We're All Mad Here

Cold, lonely. Empty, useless, spinning. Mind and room barren, save for the thick feeling of worthlessness and heartbreak lacing him up from the inside out, strangling the majority of his thoughts until they were even nastier than the ones he began with. Straight from his neglected, shattered heart to his jaded, weary excuse of a mind that was hanging on barely even a shred of saneness, those emotions wrapped, covered, cloaked his entire being in raw, bittersweet emotion. Bitter, because no one understood. Not a single other being that was within his reach had sights quite the same as his, had a taste for the true beauty he sought. Sweet, though, because he liked that burning passion that made him different. A flammable craving for those limp bodies, icy and unmoving on the floor. He’d never stop being taunted to just light the match, fulfill his need, to ignite the madness and fuel the intensity that he loved so much.

His mother was strict, wanted the best for her son. Alex was rebellious, didn’t like being told what to do. An accident with a thirteen year old boy, a knife left carelessly on the kitchen counter and a woman helplessly trapped with her insistent child; that’s how it began. It was truly, honestly an accident. Isobel was shouting and her eyes were narrowing in this way he just didn’t like- so he made her stop. After the knife was driven into her side, slotted deep into her flesh through one of the spaces between her ribs, Alex’s eyes opened wide, took in his mother dead on the floor. He hadn’t, he couldn’t have, it wasn’t meant to be. Alex started to feel upset.

Alex didn’t cry though, not even a trickle of a sob welling up in his chest at all. He wasn’t that upset. After staring at the lifeless woman on the floor, the color in all of her features slowly draining away with the blood that gushed from her wound, the small pang of guilt and sorrow that was tugging somewhere deep in his gut began to fade. Alex had always thought his mother was pretty, had always admired the shine of her dark hair and the sparkle of her bright eyes. She looked different now, though. Those once glistening irises were cloudy, glazed over; no longer shimmering with the life and joy she had carried. Her mouth was stuck open in a gasp, her lips that used to always have the same distinct hairpin curve were now turned down, sad, nearing transparent and threatening to blend in with the soft flesh of her cheeks.

She was beautiful. It wasn’t right to think he’d done well, because Alex knew what he’d done wasn’t something to be celebrated. But the pale skin that would eventually wither away, the splayed hair on the floor that was quickly being caressed and surrounded by the flow of blood- it all looked so utterly and absolutely gorgeous. Alex smiled, ran the tips of his fingers over the gash placed just by his mother’s heart and relished in the feeling of the red slicking his fingers, sighed contently at the same substance that was incessantly leaking from his mother’s body. Alex let himself think he’d done well anyway, because in his mind, he had. He’d created something beautiful.

Others found out, discovered the apparent tragedy of the Gaskarth household. Alex didn’t see what they meant though. His creation wasn’t something to grieve over- it was a masterpiece, a sight to behold, to cherish. Of course, he didn’t dare utter a word about it though. His opinions were shuffled neatly back into his imbalanced brain, shut tight just as his mouth was while he let everyone believe it was Isobel that had done it to herself.

The authorities had a hard time settling with such a sudden act of suicide, especially with how the knife was positioned so awkwardly, so strangely. Who else could have done it, though? After interrogation, it was obvious the recent widower of the household hadn’t an ounce of guilt in his body. And with no evidence other than a bloodied blade handle, what other conclusion was there to come to? It most definitely and certainly couldn’t have been the thirteen year old boy, shedding faux tears in the presence of others.

Not another incident occurred for a long while. Alex still loved the look of a dead body, still longed to see the distinct features dying slowly along with the body of the deceased- he kept it to himself though. Alex had a want to murder, sure, but wasn’t stupid. He knew that if he were to just deliberately kill someone else his apparent innocence would be thrown out the window and the price for his actions would catch up with him.

And while he wasn’t stupid, Alex was actually rather clever, witty. He’d made his obsession so unbearably noticeable in his everyday life, but discreet to the common, ignorant eye. Most thought it was rather strange that a seemingly normal twenty-something year old man would want a job at a funeral home, but they just let it slide. Everyone had their interests, right? Everyone had some oddity that struck most as unusual, right? Everyone had an obsession with dressing up limp bodies in pretty dresses and fancy clothes as they dusted their pale skin to perfection and settled them in a fitted box, right?

It wasn’t until Jack came along that the problem Alex had seemed to grow, or as he saw it, the addiction he had seemed to become even harder to quit. Alex wasn’t crazy. He knew it was wrong, knew it was something lots of people frowned upon, knew it wasn’t a habit he should keep up in his daily routine. That didn’t make the want to murder go away, though. Alex even labeled it as something different, preferred to view it as art, rather than killing. Though that’s exactly what it was. Alex had killed, been there, done that, and was in love, absolutely obsessed with the aftermath, his creation in the end.

