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Blood remains thick no matter the surface it splatters, tainting everything it touches while ensuring every trace will be difficult to scrub off. It's always a messy business whenever blood is involved.
You watch it now trickling down your fingertips, staining Scarletella's lips with meat and bones in between his teeth.
This gore binds you together.
Cursed with the same lust. Doomed with the same fate.
The blood that sullies you both, thicker than any chain of connection.
Mr. Scarletella smiles at you, sharp-edged and violent, even though his eyes remain soft with that obsessive light. Instead of being unsettled by its dreadful sight, you are more bothered by how familiar it has become.
You held him in your gaze, a mirror of your depravity, and allowed the complicated feeling only he can elicit sit in your chest.
Somewhere within this moonlit silence and incessant slaughter lies a premonition of its inevitable end. An omen lurks in the shadows among every second your convoluted relationship with Scarletella persists, one that would undoubtedly bring ruin.
No salvation awaits you on the other side. You can only hope that the hand holding yours now won't strangle you later.
—
Sunlight streams through the cracks of your dilapidated house, highlighting dust particles floating in the air. If you squint hard enough, you can almost appreciate the ethereal glow it brings despite the disrepair.
Even neglected things can be beautiful if one is able to love it enough.
"Hungry."
The complaint lands without its desired effect, lost between the rhythmic motion of your hands and his heavy weight pressing against your back.
"You just ate," you admonish in a deadpan tone. Your attention never diverts from the more important task of scrubbing bloodstains off your white raincoat. The garment clearly had seen better days, with red splotches were as stubborn as the guy sulking on your shoulder.
Mr. Scarletella's arms around your midriff tightens when he received no acknowledgement.
It was the reaction you came to expect.
His face pressed further into your neck, a breath away from the skin where his teeth graze intimately close to an artery. You feel his irritation at your coy answer, knowing that it was far from what he meant. Days had passed since his last proper meal of blood and gore that his impatience is starting to be more palpable.
Resistance to an addictive kind of hunger is its own form of torture, one that you understand really well. It had been days as well since your last kill. Mr. Scarletella is not the only one feeling the itch of withdrawals.
"We can't keep murdering and eating people everyday." Your voice takes on some seriousness this time, hoping it can reign in some of that dangerous instincts. "People will become suspicious if there's too many disappearances. We don't want the wrong kind of attention taking an interest."
The stain on clear plastic has began to gradually fade away, yet traces of it will always remain. Some things are simply hard to erase, like the soreness that lingers in your fingers; a difficult smudge of rust; the hunger that connects you both.
So much restraint can only be observed for so long before true nature takes over.
"You have to survive with normal food for a little while longer." Even though you try to bring him comfort with your words, it still seem to fail in quelling that impatient hunger. You are made aware of it when Mr. Scarletella sinks his teeth into your shoulder for a shallow bite.
Another imprint is left on you and the meager pain barely registers.
"Hate it," he whispers, lips brushing gently against the mark.
"I know." There's intimacy in the understanding that passes between the two of you. Nonetheless, there are just some desires that are better tucked away for the time being.
Mr. Scarletella sags behind you when he realizes you wouldn't budge at his whining. For a brief interval, you are able to finish your arduous chore.
He does not follow as you stand.
"I'll figure something out," you find yourself promising contrast to better judgments.
The plastic raincoat is now folded into your arms, awaiting the touch of sunshine to dry. Mr. Scarletella stares at you with that same lethal interest. You really should stop making bargains with the devil. Its dues may be more than you can pay.
Without missing a beat, Mr. Scarletella takes you up on that unspoken offer.
"Let me taste you then?"
It stops you right in your tracks as silence detonates in the air, so thick you can almost feel whiplash from the sudden atmospheric change.
You meet his lethal gaze.
No form of jest is ever present in those eyes, only an intensity that you still have trouble categorizing in your life. Despite many months of familiarity, that intuitive wariness he induces never seem to truly dull.
This isn't the first time he broached such a suggestion, you have an inkling it won't be the last. Multiple times he tried to ask of you things you are hesitant to give; the routine has diminished its surprise. Mr. Scarletella has always been unashamed of his secondary desire for you, yet it's a kind of hunger you have not entirely learned to understand.
