Work Text:
inspired by this amazing art that got me feeling things
🩸🩸🩸
Warm hands, usually hot on his skin, are cold now. At least, they’re much colder than they were an hour ago. All that liquid heat has pooled around them, stained Alex with the dirtiness that he can’t wash off. It’s filthy, sinking into his clothes, staining them, reaching deep and staining his soul. When the cloudiness leaves his mind, he’s left with that liquid heat in his veins that quickly turns to ice, freezes in place in the cold, and chokes him up. The only thing warm about him now wasn’t even his in the first place.
Alex’s throat constricts, growing tight to the point that it’s difficult to breathe, to think, to swallow the lump in his throat. He’s out of control of himself, of his life, of his own actions, and he’s spiraled so badly that he can only sit at the bottom of the pit and wonder how he ever allowed it to get this bad.
It’s almost poetic, in a sick way. In the void of wherever they are - Alex doesn’t even know anymore - there’s nothing but them. The lack of colour was depressing, but it was offset by the rich crimson, nearly a black with the amount that surrounded him. It was warm still, but quickly cooling, much like Alex’s own.
Such beautiful light hair, golden like the sun, so filthy now; stained with Alex’s sins. Such soft, caressable skin, now drained of colour. So limp amongst the life that surrounded her, so cold despite its warmth.
He’s covered in her life, heat soaking into his dirty clothing. His skin feels filthier than it ever has, dark liquid sinking into the creases of his palms and knuckles, reaching up, stretching higher and higher until it can consume him, swallow him whole back into the void. A similar heat makes its way from his eyes, running down his stained face, though it contains the lack of colour like the rest of his surroundings.
He can’t breathe, can’t think. Taking her face between his hands, Alex tilts her face to the side, the heat running down his face choking him up. Her soft blue eyes, they’re absent of the life they contained moments ago, the light blue turned to a cold grey instead. When he wipes his hot thumbs over her pale skin, he spreads the colour over them, but not in the right way, and he ends up jerking his hands away, taking in the smeared handprints on her face.
And with her lifeless eyes watching him, Alex runs like the coward he is. He isn’t even sure how far he makes it before he’s collapsed to his knees, staring at the stolen warmth that covers him. The ice in his veins melts just enough to loosen his throat as he closes his eyes and tips his head back, screaming for the life to return to her.
“When you killed Amy, did you feel like you were in control then?”