Alex knew what love was. He’d seen it in the way his mother and father looked at each other, recognized it easily and set it apart from the other emotions the human mind was capable of. With such a grand idea of the thing, it was also easy for Alex to realize when he himself felt love. He had a love for walking around his neighborhood at night, enjoyed the calming quiet that settled around the streetlamps on the sidewalk. He had a love for the cold beauty of a body without a beating heart, couldn’t help but feel a tickle in his gut whenever another newly deceased member of society was his to awe and gape over.

Something out of the ordinary for Alex to love, though, was Jack. There were many things he felt whole-heartedly about, felt he more or less couldn’t live without them. For one of those things to be another human being, though? Alex found it strange, didn’t like the feeling of something fluttering in his gut whenever he talked to the man. Denying it wasn’t even a possibility, though. Alex didn’t only think Jack was beautiful, but knew it without a doubt. Jack was the most perfect being Alex had ever seen, with his breathtaking smile and a laugh that felt as though it could quite literally knock you off of your feet.

A couple weeks or so after dates that Alex saw to be pointless, he knew there was something there, a feeling he didn’t quite want to be residing in his heart. There wasn’t a way for it to go away, though. Ignoring Jack and telling him whatever sort of relationship type thing that they had would only fill him with guilt, and a longing for Jack that he wouldn’t be able to get over. Jack was here to stay - Alex hoped, at least - and though it was hard to do, Alex eventually came around to the idea of having someone with him, every waking moment of everyday. And he didn’t find it weird anymore; it was nice. Jack was such a nice thing to have, too, such a beauty to have around the house.

Maybe it’d been stuck, scratching and clawing at the floor of his mind from the exact moment Alex had first spotted his boyfriend, the one with the big puppy eyes and stupid lopsided grin. Maybe the idea hadn’t just been something decided on impulse, a spur of the moment choice, something that wasn’t very well thought out. Either way though, regardless of when he’d initially thought of it, Alex was completely going through with his plan to make Jack as perfect as he could be. Just one more thing, he thought. Just the final touch, for the absolute perfect man.

“Alex, put that thing down before you drop it on your foot or something. Get away from me with that, you're such a freak. S-seriously Alex, i-it’s not funny anymore. Why are you looking at me like that? Wait...no, stop! No, no, Alex, stop, please. Fucking stop, Alex, don’t! Alex!”

Of course the neighbors would come running. Of course the police would be called as soon as Jack let out the plea for help, the scream laced with agony and heartbreak and pure terror all in one neat little bundle. Alex had still hoped though, hoped that maybe, just maybe, Jack would bleed out before he could be saved. It was a possibility, right? If he dug the sharp steel in far enough?

It only made sense that Jack would stick up for Alex, even as dribbles of blood streamed down his chin and the paramedics tried to shut his mouth and shove him into the ambulance. It was wrong, it was so fucking terribly wrong, but Jack couldn’t help but still love Alex. Everyone who visited him at the hospital, even a few doctors and volunteers that had overheard gave him this look, staring him down in disbelief.

Are you really that stupid, Jack? You’re still in love with the man who tried to kill you; you forgive him, and want him back? Yes, that was exactly the case- no one seemed to understand the situation he was in; neck deep in unconditional, unbreakable, light-headed and heart-wrenching love. There was no way around it, no way to get out of it.

That’s why that, even though Jack’s ability to persuade was never really the best around, could barely even convince him mom that it was in fact not him that left the toilet seat up, his boyfriend Alex of four years that had stabbed him in the side wasn’t ever charged for attempted murder. Jack had never known about Alex’s sick love for the dead, but even before the court date where Alex had explained it all to Jack just hours before the trial, the younger knew he couldn’t just let Alex go- even if he had shoved a blade through his skin.

Jack cried hard the first time he saw Alex locked away behind the heavy iron door. He stared at him through the cold, unforgiving bars at the top with glistening eyes while he whispered words of reassurance, how it was all going to be okay. Alex wanted to completely hate Jack for throwing him in a kennel like a dog while he spoon-fed false hope straight down his throat, as if that was supposed to help. It wasn’t right, Alex didn’t belong there with the mad and the damned, because Alex wasn’t crazy. It angered him, made him… disagreeable.

Some day on the third week though, when Jack came to visit, he’d promised the elder his hand in marriage, forced out apology after cracking apology as he did every time and told Alex that he’d make it up to him by declaring the man as his husband- just as soon as Alex was better, cured, free. That, to the elder, was enough to give him a positive outlook on the situation. All he had to do was stick it out until the keepers released him, weasel his way through the questions and around the medication so that he was deemed healthy once again. Alex couldn’t wait. The thought of a dead husband rather than boyfriend seemed to be almost too much excitement to handle.

