Searching For A Murderer [FFAM Epilogue] (boyxboy)

Searching For A Murderer

I slump at the table, elbows propping me up. My mood seems sullen and angry but in reality I'm just empty.

"What's got you down, misery guts?" Daniel, my roommate of 3 years, asks, sliding a mug of steaming coffee in front of my face.

"It was five years ago today." I mutter. He sighs and sits opposite me. I remember the day when I broke down in front of him, retelling him the story of Sam and I, tactfully missing the parts where we killed anyone. It had been nice to tell someone. Get it all off my chest. If I'm honest, I still wasn't over it. I don't think I ever would be, not fully. Sam and I had gone through so much together, and he up and left as soon as his mother returned. I can't blame him, mind you. The day he left, she had begun her work to change his room into a home cinema, using the money from her new beau. There was still a box of his things in my parent's attic, mostly pictures of him and his family, a couple of trinkets and so on.

"Jay, dude. I know he broke your heart - which I'm still gonna insist is a complete dick move on his behalf - but you need to get over him. In the three years I've known you, I don't even think you've hooked up with someone. Just, at least try, yeah? You won't move on by moping about. You have to be active in it."

"There was one guy..." I begin, but I hadn't technically slept with him and we were both out-of-our-minds drunk.

"One guy, Jace. Three years. You're either studying, working, or moping in your joggers. And you don't even study anymore now you've got your degree. You're 75% mope." I stare into my now empty cup and sigh.

"I just don't think I can be with anyone else, though. What if they're like him? What if they leave as well?"

"That's it. We're going into town to make you look decent, and then tonight I'm taking you to a gay bar and you're going to get a guy. Even if it's just for one night, and even if I have to listen to two men grunting in the room next to me."

"You'd do that for me?" I ask, placing my hand in his and faking a sweet smile. He shakes his head, smiling.

"Yes, now shower and clothes. We're taking Bessie. I know you'll pull the bike card when I try to buy you anything."

"That was one time! And I cannot carry a week's worth of groceries on my bike! She's for pleasure riding not shopping trips."

Bessie is not Daniels girlfriend, nor a friend. Bessie is not human in any shape or form. Bessie is Daniel's car. A 15-year-old, white Fiat Punto, christened lovingly by Daniel after he took her out for a test drive on a rainy day in the woods, who then insisted the splattered mud made her look like a cow. It was a bit of a stretch, but the name stuck.

A thirty minute drive and two take away coffees later, we park in a multi-storey car park in the middle of the city. Armed with a wallet and a phone, we begin Daniel's mission to Stop Jason Moping (Like A Bitch).

We walk into the first shop, a department store for men's clothing, and I instantly want to go home. Daniel sets about mothering me, ordering me to try on outfits while throwing jackets and shirts and shorts at me. After forty five or so minutes, we leave the store with three pairs of trousers, three shirts and a button down, two jackets (one denim and one leather) and at least a hundred pounds less on my card.

"I still can't believe you in that shop." I say, as the doors close behind us.

"What do you mean? I was totally normal in there." Daniel shrugs off.

" 'Jason! Try this shirt on! It'll go amazingly with those trousers!' 'That purple just doesn't suit you!' 'Double denim? It's like you're trying to make me hate you!'" I imitate.