stripper killer [matty healy]

seventeen - possesion

possession:(noun) the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─

matty

i just seemed to sink completely into my old armchair, a cigarette in one hand and my trusty bottle of jack daniels in the other. the sudden realisation hits me that's i've been sat chain smoking and drinking since i had got home from india's this morning and i can't help but let out a dramatic sigh.

i guess you could say my head was a jungle right now. a big, messy nicotine and alcohol filled jungle that didn't quite understand why i had slept in her bed last night and why i was so keen to go back and apologise for everything that happened this morning but, yet on the other hand, why i didn't feel at any point that i wanted to go and apologise to that man whose sister i had slaughtered. it didn't make sense to me how i could have such lack of emotion in one sense but then a shit - tonne in the other. wait, no. it wasn't emotion. it can't be. i don't have emotion.

i feel the burn of the cigarette getting hotter, indicating it was coming to an end. "for fucks sake." i whine. i know that this was my last one. i also know without these i'm going to give in to my other... habits.

i stared into space as i decide on my next move. i had two options really, i could either go back to her house and try and apologise and pick up where we left of and eat delicious breakfast together (which i totally know wouldn't happen) or i could do the one thing i do best. the one thing that's always been there to help me soothe; to kill.

or, even better... i could do both, and kill her, just like i had been obsessing over since i first saw her.

no.

not her.

but someone.

-

"it's 1am and the streets are dead. just give up matty" i repeatedly speak aloud to myself while probably giving myself piles sitting on this bench. i had been mindlessly wandering from club to club for hours and there was nobody. fuck, was i running out of strippers? i pull my lighter out of my pocket and begin sliding it across my jeans to light it, then closing it, then repeating. in all honestly i was just trying to distract my other thumb that was hovering over india's contact on my phone. i'm not sure why i wanted to call. maybe it was because i wanted to hear her voice, maybe it was because i wanted to stain my sheets with her blood. i don't know. either one was bad.

"excuse me?" a voice comes from behind me, making me jump and press call by accident.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!" i furiously tap the screen, hoping i hung up in time.

i finally give my attention to the source of the voice. stood in front of me was a female redhead. she had tired green eyes and limp curls framing her face that had makeup smeared across it. she had obviously had a rough day, yet - she had very pretty features and i was instantly attracted to her, if that's what you call it.

"do you know anywhere i can take some cash out?" her accent was different. irish, maybe?

i look at her for several seconds while i tried to decide whether to help her or not. i know it's probably not best considering i'm dying to kill and there's nobody else around. plus, the odds of her being a stripper are highly unlikely, so she's not an option.

i face the ground and start kicking a stone between both my feet. "go away."

“please." i hear her voice again, only this time it was cracked. was she crying? "please." she sounded desperate.