#v: max

[empirexsin]

we should meet in another life @williopolis

a weird statement he thinks. they've had a moment of domesticity between them. peaceful. no arguments. no spiteful words have been thrown out of the venomous tongue that max has towards her with intention of making her cry. no. he's bought them six dishes to share of chinese takeout. they're sat together in his home. there hasn't been a horrible incident or sentence thrown between them. no sight of blood lingering on the walls or staining the porcelain bathtub. it smells fresh in his apartment. like everything has been cleaned and washed. a mixture of lavender and a strange, but pleasant, musk filling the air. and of course, now, the scent of different foods from the takeout three blocks away.

" do you think we'd like each other in another life? " could have told her it's a weird declaration to make whilst he's serving them up dinner. he doesn't eat straight out of the takeout containers. has got them both a plate out from his kitchen cupboard, pouring equal portions onto them. everything is split down the middle. and aside from the sound of their voices disturbing the momentary lapse of peace between them, there's the sound of the television in the other room. some comedy show he can't identify, only knows it's a comedy because of the forced track laughter as though to encourage everyone watching to have some warped sense of humour - to laugh at things that simply aren't funny.

" i think one life is enough. don't you? " maybe it's a good thing they only encounter each other in this one. it isn't that he dislikes willow. his earlier question might have made that an assumption. he's fond of her enough that he invites her over. stalks her. makes sure that no one really lays their hands on her. sort of like some unwanted protector whose just shown up. but he's not really a protector. could kill her himself if he wanted to. and he has wanted to before. part of him still thinks about it. but then how else would he spend all his free-time?

[flcksin]

" i want you inside me ” / @salices​

a young girl, a freshman, he met in a bar in his junior year told him early one fall that ‘ life is full of endless possibilities’. he tried valiantly not to choke on the beer nuts he was chewing while she gushed this kidney stone of wisdom, and he calmly washed them down with the rest of a heineken, smiled, and concentrated on the dart game that was going on in the corner. needless to say, she did not live to see her sophomore year. that winter, her body was found floating in the river, decapitated, her head hung from a tree in the bank, her hair knotted around a low-hanging branch, three miles away. he thinks maybe she was right. life is full of endless possibilities. after all, how else would her head have ended up tied to a tree? thrown up there in the same way that sneakers are thrown up onto phone line wires and stuck up there for weeks - months before some lazy local authority figure can be bothered to get them down with a twig. he thinks they got her head down a lot quicker than any sneakers, though. he thinks of how he’d left after a eurotrash girl had told him she liked his blue hair. he’d told her he’d like to tit-fuck her and then maybe cut her arms off, but the music, george michael singing ‘faith’ was too loud and she couldn’t hear him.

this was the geography around which max’s reality revolved. it did not occur to him, ever, that people were good or that man was capable of change or that the world could be a better place through one’s taking pleasure in a feeling or a look or a gesture, of receiving another person’s love or kindness. nothing was affirmative, the term ‘generosity of spirit’ applied to nothing, was a cliche, was some kind of bad joke. sex is mathematics. individuality no longer an issue. what does intelligence signify? define reason. desire - meaningless. intellect is not a cure. justice is dead. fear, recrimination, innocence, sympathy, guilt, waste, failure, grief, were things, emotions, that no one really felt anymore. evil is its only permanence. god is not alive. love cannot be trusted. surface, surface, surface was all that anyone found meaning in...this was civilisation as he saw it. colossal and jagged and  -

i want you inside of me. 

