Again. It was happening again. Ryan had admitted to his flirty nature before, but he'd always said that nobody else meant anything and it was at the very least implied that he wouldn't be trying to do any more than flirting. Blaine knew Ryan, and because he knew Ryan he was sure that he had every reason to be upset about that conversation. It had stirred the cauldron of stagnant emotion within Blaine before when it was just flirting, when Ryan was the only one doing it, but now the flirting was being returned and Ryan had the nerve to act like they hadn't already had this conversation.
Was this why it was taboo to sleep with your siblings? Because they'd always want more than you could offer?
Blaine didn't understand. In his formative years, when he was supposed to be learning advanced social cues and how to act like a normal human being, he was lost in trauma. Even now, while he was "over it," the cloud of those events clung to him like low hanging fog on this cold, wet night. It had been raining when Blaine first stepped out of his trailer and he'd actually been happy to feel the ice cold daggers of freezing rain soaking through his clothes. The physical discomfort was more comfortable to focus on than his rage.
He hoped he'd run into someone he knew; someone he'd met before; perhaps someone like Jackson, who was related to someone he was friends with. Someone with whom he could watch the aftermath of their death, someone with relatives and friends that would grieve openly on his shoulder and further feed the inhumane beast that was inside of him.
He snorted as he recalled how evil his other brother, Elliott, seemed to think himself. Elliott was a girl scout in comparison, and Blaine might be the only one who saw it (through narcissistic glasses) but it was still a fact. Blaine doubted that there was anyone out there that was truly his equal. Perhaps that was why he couldn't find a particularly happy place of mind to stay in while other people were so active in his life.
Maybe he'd have to be alone to be truly happy.
Maybe he'd just have to let the world burn then.
His legs carried him to all of his usual haunts, most of them in or around the park where he had already killed so many. Because of how careless he'd allow himself to become and still not being caught, he was full of himself. He felt invincible. He could kill anyone in this town and not even bother with hiding their bodies. Levi had found one of his kills and he hadn't heard a single word about it afterwards. Riley had gone missing (not by his hand) and nobody seemed even the slightest bit concerned.
What couldn't he get away with? At this point, the answer seemed to be very little- if anything at all.
So he let himself lead himself closer to the populace and sure enough, it wasn't long until someone donning a brown paper bag and the booze that was supposed to be hidden in it wrapped an arm around him and urged him into an alley. It was dirty, dark, and more than a little damp, but Blaine allowed his clothes to be stripped and he practically ripped them off of the other man, their faces pressed together in a vivid mess of teeth and tongues.
"You're cute," he said and Blaine's eyes narrowed.
"Call me cute again," Blaine replied, tilting his head as he stepped closer to the man, letting their bare hips touch. The other man was hard, Blaine wasn't. They kissed again and Blaine forced the other man up against a wall. The rugged texture of the wall scraped open Blaine's hands and knuckles as they raked across it, and the other man was even worse off with the road rash that was being scraped into his lower back and shoulders-- but his body was too drunk to feel. Somehow, this made things even better for Blaine. He could easily control and manipulate this inebriated being, and pretty soon the two were a pair of modestly injured arms and legs, tangled in each other. When they fell to the ground, Blaine remained on top and he stared down into those gorgeous eyes as he curled his fingers around the man's dick and practically yanked it off. Before any reaction could be made, Blaine's other hand was around the handle of one of his knives and everything went red.
The first time the blade came down, the rain water and darkness made it hard to see the crimson flow but by the third or fourth, the whole alley was awash with it. There was so much blood that by the sixth stab, Blaine's hand slipped on the blade and he cut the inside of his palm open. Still, he kept stabbing, knowing that the rain was going to start up any minute now and wash his beautiful, enraged mess and leave nothing but an embarrassed corpse.
Naked, shivering from cold and rage, and higher than a heroin addict, Blaine sat there for what felt like forever. He watched as the rain started up again and most of the blood was washed into the drainage system that led to the sewers. It wasn't until the sun started coming up that he got up, grabbed his clothes, and made a naked escape back to the carnival encampment.