When Alex had said he was willing to wait, though, he hadn’t expected seven months worth of time locked away. He was sure he’d never even be released at this point, because the woman just three cement walls down from him, the one who always tried to bite off people’s fingers and hadn’t shown improvement since Alex had gotten there; well, she was receiving more attention than him. Not that he liked being asked pointless questions about his progress, looked in the eye like a child and listening to every soft-spoken voice repeat the same “calming” words, for fear of setting him off. Hell, he didn’t even have anything fucking wrong with him, was only... misunderstood.

The thing was, though, Alex needed the interrogation to get out, and as much as he hated to admit it, wanted the asylum workers to come and talk to him instead. He sure as hell wouldn’t ask to “have a taste” of their hands whenever they stepped into his cell.

There was always the reassurance that he would make it out alright soon enough, someone backing him up through the unusual situation. Not any of the “doctors” – the ones that actually didn’t know shit about a single crazy in the whole place – but he didn’t want their faux sympathy anyway. He hated all of those people, hated they way they treated him, though he sickly enjoyed the fear in their eyes and shake of their voices whenever they talked to him. None of the wardens did what Jack did, though, didn’t even come close.

While Jack couldn’t get Alex out of his cage, and was actually he one who’d placed him in there in the first place, he still came to see boyfriend every single day of the week, no matter what. For most, having their most beloved show up at their cell door, just a block of iron away from a hug, would cause them to break down even more, grind their mind down further with the pure torment and taunting of waving what they couldn’t have just out of their reach. In the first month or so, that’s even how it was for Alex. There Jack was, the most beautifully perfect man on the entire fucking planet, standing just feet away from Alex yet separated by miles from his lover. Alex’s, but without him. Taken, but alone. Already caught, but beyond acquirement.

It sucked, to say the least. At first, Alex had even gotten angry about it.

After taking the time to think, though – virtually the only thing he could really even do in his animal cage, anyway – Alex quickly realized that aiming his negative feelings towards something unchangeable was completely pointless. The only way he could get his fingers running though Jack’s hair again, his tongue intertwined with Jack’s again, Jack’s blood dripping, staining his palms again, was proving he was mentally stable. Gritting his teeth and pulling out his hair in fury whilst pacing around the room was not something that would help his case in any way.

So after a short time, he just let all of his cares go. Or rather, pushed them away and changed his every day attitude. Instead of being angry every time Jack came to see him, Alex was happy, smiley- giggly, even. He missed his gorgeous Jack more than ever and though he wanted nothing more than to just hold his boyfriend, touch every smooth surface of his skin, run the pads of his fingers over the scar on his side that gave them both two completely opposite cases of the shivers, he knew a short temper wouldn’t get him any close to any of that, none of those ohsogood sensations.

Alex came to appreciate what he was given. The slightest bit of rage would still spark deep in his gut when he felt the urge to see Jack’s wide, terrorized eyes again, but couldn’t. Just seeing his pretty little Jack all worked up and crying and pleading with Alex on the other side of the pen he was in- it was just enough to show Alex what he was missing, what his reward would be once he was released. Dead husband, dead Jack- cold, pretty, lifeless Jack, sprawled, bleeding out and paling on the flood. He’d get it eventually, what he wanted, craved oh so fucking desperately.

Those were the thoughts that kept him going.

Just a little bit longer. Wait a little longer and Jack will be yours again. Beautiful, stunning little Jacky, all yours. A little longer- just a little longer.

Seven months later and Alex’s “a little bit longer” is still going. Actually, it’s a little over the seventh mark, two weeks and six days past to be exact. Alex had taken up to the stereotypical tallies on the wall to count the days of encasement, the days of being alone and feeling drop dead cold, empty- not even the good kind. He didn’t scratch marks onto the cement for that reason though, didn’t want anyone who looked at his walls to see the lines and empathize for the kind of solitude and derangement he must be feeling. Alex actually just literally had nothing better to do, since he wasn’t given anything but a cold metal bed and a drain in the middle of the room. Odd, how as soon as someone’s deemed imperfect, placed into care to mend their “flaws”, their human qualities seem to vanish. They aren’t a person anymore, just something to fix, another one of the broken to shove and scrape back together.

Something good that came from knowledge of the day of the week, besides holding and saving one tiny thread of sanity from disappearing along with his humanity, was also recognizing specific dates and being able to keep up with the outside world as much as he could from Ward B.

Halloween. That’s all Alex was looking forward to, besides the day he’d be back at home with Jack so he could unromantically do whatever he pleased with the man’s body. That day, the night of spoiled children gorging themselves on sugar and adults squeezing their after-three-kids bodies into tight little outfits that caused the neighbors to gag; it was one of the things he’d always loved about the season. Sure, it wasn’t really a cute sort of love for the holiday that little boys dressed as superheroes might have, mainly because it was the thought of bleeding bodies and the screams of the dying that brought a smile to his face most of all, but it was a love nonetheless.