"I can't."
The answer remains the same, an interaction so repetitive you can accurately guess what his response would be. Mr. Scarletella's face does not fall. It never does.
He persists in his serene unreadable expression and nods once, accepting your reply without any fuss as before.
There is comfort to be found in the silent agreement that passes between two dangerous people maintaining the delicate balance of their coexistence.
"I'll think of something, okay?" You find yourself placating him regardless.
"Okay."
Mr. Scarletella's gaze never wavers. It continues to follow you even as you turn to complete the task he keeps disrupting.
Dependency was inevitable in your arrangement. Ever since your kills became his source of nourishment, a responsibility has formed, one that goes both ways.
Various thoughts surge into your mind one after the other while you hang your coat to dry.
The concern over potential capture floats above everything else. News of missing person cases increasing in the area are becoming more prominent. One minor slip, one small mistake, and everything could be over. Uncertainty wars within you, a fight between self-preservation and the fragile connection you found with Scarletella, no matter how convoluted it may be.
As you watch the clear garment sway in the wind, you managed to convince yourself that your worries may be for naught. After all, no one has suspected you yet after years in operation.
…
You should have been more worried.
Ignorance breeds hubris.
The downfall that was awaiting you presents itself in the dead of night.
A week should have been enough to let the fear of your activities die down, but you had been careless. Too preoccupied with satiating two hungers, you became sloppy. Arrogant. And now, you are paying the price.
In the midst of enacting violence to another naive soul, you inadvertently drew attention to yourself.
Your lungs burned as you ran. Adrenaline ignites your entire nerve endings, not out of thrill for a usual hunt, but from a panic you rarely experience. Footsteps echo through narrow streets, indistinguishable between you and your pursuers.
This should not have happened.
No one ever paid attention to the forgotten crevices of this city. No one has ever cared enough. Yet with the recent disappearances you caused, there was now a reason to look.
Law enforcement has already surrounded every alleyway in your hunting grounds, twisting familiarity into a trap.
Escape becomes a necessity fast.
You rely on the agility that has never failed you, weaving through scattered debris and winding turns that mapped your domain. None know these streets quite like you do. You hope this is advantage enough to evade capture.
Voices rang out from behind, an amalgamation of shouted words ordering you to stop and surrender. That is an option you cannot take.
There is no future for you within justice's embrace.
Mr. Scarletella still awaits for your return.
Regardless of the oddities you have had to endure with him, leaving was never an alternative.
Your feet and adrenaline takes you far. It does not take long for shadows to be the only one chasing after you. The fence that hides a path towards the forest stands menacingly ahead; you squeeze through its gap before the men in blue could catch up.
Relief does not come even with this perceived freedom. You keep your pace brisk, anticipating every possibility of an ambush.
It's a long way until the abandoned structure that orchestrated your meeting.
He is exactly where you left him.
Mr. Scarletella perks up at the sight of you, expectation clear on his face. The mixed feelings that usually accompanied such a vision of delight is nowhere to be found with the dire situation at hand. Noticing your seriousness, his face falls in hesitation.
"Something wrong?"
You're not sure what to answer him. The world you both created is about to unravel, yet he is looking at you as if his greatest concern is the fact that you are upset.
A speck of comfort bleeds through your impenetrable walls. You shove it down immediately.
"Are you still hungry?" You find yourself asking despite having every reason not to in this very moment.
Scarletella nods unblinkingly. His pale face remains passive, but it fails to hide the obsessive glint in his eye. In the wake of your eventual collapse, it is only right to finally give him what he wants.
When you step closer, Mr. Scarletella remains rooted in place, watching your movements. He isn't wary, simply curious.
You stop a foot away from him.
He stares at you.
"They saw me. Some officers." The sudden revelation catches Mr. Scarletella so off guard, he actually looks surprised for once. "It wouldn't be long before they catch me so…"
A breath catches in your throat. This was more difficult than you thought. You're unused to pain, finding much more delight in being the one to inflict it. But with the end approaching, you at least want to impart some satisfaction before fate draws near.
"You can finally taste me if you wish."
"No."
