stripper killer [matty healy]

eleven - numb

numb: (verb) deprive of feeling or responsiveness.

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matty(3rd person)─

matty walked towards the river, his hands tucked up to his chest in desperate attempt to keep them warm. although he didn't feel emotion, he definitely felt the weather - and it fucking sucked. he could've gone straight home but he just to double check. he knew the body was gone, it had to be... but he wanted to be positive.

the wet grass crunched beneath him as he stomps along, pretty angry at himself. the stupid thoughts swirling around in his head - just like every other time he'd seen her.

why didn't he have to let her go again? he was just granted the golden opportunity, and, once again let it slip from his grasp, asif it were butter. it was supposed to have happened already. something, someone, somewhere wanted him to kill her. i mean, that's the only sensible explanation, right? the odds of him bumping into her tonight were so slim, he would've probably been more likely the win the lottery.

the city is huge, thousands of people lace the streets. there's plenty of rivers, streams and lakes he could of decided on. yet he picked the one where she would be. the one by the hilton. heck, what was she doing there anyway? because it certainly wasn't to pick up a friends bag. i mean, he's not one to judge, because, well, he's a serial killer. he's the last person that would judge, but surely that was a little out of her price range?

he kept replaying their conversation over and over in his head, every little detail making him more frustrated than the next. fucking hell, why did he have an actual chat with her?! yeah, it was small talk, but it not something he did, ever.. unless, of course, it was to kill. and he knew from the moment she spoke, that wasn't going to be the case.

something wouldn't let him kill her, despite the burning desire to that was demanding to be felt, it just wasn't possible. every time he came close to ending her, or even as soon as the thought emerges, his whole body would freeze and shutdown, making his fingers numb, almost as numb as his heart.

he didn't exactly know the source of the problem, or why he was spareing her life. i mean, she wasn't exactly the most beautiful of women. and she definitely didn't look her best moments ago. and maybe that in itself is the very thing causing it... the fact that.. she never looked nice. she looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

he reaches the river. his breathing was sparse due to the rush and he even had sweat beads starting to form at his hairline despite the violently cold air. he kneels down out of sight, letting his eyes begin to scan the area. narrowing on each singular ripple - just to make sure it was nothing more. after a good 4 minute staring session, he decides she... or rather it... is definitely gone. and with that, it was time to call it a night.

*

the sound of marimba danced around the room for the third time this morning, pulling him from his blank minded slumber. he rarely dreamt - he was living his dream whenever he killed.

he extended his tattooed arm and took the phone in his grasp, not bothering to check the caller i.d as he slid his thumb across the screen to answer.

"what?" he groaned into the receiver, his voice groggy.

"matty, darling!" the sound of his mothers shrill voice rang into his ears, causing him to screw his face up in annoyance. "i've rang three times this morning. what have you been doing?!"