Alex might somewhat- alright, thoroughly enjoy murdering people, but he was still a human. Bodies without life were all good and great, but he still had a want to celebrate nothing specific all the way on into the dark October night, to laugh and drink and secretly wish the cheesy horror films would come true. That year, while everyone would be dressing up like the rest of the patients in the asylum and watching thriller movies about people just like him, Alex would be stuck in his cell, inside the same four walls; alone. Another something that made his blood boil, made the waves of fury kick start back to life inside his body. Another thought to shut down and ignore.

“I miss it, Jack.”

“Me too, Lex.”

“Remember what we usually do tonight? Play beer pong at Evan’s house and throw candy at kids from the roof?”

Jack laughs, though it’s more of a vacant, sort of forced, echoing noise rather than a show of happiness.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“And all of those funny killer movies?” Alex smirks, at the memories dancing through his head as well as Jack’s body tensing up at his choice of words. So innocent, he thinks. Jack’s a fool to think Alex can ever become any different, will ever change. That has to be one of the things Alex likes the most about him, though. If Jack was smart, he’d have run far away by now. But fortunately, Alex had picked someone whose naivety broke him, planted him shattered and love-drunk in their dull and drained house miles away so that he could be ready for Alex’s return home. Such sad, simple ignorance; Alex loved it.

“Those… weren’t funny. They scared me.” Jack’s quick to remind the elder, as if that’ll stop Alex from delving further into the dark pit of the subject. The whimpered statement only eggs Alex on further, though. The pure, excruciating terror of the victim was nearly one of the best bits. Somehow though, Alex does find it in himself to switch the conversation around, just because he doesn’t want his boyfriend to leave him so early, especially on his favorite day of the year. Jack had a habit of backing away from the slab of metal and retreating back outside whenever Alex took things a bit too far. Even when he was enclosed in a stone box, like a bird breaking its wings in an attempt to free itself from its cage; Alex still scared Jack. The younger found a way past his discomfort though, around his thrumming heart and chilled bones. Love always won. The love always strangled and choked the rest.

Jack flinches as a roar of thunder rolls around in the skies outside, causing a few female screams from down the corridor to sound and bounce off the walls. It makes Jack tremble; he hates the noises of the others in their cells, hates to listen to them pick away at their own skin and murmur to the walls and screech until their vocal chords rip. Alex seemed to be worth it, though. He’d go through and bear absolutely anything for Alex.

“What would be funny is if we had a blackout- if all the lights turned off. Danny down there to the right starts to break the door down when the lights are off.” Alex’s shoulders are rising in falling in a silent laugh, because to him, it is funny. It shouldn’t be, should actually terrify him and make him fear for his life, but it was just that kind of weird shit that caused his body to course with adrenaline. The barely noticeable squeaks of too-much-too-loud meant to be screams, coming from the wardens occupying the halls as Danny and the others tore or bit or pounded them to death. That, would make him genuinely smile. Alex shivers- if only.

Alex has never, ever believed in any kind of lord, not a god or messiah or angel sent from above. It’s always seemed like such bullshit to him, the idea of one ruling over all, one supreme, unbreakable spirit to control the entire course of the universe. If there was something up in the skies though, a holy power directing the planet and everything in between, then it must’ve favored Alex, his way of mind or the thoughts crashing through his head.

The world’s hugest fucking coincidence. Like, ever.

“Fuck!”

Ironically, Jack’s the first to scream. He’s always been one for silent fear, but apparently when he’s virtually trapped in a mental asylum, where sometimes even the sound of your breathing or footsteps can set someone off, that’s when his voice comes into play. Of course, he’s quick to clamp a hand over his own mouth in surprise and regret immediately after his outburst, because really, that was probably the worst possible decision to make. The electricity’s just gone out though, and he was already scared enough, trembling even with the all of the light bulbs on- what else was he going to do? Shrug off his lack of sight in one of the most terrifying places he knows and say “oh well”?

To say Jack is scared is an understatement. His arms have gone numb and his legs are beginning to feel strained under the weight of his now cold-blooded, fear-stricken body. It’s all too much to handle, it seems as though he’s going to fall the ground and lay limp until someone finds him and figures out what to do. Jack feels like he’d rather go knock on one of the cell doors and ask for permission inside just to get it all over with, to make the suspense and ambience of it all just vanish.

Ideas are coming and going, slipping through his fingers just as he gets a grip. Jack’s having a hard time thinking of what to do, even when the most effective options are simpler and more blatant than he thinks. In his shivering state though, body heavy and mind withering away, it’s hard to conjure up a thought that’s both coherent and rational, something that’ll get him back outside where there isn’t a guy who wants to tear off his arms and play with them like children’s toys. Jack can’t help but want to cry. He feels lost, trapped, in the worst possible situation.

It’s when the sound of the sturdy door hinges moaning and creaking stabs through the silence that Jack literally feels his heart miss a beat or two, feels his blood gushing so hard in his ears that he thinks his ear drums will burst from the pressure and swears that the noise is a drum beat from somewhere down the hall.

Where did that come from?

