Chapter Text
"What the fuck is wrong with me...?"
"Maybe working on being more confident in yourself could solve th-"
"Stop talking." Vincent let out a groan. "Fuck..." God, everything hurt.
When Rody agreed to begin working for Vincent again, happiness should have been the first thing Vincent had felt. His inspiration, his muse, the man who convinced him to try and give this "cooking with love" drivel a real shot, had agreed to continue working for him. Especially when it turned out that, upon actually eating the food Vincent had made for him instead of just wolfing it down, it seemed that Rody actually quite loved his food.
Another reason why this should have made Vincent happy. He had gotten everything, literally everything, he could have possibly wanted out of this deal...but there was the thing. The issue.
Rody liked his other food.
Including the things not laced with dead girl in it.
"You get into things too quickly, don't you? Not to be rude, but that's just foolish, Vincent."
"...says kettle."
He had killed Manon for nothing. Her death benefited him not one bit; the only thing that could possibly be argued was that her disappearance was the catalyst for Rody to go to him, but she likely wouldn't have answered his calls even if she had been alive.
He wasn't a murderer by enjoyment. Not by any means. When he killed her, even after resolving to do it and desperation to truly understand what his art was missing driving him to unthinkable places, he had to drain two glasses of wine before he could bring himself to even grab the knife he ultimately slit her throat with. And then he drained the rest of the bottle.
Vince was a lightweight. Just two glasses was enough for him before his started feeling woozy. The week of her death, not a single day had gone by without Vincent dulling his mind with ridiculously expensive wine. It helped him sleep. It helped muzzle the roaring anxiety that crawled out of his stomach and clawed at his throat over every little mistake possibly leading to his crime being discovered, especially before he could complete what he had set out to do.
And then he did it.
And then, not one day later, he found out that he never needed to go that far.
Rody had enjoyed his food because it had been made for him and him alone. Was that truly what love was, in a meal? It sounds like selfishness and a lack of understanding on how a restaurant works. Of course we don't make our dishes individual for the clients present. Needless to say...
"My parents were always fair. They never criticized that sort of thing."
"I didn't kill you for that. Just...love..."
...he had his doubts. But the euphoria at seeing Rody, a man with a tongue harsher than even some of his most staunch critics in spite of likely being so poor most of his critics could buy him, cry over his food one day and then gush about how delicious it was the next couldn't be argued with.
...neither could the feeling of something of grabbing his throat upon realizing how wrong his initial hypothesis had been.
Even his cigarettes weren't helping anymore. If anything, they only served to make him more sick.
"You stopped smoking?"
"It...a few things happened. So I stopped." It reminded him too much of the smoke filled bedroom, him staring at her corpse wondering just what the fuck he was supposed to do to bring it down to the freezer. He practically smoked his entire pack.
"Good. Rody doesn't like smokers, anyway."
"Good. The smoke was...pretty unbearable."
"I didn't do it for him."
"...who?" Fuck. Rody was in his office? How long had he been there? Had he been talking this whole time or was that just in his mind?
How come he couldn't see her? How come he wasn't talking to her?
How come he was talking to Vincent again? He hadn't talked to Vincent in a while ever since Valentine's day.
Or was it before then? Or after? The days had started to blend. Maybe he shouldn't have stopped smoking. He wasn't even sure how he ended up in the office.
"Nothing. What do you want?"
"To kill you."
"What?"
"Yeah, I drew the short stick."
"...say it again. I didn't hear you." He was going insane.
"...oh shit, you're burning up." Something was pressed against his forehead? The scent of lemons. How lovely. It was sweet. It was odd. He had heard lemons were sour. The stinging on his tongue certainly felt like sour. But they were so sweet smelling.
Rody was still in his office. Opening his eyes made him realize it was the older man's hand pressed against his forehead.
"Hm?" When had he last actually slept? She was staring at him so much. And after striking out with Rody it had only gotten worse.
"We drew sticks, and I got the short one, so I decided to...check up on you?" Oh. That was weird. Ridy's hand was on his forehead. What for?
