. He'd mainly slap and leave bruises but even so that wasn't something you could really move on from.
You'd understood he'd liked you; you were the only survivor he'd known from west gate, to add to that you were near fluent in sign language, and that was something to bond over. After a while one thing led to another and you'd slept with him once or twice but nobody had felt any way about it. You'd kept it between the two of you and moved forward, only for him to start growing possessive and irritable over you about a month later.
You'd still felt no way towards him. But given his past life you'd understood why that was so hard for him to come to terms with.
He'd stopped talking to you altogether eventually, started ignoring you like he did everyone else. The only times you would talk was when he did stupid things like follow you or drag a dead body into the apartment. Shortly after he'd started hitting you, and when Worick tried to speak to him about it he wouldn't read a single word that left his lips.
It wasn't as bad as it could be, so you'd dealt with it. Giving him the silent treatment as he did you and eating up whatever he threw at you as best you could, even if that was shown as you crying on Alex's breasts.
"Y/N..."
"Let's just not talk."
The silence between you both spoke in volumes that no one knew how to replicate, but it was comforting to you and in that moment that was all that mattered.
𝐀𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝 (𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧? 𝐘𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝) 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 @ 𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇
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