Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Thirty Five: Complimentary Spite

TW: blood (duh)

As you knelt over your second kill, you felt the cold clutches of shock start to creep in. You would have screamed at the sight of all the blood, but you were still blinded. You could feel it, though, caked on your face and hands and soaking thickly into your white shirt.

Then, pain. The adrenaline had blocked most of it, but now you dropped the edge of the bottle and started to absolutely lose your shit, digging your bloody palms into your burning eyes. The tears streaming down your cheeks could only do so much to flush the vodka out. Holy mother of fucking shit, that hurt.

You staggered to your feet, slipping on the warm blood-cocktail beneath you again. Running blindly to the sink, feeling your way around the island counter, fumbling with the faucet. You couldn't stop sobbing from the pain until you rinsed most of the substance out.

When you could finally see, you made the mistake of looking down. Of course you wore white today. Your previously pristine shirt was soaked through in blood, looking like you'd just had a bath in the stuff. You gagged, struggling with the fabric until it was over your head. It landed on the kitchen floor with a wet slap. You hoped Brian had one hell of a washing machine in the back room.

It was now that you turned to survey the scene in the living room. You swallowed thickly as your gaze landed on Elijah's corpse, still oozing a fountain of blood from his neck and eye. Blood and vodka soaked the floorboards, marking a trail of where you'd fought.

You couldn't quite process what you'd done to him. You couldn't, right now, or you'd pass out. You had to keep moving, keep breathing deep, and your only legible thought at the moment was that you really needed a mop.

And with that, you dragged yourself off down the hallway.

—

Four a.m., and Brian came home. You heard the front door open, a rattling on the doorknob - he was probably noting that the lock was fucking broken. Very observant.

In the hours after you'd killed Elijah, you'd managed to frantically scrub most of his blood from the floorboards. You did tread and kneel on shattered glass in the process, but you didn't much care - you only bothered to sweep that up after the blood was gone.

The only area that hadn't been properly cleaned was the pool of blood right beneath the corpse. You weren't strong enough to carry Elijah out - and what would you do with him, anyway? Hide him in a dumpster? No point in cleaning the gore right there until after he was removed.

After your spring cleaning, you'd sat under freezing water for way too long, watching the blood gush down the drain like that one scene from Psycho. You didn't even cry.

Now, listening to Brian slowly enter the apartment, you were sat in his bed. The bathroom was cramped, there was a dead man in the living room, and you were in dire need of a proper mattress. You figured Brian would have more of a problem with the dead guy on the floor than the woman in his bed.

You heard his footsteps go further into the living room. Rummaging of drawers. Shuffling. More footsteps. Then, the creaking of floorboards as something heavy was dragged along them. The sound of the front door shutting.

You stared into space as you waited for more sounds. You could only assume what you heard was Brian dragging Elijah out of the apartment. Where he was taking the body or how he was getting rid of it, you had no clue.

You's assumed he would go drive somewhere to get rid of the corpse and come back in a few hours. However, only ten minutes later you heard him re-enter. He shuffled around a bit more, most likely cleaning up the remaining blood. Then, his footsteps sounded down the hall as he inevitably set out to come find you.