Wait, why was Rody here? Even if he drew a short stick-
"Manon, you fucking liar. He's a shit employee." He couldn't believe it...actually yes he could in fact believe it. He figured his office would force the man to focus on work. He was wrong.
"Don't be rude! He's slow on the uptake, but he cares!"
"...this is what I get for checking up on you." A frustrated sigh sounded out. "I had...other things I wanted to do, though. That involve you."
"I already gave you a raise."
"No I mean- ...just look." The sound of paper crinkling rang out, and Vincent watched as Rody pulled out a...
...
...shit.
"Oh, it looks just like me!" It was Manon's face on a missing poster. Vincent's eyes glanced up, Rody looking down on him.
"...she's missing." This should be a moment where he felt horrified. He got rid of all the evidence by this point, but even then, Rody of all people showing him this should be cause for concern.
So why did it feel almost like he was being forced to remain calm. He couldn't panic if he tried.
He probably wouldn't even be able to scream if he tried. Which was unfortunate, because Rody's hands were practically on his throat. He was suddenly besides Vincent, looking down on him with not even barely hidden disgust in his eyes. "...you did it. Didn't you?"
"..." He couldn't speak. Looking behind the man, he could see Manon smiling sweetly as she always did. Or perhaps, it was the smile of someone who just won a game?
"You knew he was suspecting you, so I guess this isn't surprising?"
"Vince?" He had been so stupid.
"He stole your key. You think he wouldn't find out like this?" He should have killed Rody when he had the chance.
"Answer me!" He tried to open his mouth, but he couldn't speak. Hands grabbing at his collar forced him out of the chair and directly into the face of a wolf looking for vengeance. Vincent's arms weren't working either, he couldn't even try to push him away.
His arms, his legs, his mouth, his mind. It was almost as if he was simply watching a movie in first person, only able to see through the perspective of an actor but unable to truly change the story from it was written. Not even a tremble, not even a slight crack.
But every moment of pain was fair game. When Rody shoved him, sending him crashing back into his chair which soon fell over, causing him to land on the hard kitchen floor practically head first, the pain made him see white. It was a moment before he was realized he was no longer even in his office.
His kitchen was dark, as though it was the end of the day. He still couldn't move, a horrific almost static like feeling engulfing most of his body...save for his neck. His hand was pressed against it, several things stuck in there. He was bleeding out, the only other sensation aside from pain and static was sheer cold.
The only person he could see was Manon, floating above him with that same victorious smile. Had she planned this for him?
"I had. But it didn't pan out. But...I think I can try a few other things." A door opened, and eventually the sight of Rody came into view. His inspiration, his key to future improvements.
His killer, pouring oil over and around him.
Vincent's world became engulfed in flames.
And he couldn't even scream. All he could do was wait pitifully for the sweet release to finally end. For the pain to finally stop as the last of his nerves were burned to ash, for the smoke to enter his lungs and choke him to death so he no longer had to suffer through this.
Even after all this, however, Rody still stood above him. He didn't run out the door. Instead, he sunk down to his knees and straddled Vincent, the flames soon traveling up his clothing and engulfing him to.
He closed his eyes, unable to see anymore regardless, but he could feel the feeling of lips pressed against his own. Of the telltale sweetness of tangerines entering his mouth as he began to fade away. As he die, his plan finally came to fruition. It wasn't for nothing after all. Even for but a moment, he could finally taste again.
And Vincent was happy.
He didn't scream upon waking up. He didn't even bolt up. Nothing but a small gasp escaped him, and him being able to give so much as that was a relief in of itself.
"..." His mind swarmed however. Rody had killed him. Threw a torch on him on Manon's order. How was he waking...wait.
...I need"
He needed to get his mind in order. As he got up and strolled over to his bathroom, his mind slowly began to calm down. Upon finally stepping into the tub, the hot water feeling like heaven against the morning aches he'd suffered from since he could first drink, he finally managed to bring it all back. He set up a list. Everything that dream made him think, and how true it actually was.