he switches back to where he is. what he’s doing. who she is. who he is. willow, a blonde haired woman with blue eyes. she’s the perfect example of hitler’s _superior _civilisation. the aryan civilisation. except she isn’t racist. she isn’t a dumb motherfucker either. she’s beautiful with a natural body and she kisses him in the night and sometimes, since he’s asked, during the day. but it’s mostly at night they share these kisses that are hidden by the darkness that suround them. alike now. except they’ve moved to a hotel this time. it’s a step up from the lousy motel they were in a few days ago. it didn’t have a television and the bathroom was a disgrace. ‘  i know you think i’m a piece of fucking shit, but i still have standards when it comes to where i fucking wash my balls and clean my teeth ’ he’d declared, frustrated, maybe even angry when he’d walked in to see the not-so-clean motel bathroom. but what could they expect? it was cheap. they were on the run. but for some reason max had been angered by it. sat on his knees in the bathroom for around an hour cleaning as though he were some kind of poor, underpaid maid. he doesn’t know what willow did while he was doing this. probably wallowing at the state of it all - or thinking about food. a common ground they share.

and she’s closer to him tonight on the bed. very close. there’s no separation between them. his hand has been playing with her hair, and trailing his fingers occasionally down her neck in between sparse kisses they share as though he limits the amount between the background noise of the television that plays at a low, comfortable volume. it’s a new luxury they’ve been taking advantage of. watching old movies and _storage hunters. ‘ i want to find an antique that costs like...five million dollars ’ he’d said once while watching the group raid a storage unit they’d bought, only to find someone had left the ashes of a relative in an urn and a few crap pieces of furniture. “ you don’t know what you’re saying ” he gives her the benefit of the doubt. maybe she’s half asleep. fantasising about some celebrity crush she has. or horny because she hasn’t had sex with a stranger for months. maybe this could be called, merciful. 

[empirexsin]

❝ i’m staying, okay? you don’t have to be alone tonight. ❞ @sn4pping

he hasn't often played the role of the damsel in distress. but it seemed an important step to take, something he would praise himself mentally for in light of how quick-thinking he had been in taking such an initiative. particularly when he had little time to think - microseconds - when face-to-face with the other, unexpectedly. a scratch on his forehead from nails that had tried to dig into his flesh to get him away. to stop the pressure he was enforcing only forty-seven minutes ago. or is it fifty-one now?

there are a few bruises on his knuckles, and some blood on the collar of his shirt that he is fortunate is mostly covered by his jacket. but that bothers him. not the fact that it's covered, but the fact it's there. the fact he knows it needs to be washed, thrown in the laundry basket with all of his other clothes. some just need to be washed from being out in the city. others, soiled with marks of mud, or blood, or saliva.

he takes a deep breath, staring downwards at his shoes. he plays the part well of a victim. but he's hyperaware. would have preferred to be alone, but now he's got company. " thank you " he says, with a slight shudder to his breath. as though shaken up. " i just can't believe i was fucking mugged " maybe that's too much swearing. that sounds too much like him. " sorry- " he is sheepish in his apology, imitating those shitty actors and actresses he's seen play a similar part on a crappy television show. " i'm just glad it was me and not some...you know, more vulnerable person "

[inevitablexending]

" i don’t like to repeat myself ” 

he had been in a calm mood before he had interacted with this familiar face. to anyone else, perhaps this person is fine to be around, and does not stir the smallest ounce of frustration within them. but for max, they do. max, who is high maintenance, a short tempered man, well-educated and cultured, and importantly, a serial killer. years have gone by with max uncaught. taking it upon himself to go under different aliases, and blending so easily into the herd of sheep that is the rest of this fucking population. and yet lately he has been caught in ties with the person opposite him. some kind of strange tango they seem to have between them. some unestablished relationship and he hopes it will continue that way. if only because he can see no reason for their use other than to take his anger out on. to dismember and kill at the strength of his hands. for max is an almighty being. a self-proclaimed god. and although some may shake their heads and scoff at the egotism of such an accusation, they soon take back the words when their last breath pronounces the words, ‘ my god ’ while he’s snapping their vertebrae. 

“ and i know that the one brain cell you do fucking have must be working at something. ” he mutters. his words, always direct and far too honest to a point of insulting. crude and cruel. “ so tell me it’s for fucking listening and not just there to tell you when to stop jerking your genitals raw ”