Had someone gotten out of their room?

Where are they now?

There’s nothing sarcastic or exaggerated about the way Jack says he could have died right there on the spot. What kept him from dying of fright and slumping to the ground like Alex’s perfect little rag doll, he’s not sure. It truly seems logical though, that Jack definitely could have dropped dead at the very moment there were the pinpricks of hot breath on his neck and a grainy voice whispering in his ear.

“Jack.”

Is it a greeting? Neither can really tell, nor say. Maybe it’s a warning, letting Jack know that there’s a killer behind him and he’s being given a head start in his escape. The elder doesn’t think it’s that though, is leaning more towards the softly-spoken words being a way to inform. I’m out, Jack. I’m here, Jack. There’s nothing standing between us now, Jack.

Jack can’t seem to decide if this is a good thing or not.

There’s no time for him to run through the pros and cons of the situation though, because the sounds of the others standing up from their sore spots on the cement and walking to their own doors, to see if their pin locks had crashed as well- they’re getting louder. It’s when the trilling lyrics of ring around the rosy begin to float through the air that Alex decides he isn’t going to wait and see what they all would get up to in an entire mental asylum by themselves, fueled by free will and most with the want to maim.

“Kitchen.”

Of course, Jack’s never been to the kitchen, has no idea where it is, but he realizes that Alex is informing him of where they’re going rather than telling him where they should meet when his body is being pulled down the corridor. Jack’s dizzy and feels as though he’s falling, head spinning and mind wandering into all the possible ways he could die. He allows himself to be dragged along though, without the use of his eyes and only his ears and vivid imagination to give him a taste of whom or what might be lurking where he can’t see. There’s no point in resisting Alex’s game of follow the leader, anyway. Jack closes his eyes, stumbles over his own feet as he’s guided to the kitchen, because where else would he possibly go in an entire building full of the mentally ill?

The pair are breathing hard and are hunched over in defeat as they both figure out what they should do next, taking time to rest and calm their bodies down in the underused kitchen. Or rather, Jack’s figuring out what he most certainly should not do next, because there’s a long list of things to avoid doing and places to avoid going that he can think up right there on the spot. Alex, however, is going through and sorting out idea after thrilling idea of spontaneous, spur of the moment activities that he and Jack could partake in while the lot of psychopaths outside chase them around for their blood. It sounds like fun to him, the perfect Halloween night.

Alex is traipsing back over to Jack in the dark, trailing his hand along the cold countertop as he walks, when his hand catches on something sweet. Dulled, but still sharp. Slick with the oils of the meal that was previously being prepared, but still just fine for Alex’s intended use for it. He thanks himself for oddly picking out the kitchen of all places to run to, because he’d just hit the motherfucking jackpot.

“Jacky, can we play a game?”

It’s so hoarse and quiet and chill-inducing that he just wants to run for it, but Jack’s practically paralyzed by the rasping against his neck and he probably couldn’t have made an escape anyway. Maybe this was innocent, wasn’t a sick and demented little free-for-all that Alex was subtly pushing him into. Of course he knew better than to think that, but Jack was blinded in the dark and couldn’t even tell which way they’d come in from. Alex, the one person Jack loved with everything he had yet barely even trusted to even hold his hand; he was the younger’s only hope right now.

“What kind of game? I-I don’t think we should-,”

“Hush, Jack, or I won’t even let you in on the rules.”

It’s a warning emphasized by a long and light drag of metal across Jack’s throat, and wow, so it’s that kind of game. How he didn’t see that coming, Jack’s not sure, but when the tip of the blade is lifted from his skin he’s already completely under Alex’s spell, willing to play in his sick mind and do what he asks.

“Good, baby. You’re so good to me Jack; always do just what I tell you, hmm? Because you’d do anything for your Alex, wouldn’t you? I’ve got you angel, don’t worry. Just listen and do what I say, like always, Jack.”

Jack’s too afraid to move or nod but too afraid to speak as well. The whimper of recognition and agreement he lets sound makes Alex chuckle, breathy and soft yet laced with a dark meaning up through the seams. It would have even been cute, had he not been holding a knife in his hand and slowly tracing it up the length of Jack’s arm.

“So good, princess. Maybe you can even win the game. Would you like that, Jacky? Would you like to walk out of here with a reward? Your life still in your hands?”

Silence, save for the distant grunts and obscure screeches coming from everywhere throughout the building. It’s not a smart decision for Jack to not give his Alex what he wants. The younger’s breath catches in his throat and he hisses slightly when a heavy cut is placed in his skin, the blade dipping and moving so swiftly that Alex would even go as far to say that his incision was graceful. He wasn’t striving for graceful, though- he was striving for the blood.

“Rule number one; you answer me when I ask you something, give me a response and don’t keep me waiting. Understood?”

