Chapter Text
Vince cradled the body gently, keeping him close, a stark contrast to the way he brutally ended his life just moments ago.
He sat deathly still, unsure what to do next, reduced to nothing more than a compass with no magnet to guide it.
A crimson rush of life, not too indifferent from a blooming rose garden, soaked through his clothes and deep into his skin.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Nor could he bring himself to look that lifeless body in his glassy, accusing eyes.
He stared at the ceiling instead, as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.
Or maybe he was looking past it seeking guidance- help even, from above.
He didn’t deserve that.
Not after all of those sins.
His chest heaved as he drew in a shaky breath. He had almost forgotten to do the one thing currently keeping his heart beating.
His hands trembled. Those cold fingers that were responsible for everything suddenly felt distant.
Pure horror held his stinging red eyes open with its sharp talons. The feeling reminded him of cutting onions, which he always did in the same calm demeanour as when he butchered that girl.
That girl who lay on a deserted plate in his empty restaurant.
His normally stoic face scrunched into one of self-disgust.
It was then that a single tear, much like the first drop of rain before a downpour, fled down his pale cheek. It burnt all the way down to his tongue, where he licked it up in its voidness of taste, not letting it run away. It wasn’t like any amount of his tears would ever clean the stains on his hands and the filthy stench of guilt.
He could almost laugh at how pathetic his situation was, what acts of desperation he’d gone to.
And for what? Who was this all for? The one with sparkling eyes, as green as the wavy summer grass glinting in the early morning light.
The one with that messy red hair, curly ribbons of autumnal embers that were likely almost never brushed.
The one with that ever-smiling mouth that was always overflowing like a waterfall with endearing questions.
The one who lay dead in his arms.
Why did he have to open that freezer?
A guttural, animalistic cry of distress ripped its way through his throat which he failed to swallow over the knot of emotion preventing him from breathing.
No longer will those eyes shine in his direction, or that voice bless his undeserving ears.
Even just holding him now felt wrong. Like breaking a law, despite the tenderness of his hold or the almost loving way he threaded those filthy, unforgivable fingers through those knotted locs.
He sits there, the sound of his strangled cries filled his ears. Aside from that, it was silent. The one thing he thought Rody would never be.