Love Kills (Dnf Short Story)

1am Panic

Few hours before Death

(Clay's pov)

I feel an uncontrollable urge to get out of my bed around midnight. I feel like I'm sleepwalking with a full understanding of what I'm doing and what I'm capable of. Yet, I have no control of what my body does. Like, getting out of bed at midnight.

I got up and wandered over into my kitchen, oddly I grabbed a pen that rested on the counter then I found a piece of scratch paper. That's when I began to write. I wrote and wrote, making only one mistake throughout the whole process, in which I just crossed out and tried again. When I lifted the note up to my face to quickly reread what I wrote lazily down,

I wanted to cry.

Suddenly a complete overwhelming guilt and fright came over me. No, I couldn't be doing this. What the fuck is wrong with me. What. The. Fuck.

I folded the paper in half and put it into my pocket. I had to stop myself, I couldn't let myself do this. But my mind was separated from my body, I had no control. I then walked away into my bathroom where two brand new red towels hung on my towel rack on the wall. I grabbed and folded them both neatly underneath my left arm. I felt a tear run down my cheek. I exited the bathroom and went back into my kitchen where I grabbed my black latex gloves, the chef's knife, and garbage bags. I was confused as to why I needed these items... now I know.

Abruptly, I heard a whisper. It was no whisper of a person in the room or a whisper of the wind. It was eerie in a way. Psychotic. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand on edge but want to keep pushing to finish my terrible and scary goal. I finally let myself exit my house. It took awhile, but I was too tired to fight the whisper anymore. I couldn't help the urge anymore.

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Death Day

(George's pov)

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I found myself heavily invested in a show tonight, as I sat on my couch and watched multiple episodes of the series. It was something someone with the right amount of sleep and good routine wouldn't find interesting. But I was anything but well rested and well organized. So, I found this deathly boring show, rather intriguing.

I watch this show until the moon shines through the overcast night and lights my room with a white light. The 'play next episode' pops up on my TV screen and I immediately press okay on my remote as the last episode ended on a cliffhanger, I must keep watching! I got to. I laugh and sigh at myself once I've relaxed back into my leather sofa and underneath my blanket.

I watched half of the show, amazed by the charismatic shots and dramatic scenes, but I'm startled when I hear loud and obnoxious steps come close to my door. My whole body jumps while my stomach flips with anxiety when two knocks sound from my door.

I got up, struggling since my legs had fallen asleep and went all tingly on me. A part of me finds this kind of odd, after all it's almost 1am and I hadn't one day shipped anything. I haven't invited anyone over either. I steadily make my way to the door.

I'm just about to open it when another loud knock slams down on the door. Who the hell is this and why are they so loud at this hour? Why do they feel the need to be so aggressive as well? I reach for the knob again, not startled when the last knock pounds down. I pull it open, half expecting to be murdered right then and there. But instead I tilt my head to the side in confusion.

"Clay?" I ask groggily, inviting him into my house. He steps in, his breathing is uneven and his face is lined in tear stains. I'm considerably worried when he practically breaks down and begins to cry his heart out. "Clay, what's wrong. Talk to me." I gesture for him to come in for a hug.

He walks closer and we hug, he squeezes so tight as if it was going to be the last time we would ever see each other. I nervously put my hand into his hair and stroked it calmly in hopes of calming him. His wailing did quiet a little, now he's just just sniffling and shaking his shoulders. I continue to hold him in my arms and stroke his blonde hair. I'm a little bit shocked at how light he is for his insane height, but he still covers most of my upper body with his lengthy arms and broad shoulders.

After a little, I walk us over to my couch where we both sit patiently for him to calm down to where he can talk. I sit by close and rub his knuckles tenderly. Even though we've been touchy and clingy, even teasing with each other, this is oddly domestic. It's almost like we were meant to be in this place with each other. It felt so natural to just pick up his hand and begin rubbing each of his knuckles with my thumb. It felt right when he leaned over me in the hug. But I'm unable to think about it for much longer.

"I need..." he starts still sniffling and taking in large uneven breaths, "I need help."