Another deep slice to show Alex means business is made before Jack can even think up an idea of what to do or say. Jack barely makes a whimper at the substance now moving down his arm and towards the floor, but he quickly shakes his head yes just in case his small noise made out of fear wasn’t enough. The sound wasn’t even close to the sounds Jack could be letting loose though, the screams of terror and shrieks for Alex to stop. He couldn’t though; he’d gain himself quite a lot of negative attention from the sulkers outside, and that wasn’t part of the game.

“Good, still good. You’re good, sweetie, such a good listener. I bet maybe you could win his, I bet maybe you can. Rule number two, though; no cheating. If you find a way out, that’s a way to the loser’s table. Cheaters don’t win, Jack. Cheaters don’t get anything good.”

A third carving into the flesh that’s covered in goosebumps. Why? Well, why the fuck not? He’s got the upper hand, and he intends to go about things in any way he damn well pleases.

“You’re taking it so well, my little sweetheart. You’re a good rule follower, aren’t you Jack? Yeah, little Jacky will do anything I say.”

The sharp end is lifted and Jack lets out a long, heavy breath that he’s been struggling to keep in. It’s pointless for him to think he’s back in the safe zone again, though. Alex tells him this, lets Jack know that neither of them will be able to breathe properly until it’s all over- for two very different reasons. They’ve got a whole block of play time in front of them, how could Jack think he’d be let off so easily, when the game has only just begun? Alex laughs, hearty and almost sweetly into the eerie dark of the cold kitchen. Jack is a fool, but he wouldn’t have the boy any other way.

“Are you listening well, darling? I’m only going to say this once, so you better make sure you’re paying attention. You can’t win this game just by looking absolutely gorgeous, you know. That’d be no fun; there’d be no playing, because you’d definitely take the prize in a heartbeat if that were the case, love.”

A pair of lightly chapped lips are just barely placed on Jack’s neck, scraping across the stubble there and admitting a soft flow of warm breath to fan across the skin. Jack shivers, at the compliment he’s just received and at the feel of his lover so intimate and close. There’s a killer behind him, one that’s armed and at the ready, but while that man’s a cold-blooded murder, that’s also his Alex. The same Alex he still almost always immediately caves for and is unconditionally in love with. He can’t control the way his feelings take him over, and with the way Alex is so sickly making him feel, he doesn’t think he even wants to be in control.

“Mmm, baby, that’s not the point of what we’re playing. Just listen to me; you’ll get the hang of it I’m sure. I’m going to tell you the final rule, and after I do, the game begins. Are you ready?”
Jack’s hands are suddenly shaking horrendously and his hair is beginning to stick to the top of his forehead in anxiety with sweat. There’s no getting around whatever’s about to go down, though. It’s all or nothing, Jack thinks. And when speaking about Alex, with weapon in hand, nothing means the absolute end of the line- death.

“You now have a thirty second head start to run for your life. Go.”

And just like that Jack’s so harshly and forcefully shoved towards something in the dark, the hand that guided him there apparently misjudging the distance to it because his body slams into the door that had been only a few feet in front of him. There’s no time to focus on the ache of a bruise that he can feel forming at the protruding areas of his ribs though- no, there are much larger tasks at hand to be fretting about.

Before he can even really think anything through, Jack’s feet are moving him so quickly to places hidden in the shadows, covered by the blackness. It’s like he can’t even feel himself really sprinting, it’s so rushed and panicked and crazed because really, why wouldn’t it be? Jack can swear that with every turn he makes and every wall he runs into that the sound of Alex’s voice counting down tauntingly is only getting louder. Maybe it’s his brain finally breaking and becoming delusional in the perilous game of hide-and-go-kill, but Jack’s not thinking logically and all he can really come up with is the theory that it’s Alex moving closer, Alex coming to get him in the dark. In reality, it is, but he’s got the head start, right? He’s too far for Alex to be able to find him now, right?

There are so many hyper-active thoughts jumping and scratching their way through Jack’s mind that he’s not really paying attention to where he’s going, where he even is anymore. Given, he couldn’t see where he was going anyway, but when he hears the sound of heavy feet being lugged across the floor, he’s almost completely certain that walls don’t walk, don’t move and breathe and slump around whilst being guided by the smell of blood.

When the footsteps stop, Jack thinks he’s too late, thinks his feet and his senses didn’t connect fast enough for him to come to a halt before he ran into whomever or whatever was lurking around the corner. The silence is killing him and he doesn’t think he can take it, he’s almost completely deprived of air and the way he’s keeping his hyperventilating breaths pent up still inside his lungs isn’t helping his condition. But then the ground almost feels as though it’s shaking, and despite thinking for a stupid moment that it’s something other than feet pounding on the ground, it does finally click. Jack exhales all that he’d been holding in, thankful that whomever that was had decided on going in the opposite direction of him. Alex was already right on his tail, he didn’t need another psycho chasing after him, let alone one that could snap his neck and crack his head with just a flick or two of his meaty wrists.

