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HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY🎆🇺🇸
Not only did Harry visit the bar frequently but he also happened to work there during the day shifts, not wanting to interrupt his nightly ruetine. He knew all of the workers due to him working there all day until the sun set when he would head home only to turn to pick up his victim.
He was currently running late which would have seemed fine to him but Tim had mumbled something about him being rarely on time while in his usual drunken state. The body that was just previously laying in his shower made a bigger mess than he had anticipated.
He had picked up a man who was stumbling outside of the bar chanting about how great he was at sex which Harry just couldn't decline. He allowed him to top because he wanted to perceive as a weak bottom until he got him into the shower and bashed his head into the tile.
The urge came so early that it worried him. He knew that if it started so early that it would appear later on throughout the day numerous times. And its not like he could just deny what the dark part of him wanted him to do.
If he refused to kill, a sharp pain would surge from his side to his heart where he felt like he was dying but it was a mental thing. He knew the urge well from years of becoming accustomed to its random appearances.
His bones shook. Literally. His finger tips would become numb and the nerves would burn slowly bringing pain to his joints. But that wasn't the worst part. His eyes, whether they had contacts or not, would sting terribly like he had to cry but no tears shed.
"Fuck." He grumbled, checking his watch as he scrubbed at the previously white tiles. A stubborn blood stain wedged its way into the cracks on the wall and he couldn't leave any traces. Not if he wanted to keep living this lifestyle. "Why did i even believe you." He muttered to the body that was slumped against the corner of his shower.
If someone is bragging about how great they are at sex that means they're terrible.
He threw the scrub into the dark pink colored water that was in his black cleaning bucket, forcefully removing his clear rubber gloves before smirking at the corpse. "Don't move." He chuckled, pointing an authoritative finger at the man before grabbing his phone from his dresser and hurrying out of his apartment.
"Harry, do you have my rent?" The old man that owned the building called out from the top of the stairs as he hurried down the steps. "I'm going to make some money now, Mr. Henderson!" He retorted, pushing open the rusty door to be hit with the clean fresh air.
He pulled out a cig from his back pocket and cupped his hands around the end as he lit it with his lucky black lighter. On his way to work he smoked to relieve some of the stress that was already floating through his system and it was only noon.
His fingertips were beginning to grow numb and his bones trembled as he rushed towards Josie's Bar before he had to look around for another life to take. He had to preoccupy himself.