Manon. He...wasn't sure. He could see her sometimes. In the corner of his eye, it was almost as if he could see her hanging from the meat hook. But she wasn't...she couldn't be truly there. He knew this, really.
It didn't make the nightmares he was getting every night since discovering he killed her for nothing any better. He was just better at coping with this now. His daily ritual of reconfiguring what was true and what wasn't after every nightmare that felt too real (Trapped in the freezer with Rody, Rody forcing me through the bone saw, the millionth fucking variation of Rody burning me alive inside my own bistro, Rody choking meto death, Rody-) to be a dream becoming about as mundane a chore as fixing up his morning nutrient smoothie. At the very least, he hadn't an issue with her in any other regard. It was almost certainly too soon for her to be declared missing.
...hopefully. He'd...need to look into that. He'd been admittedly a bit too busy with fighting off how awful he's felt every since he quit...
Smoking. "At least I'm starting to feel better now..." He had stopped. He had to, really. He smoked to relieve stress and stop himself from feeling like shit.
But then smoking became a source of stress. Even just a sniff of nicotine smoke was a reminder of how he nearly threw up after smoking his entire pack to cope with the stress of having to skin Manon's body, the freezer having practically been filled with so much smoke it created a gray haze in the room. Ironically, something he did for his mental health resulted in it taking a dip, not getting into his physical health. The only silver lining aside from the..."withdrawal syndromes" (Rody's words, not his), was that Rody seemed to like that Vincent was no longer smoking. He still didn't get the older man's disgust with it, but he'd take what little victories he could get, frankly.
...speaking of.
Fucking Rody. Had been avoiding him. Ever since Valentine's day, the older man would. Not. Fucking. Talk to him for more than the most basic of comments. And this was beginning to be a problem.
Rody was his guinea pig. His lapdog. He needed this man to try out his recipes so he could better figure out how to cook with love. The feedback was shit at best before. Nothing he could work with, but Vince expected that. He expected this would take time and training to master.
Now? "I gave that cunt a raise, and he won't even do his fucking job..." Nothing but the most milquetoast, braindead comments. "Oh, this is really...tasty." "...it's good." "I really...like this. Thanks." He couldn't even be bothered to say what the flavour was like.
"...Manon." He let out a groan, nearly done gathering his thoughts. "You once asked me why it felt like I sometimes kept everything to myself. This is why." It had taken a lot of time, getting the courage to actually give Rody that cake. Even if he had said it was from someone else.
He had gone out of his way to make sure his employer didn't think the cake was from him, but somehow the fucker found out and now Vincent was worse off then where he was before he even rehired Rody.
Which, while better than what had occurred in his dream, was still a pain in the ass to deal with. He'd need to confront Rody about this, and soon. His patience was running thin with this awkwardness that had settled between them. It was already bad enough after a week of, and Vincent knew his temper wouldn't survive another week of this. He'd sooner stab Rody in the neck and force him through the meat grinder than deal with him as things were.
"..." Of course the other thing. Getting soaked in oil and then kissed before the flames start. A hell of a way to go in a dream. The fuck is wrong with me...? At least it hadn't devolved into a wet dream while the flames burned them, but it was definitely...he would need to introspect this side of him more later on. Romantic he may be, he didn't find much appealing about dying just as he achieved another one of his goals. I managed to taste something in my dreams, and I can't even remember what citrus fruit it was...
He sighed. There was nothing worth getting annoyed about this early on, it wasn't like he could taste normally anyway. Being able to have even just a phantom memory of it in a dream was a blessing. He got out of the tub and got dressed. The bistro was closed today, but he still needed to...
...
...he moved to the living room and finally to the door, the incessant knocking needing to be dealt with first. He wasn't sure who it was regardless. He opened the door. The view he was greeted with forced Manon's final words in the nightmare to him: I can try a few other things.
And there stood Rody, panting heavily and eyes filled with tears, a missing poster with Manon's face on it in hand. "Vince...I...we need to talk."