Speaking of Alex, Jack’s unfortunate almost encounter has cost him precious time. While halted, his lovely little boyfriend whom he loves so much has had at least a minute to catch up. Even with being in the dark, the killer can find Jack quickly, easily, and the game almost doesn’t even seem fun to him anymore when the prize is so easily won. But when he whispers a playful, yet still entirely terrifying “boo” behind him, the way Jack jumps and trips over himself in his haste to get away just brings all of the joy of playing right back to him.

“Why are you running from me, Jack? Don’t you love me anymore?” Alex asks innocently, and if Jack wasn’t scared for his life he would have probably thrown up or something, from making Alex feel unloved. He absolutely hated to see Alex hurt, and his feelings would never change, even if Alex didn’t exactly feel the same for him. The naivety and ignorance of Alex’s words are of course untrue though- not real, and forced. It’s an act, for his own sick enjoyment. He likes to watch Jack suffer even further, gets a cheap thrill from watching his boyfriend struggle between wanting to scramble to his feet in escape and pulling Alex close in a warm embrace or kiss- though he knew exactly what the latter would earn him. That’s just one of the best parts of the game, though; watching Jack crumble underneath him until his free will vanished.

Alex swings a leg over his lover’s slim body, the one that’s too-small-too-skinny, yet extremely attractive in its own tiny and bony way. It’s the same one that he’s touched so many times before, as they’re both sweating profusely and sharing hot, pleasured touches. However, as much as Alex loves Jack’s body, his lanky limbs and petite frame, there’s always just been that one thought, that this could be better, he can make Jack ultimately perfect.

“You’re so pretty to me, angel. You make me happy, you know? It’s like, when we used to sleep at the apartment together, and I’d wake up in the morning next to you, I didn’t even care if the sun was risen or hidden or even still burning at all. The only thing I thought and cared about was you, and the way you looked and smelled and tasted. I thought about how I got to spend the whole of my day with you all over again, and just… how perfect you were. You still are perfect. Like a little princess, completely gorgeous without even having to flick a hair out of your face.”

Somewhere between the words angel and princess, Jack’s begun to tear up. Actually, the tears are mercilessly streaking his face with trail after salty trail. There’s so much going through his head that he can’t even really tell if he’s sad and terrified or if Alex makes him that happy too, if he’s crying because the words make him feel good and he’s just so in love with Alex that it hurts. It doesn’t matter though, because there’s barely any time to distinguish the cause of his tears before he begins to absolutely bawl, his eyes aching and his head hurting. Alex isn’t whispering sweet nothings anymore, though- he’s brought out Jack’s “prize”, so he can finally win their little game.

“I know you’re scared of it, Jacky. I know that this isn’t what you want, but I can’t help myself. There’s no way I’d be able to keep going if I knew I let someone as beautiful as you go to waste. You’re beautiful, did you know? It’s true; you’re the best and most beautiful thing to ever come into my life. It’s crazy how perfect you are. Sometimes I even think that I’ve just gone insane, that you aren’t even real. You are real, though, and this is happening. It’ll be okay, sweetheart. It won’t even last long at all.”

“A-Alex, please, y-you don’t want to do this. I-I love you, pl-please, I love you so much.”

“Aw Jack, baby. This is what I want- I love you, can’t you just do this for me, be happy for me?”

“W-we can just leave here, g-go somewhere else a-and pretend this never happened. I-if you just let me go, le-let me live, we can spend the rest of our lives together. Please, Alex, pl-please! I don’t want to die!”

The cracking words that are stammered out and rushing from Jack’s lips are relatively close to breaking Alex. He knows that it’s selfish of him to do this to Jack- he’d even just admitted that he wanted to stay alive, wanted to be Alex’s lover in life, not his porcelain doll or play thing in death.

Now that Alex’s got Jack right where he wants him though, begging horrifically under his touch and at the ready to finally be modified to his pristine extent for good, it seems as though the want is dragging him in, anchoring him down and keeping him pinned there. He loves Jack, of course, with every single bone, muscle and nerve in his body. But that’s nearly the whole reason he’s doing this anyway, right? And it’s not what Jack wants, but his own greed, want and need for his own selfish reasons are overtaking that feeling. Alex loves Jack, but he just feels as though he’d love him a little more when he’s dead.

Before Jack’s pleas can chisel away at Alex’s heart anymore, the elder’s leaning down to roughly yet lovingly pressing his lips to Jack’s. Jack’s still hiccupping and letting his tears flow free as his boyfriend kisses him passionately, but those small choked breaths that he has trouble taking in due to crying are some of the last he’ll ever take.

“Don’t forget that I love you, Jack. I’m so sorry.”

Jack lets an excruciating scream rip free in reply.