It was your turn to be startled at the change in his tone. Gone was the calm exterior with a hint of obsession underneath, replaced by such a cold expression that it made you almost flinch.
Now you're the one who's confused.
You thought he would be more happy about this. Instead, Mr. Scarletella shows you a face you have never seen from him.
"What? Why? I thought it's what you wanted."
"Why?" He demands, turning the question towards you.
"I just—"
Suddenly you are not so sure what you are aiming for.
The police had found you. They had witnessed your crime. This is the first moment of the end that is to come. Even if you were to escape, Mr. Scarletella has no reason to still associate with you. You would just drag him down.
In this kind of lifestyle, it is second nature to be selfish. Cruelty ensures survival. Betrayal is the most likely outcome for any connection built on a fragile foundation.
He has no reason to stay with you. This is the end. Even so, you just wanted to give him something of value.
One final act of care.
And Mr. Scarletella had refused, despite being presented with something he had wanted for as long as you have known him.
Before you could voice all of this to your companion, the noise that was chasing you earlier had emerged once more. You can hear them from a distant infiltrating the forest, shouting at one another, and moving with haste. Soon, they will find your sanctuary. Soon, they will desecrate it in their pursuit of justice.
Scarletella seem to have noticed them too.
Instincts kick in before you can hesitate. Without letting him form a concrete thought, you grab hold of his hand and ran, leaving behind the only place in this world you actually deem special.
…
No matter where life takes you, it appears all you ever do is run and hide.
You run now in hopes of escaping the consequences of your actions, with Mr. Scarletella in tow. The grip he has in your hand is tight, refusing to let go, even as you drag him through the thick foliage of trees.
He trusts you blindly, even without a complete knowledge of what was going on.
This fact alone is reason enough for you to not let go in return.
Cold silence greets you in the streets of your dilapidated residential area, just as you hoped. You are uncertain whether the police would be able to find you here. It didn't matter now anyway.
Two roads stretch before you, both filled with uncertainty.
One leads to capture. The other leads to leaving everything behind. Neither seem like viable options.
Mr. Scarletella squeezes your hand, and for the first time since you had ran, you turned to finally look at him. He is staring at you with confused eyes, wondering why you had stopped.
For a moment, you are too winded to answer him properly.
"Let's go home." It was all you can muster.
The house remains unchanged despite the sudden upheaval you just encountered. You aren't too sure how long this tranquility will last.
No doubt the search would barter you some time, long enough to finally decide what to do next.
Deep down, you have already made your choice.
You slump against the old sofa. Dust was still clinging to it stubbornly, making it impossible for the thing to remain untarnished. Mr. Scarletella follow after you, sitting close.
There is nothing left to do but to leave everything behind, including him.
It's over for you now.
He doesn't seem to notice.
You are jolted away from your thoughts when his hand suddenly land on yours. Unlike the frantic hold earlier, the touch was gentle. Too gentle for someone of his caliber. It twists your heart in a way you dislike acknowledging.
"We run."
That startles you more than the contact, so much so that you actually flinched.
"What?" You're not sure what your face must have looked when you finally meet his gaze, which was no less intense that it had ever been, yet the way he's directing it to you now feels different.
"We run." He repeats it as if the words were the issue when the underlying meaning behind them is what's difficult to wrap your head around.
"You. Me. We leave. Together."
If you weren't speechless before, you definitely are now.
Mr. Scarletella will always be the sole variable in your life you could never fully account for. Every plan you already set in your mind, he somehow manages to uproot. He twists every decision you make just so he could keep clinging to you like a parasite.
Except he isn't a parasite.
He's Mr. Scarletella.
Your Scarletella.
Yours, in a way.
The look he gives you now is familiar. It's the one he knows you can not refuse. You have already decided you would leave alone for fear of an uncertain future. In turn, he decided he would stay anyway.
A heart is a heavy thing to carry. Mr. Scarletella had already given his to you. No amount of blood you can offer would be able to even that scale.
Trust is the only thing you can give that would ever come close.
"Okay." You find yourself saying. "We leave."
This gore has already bound you together. There is no other place for you to go. In the midst of this uncertainty, you can only turn to the hand that is holding yours.