The knife’s position isn’t the most effective, but that’s just the way Alex likes it. No clean cut through the heart- a wound torn near the lungs, so the victim can die from not only the blood flowing out of them, but from the same blood actually drowning them as well. It’s not even a minute after the initial stab that Jack’s worried and pained face begins to soften, features dropping sadly as he takes in that it’s the end of the road for him. There are still desperate gasps for air and scratchy sounds of pain flowing from his mouth, but they’re quieter than when he first started dying, aren’t as full of life as they once were. Of course, this is because the life’s quite literally being drained out of him, but it’s still sad to see him go so drearily.

It’s as Jack’s struggling so hard to form words, staring so sadly up at his Alex with glossy eyes and blood streaming out of his mouth, that Alex actually feels his heart break. The worst bit of it all though, is when Jack finds his last faltering thread of strength, and forces the words out of his throat that almost have Alex crying as well.

“I love you too. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you.”

Alex wants to yell and shout and everything in between, wants to scream at Jack that no, that’s not it, he’s always been good enough, always will be. But Jack’s already gone. His pained, troubled breaths have stopped and the once erratic beating of his heart is no longer. Alex has finally done it, killed the one and only person he’s ever loved- and he couldn’t have been happier about it.

Of course there’s heartbreak involved at first, because Alex will never hear Jack’s voice again, won’t see his breath-taking smile again or get to listen to the laugh that seemed to knock him out almost every time. He still has Jack though, has him in his reach in the firmest grip anyone’s ever known. Maybe not all of Jack, none of his stupid jokes or his sleepy morning eyes, but what he does have seems to overcome all of that, anyway. Lying on the concrete floor, blood still flowing cleanly from his body, dead- Alex has never seen anyone or anything more spectacularly perfect in his entire life. There’s something about Jack’s unmoving, paling body that’s his for as long as he wants now that makes all the sad parts of him just fade away. Jack’s his now, exactly how he wants him, and there wasn’t anything that was between them anymore.

Maybe he’d been sitting on his dead boyfriend for longer than he intended, or maybe the authorities were just quick to jump on the situation. Either way though, the common sound of sirens are nearing the asylum and getting louder by the second. Alex knows that if anyone sees what he’s done, they’ll take his Jack away from him. And he knows that if that happens, he’ll surely go mad, even more so than any of the others that are penned up in their cells.

Jack’s blood is still in a rather large pool on the floor, but that isn’t really Alex’s main concern. The heavy hands and voices that are quickly making their way inside will probably have many more puddles of the same stuff to go through and decipher the source of, anyway.

It’s difficult, to say the least, moving an entirely uncooperative body to the almost entire other side of the building. Jack really was skinny though, and while Alex thinks for a second that maybe this could have been Jack’s own doing, he’s thankful for the lack of extra weight anyway.

Sometimes people can be so obscenely naïve. A whole acre’s worth of sick people that are scattered around and hiding or crying or screaming in the dark, yet once the authorities actually find someone, they move on, like just seeing them was an accomplishment in itself. They think it’s better to make sure they’re all there first, still inside, rather than moving each of the patients back to their rooms once they’re spotted. Alex has to hand it to them, though. It made his task much, much easier to accomplish.

He hears the clunk of their footsteps and the frantic orders being spat into their radios, hears the sounds nearing him until they finally reach his room. The most they do is peer in though, catch sight of Alex curled up and “sleeping” on his metal block of a bed, before chaining a temporary padlock to his door and moving on to find the next potentially threatening killer. It makes him happy, to say the least, that they don’t even bother to come and scour his room or search for anything out of place. They pass him off as harmless, or at least uninvolved and unaware of what had happened; leaving him to finally have some alone time with his beautiful boyfriend. He’s happy he doesn’t have to leave Jack unattended for too long, also- Jack had always been scared of going underneath the bed.

The smell of blood is strong and it burns his nose, but the same metallic tang and the icy cold paper skin of Jack’s body is just so inviting. His bed is slick with the same stuff that’s still smeared on the side of Jack’s face and his own hands, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Most people are out having a good time with their friends and laughing all night long, but Alex has never had a better Halloween than this, would trade a stupidly boring party for Jack’s limp arms forcibly wrapped around him any day.

It does dawn on him that this, his fantasy come true, might not last forever, because Jack had family and friends that care about him and would kill to know where and how he disappeared. Even just one night alone like this is enough for Alex, though. He’s sleeping with Jack again, curled up and snuggled close just like they used to. How could he not be content?

“You’ll always be good enough for me.” He says, pressing his lips to his lover’s hair that’s soaked in sweat and blood.

He’s insane, completely out of his mind- but Jack’s here with him, and there’s nothing he would change about this moment. Alex is damned after all, but the pretty little doll in his arms is enough to pull that thought from his mind. After all, what’s a crazy man without the thing that actually drives him over the border of saneness?

“Goodnight, Jack. Sweet dreams, beautiful.”

And Jack doesn’t respond, just stays asleep, like he knows Alex wants him to. Finally giving Alex what he’s always wanted. Madness; Alex couldn’t be any happier.