Joe was digging, he'd been digging for twenty minutes, and not a thing, no long lost diary, there were more pictures of Ella, that he shoved into his jacket pocket, pulling out the next draw. He'd been careful, quiet, Marco had been sleeping, but he was out like a light. Sleeping pills, Meletonin to be exact. Obviously Marco was struggling to sleep, so luckily Joe had no problem sneaking in. The problem was this damn diary. He sipped on some lemonade he found in there fridge, 'what? Breaking and entering is some thirsty work' before getting up and searching the next drawer. Why did Evan own so many clothes. He sighed. Nothing.
Joe ran a hand through his hair, his cap was on the unmade bed. Dark, blue and worn. How was he supposed to make it up to Ella if he didn't have some lavish romance book for her to fall to her knees for him.
"Evan?"
Like spidey senses, Joe felt goosebumps cover his arms. He stilled for a moment.
"Hey- who the hell are you, turn around" Marcos voice sounded from the doorway. There was no escape, why didn't Evan have windows in here. Joe took a deep breath, he could have sworn he heard a gun chime and lock. Shit. Joe wasn't good with guns, he was a hands on or knife man. Guns were to easy. He turned around slowly, his hands slowly raising, "I can explain,"
"The fuck are you?" Marco questioned, he did indeed have a gun raised, locked and loaded. "Wait a minute,"
It would all be fine if he didn't remember Joes name. Then, there was nothing personal between them.
"Your Ella's friend.. Joe right?"
Joe closed his eyes for a moment, 'dammit'
"You better explain yourself before I shoot you,"
"I was just getting something for Ella- she asked me,"
"So you broke into my house? Ella would call me," he spat, stepping closer to Joe, "I knew something wasn't right with you, as soon as I laid eyes," he said, his voice quiet. Joe let out a shakey breath, Marco dropped his gun slightly, "I'm calling the police."
Marco moved slightly, and Joe took That chance to make a run to the kitchen, he just needed a knife, or a fork, anything. But Margo was a skilled gunsman apparently, Joe managed to reach for a steak knife, but the gun went off and he felt a blistering pain to his left leg. "Shit!" Joe groaned, falling behind a counted, he turned to look at his leg. It didn't go through, but it scraped the side, and 'FUCK it hurt'
Marco eyed the counter, still holding his gun, "get out here, fight me like a man," he yelled. Joe rolled his eyes, at least he got laid, he could die happy. Joe groaned as he attempted to crawl, wincing as his leg before peering around the other side of the long counter, Marco was moving to the spot where he'd shot Joe, obviously hoping he'd killed him, Joe clutched the knife firmly. Pulling himself up with a stool before rubbing up behind him, pressing the knife right between his back, closest to where the heart sat. Marco screamed and stumbled forward, Joe pulling the knife back out, but Marco turned, and Marco being at least 100lbs heavier then Joe, pushed him into the counter in return. He let out a groan, and Joe managed to drop before Marcos fist reached his face. He crawled under the man's legs, using there size differences to his advantage.
Joe felt his foot get grabbed as he was dragged back and upwards, 'god this guy is strong' his fingers managed to slip out of the knives hold, the metal weapon hitting the laminate floors with a clang. Joe was currently being strangled up against the fridge.
"Did you kill my brother you sick son of a bitch," he let out, teeth clenched.
Joes face was turning red as the vein in his head grew. He couldn't breath, he needed to breath, "no-" Joe got a punch to the guy, before Marco held the gun to his head with his spare hand. "Did you kill - my brother," he muttered.
Joe eyed the gun, before managing to grab a pasty roller, from the sink they were next to, breaking Marcos arm with it. Marco dropped the gun, and Joe, Falling to the floor with a grunt, Joe was quick to crawl to the knife, turning around. Marco was grunting in paint, and bleeding, Joe was also bleeding, he clutched the knife hard before slashing the man's neck, Marco falling to the floor, trying to breath. Joe pushed him down, stabbing him repeatedly in the chest until he was dead. He didn't need to stab him, not as many times as he did. Joe was angry, and he was bleeding, and it was a good pair of jeans. Joe was breathing as if he'd just run a marathon, dropping the knife to one side. Sitting on the lifeless body of Marco. He leant his head back, wiping the blood splatters off his face. He was going to be late for work. And Ethan would call and he would say "hey man, where are you?"
He always did, Ethan was predictable.
Joe pushed himself off of Marco, looking around at the mess, and then at the food dispenser in his sink, then he looked at Marco. These things grind up anything right.
*
--
Two hours, thirty three minutes, four seconds and three vomits later, Marcos body was gone, and his house was clean. Joe had to clean it, then stage it as if Marco had been gone for weeks. Which wasn't true. Joe hated cutting people up, but what else was he supposed to do, the street was way to busy to just lug him out. And he was late for work. Ethan had already messaged him twice, and Ella- Ella hadn't messaged him at all. Which was worrying, why wouldn't she message him? She wasn't mad was she. It wasn't a big deal, he groaned, shoving his phone into his pocket and throwing the gloves he was wearing into the trash. He had to go, to work. And pretend like all of this hadn't happened. It was easy. He always did it. Candace didn't drown in a lake skying, Beck didn't get murdered by her therapist, Benji didn't go missing on a hiking trip in Japan, and Evan.. Evan didn't run away. But no one, no one knew, and it would stay that way, Joe would make sure of it. He was a good guy.
He threw out his bloodied jacket and made a
-
Fast walk to his apartment, haunted by the embarrassment, she had to understand, it wasn't his fault. He wasn't in the wrong. He just needed time. And a bandage, "fuck," he whimpered, leaning against his shower curtain as he washed the large gash on his leg. "Fuck Marco, fuck guns, andfuckMrMooneyandthisdamnwaterpressure-" he breathed. Finishing the stitches, and hurrying to change. He put on some soft pants and a black sweater, a little casual but right now he just needed to get to work, he limped slightly, worse until he got to Mr Mooneys. He just out less pressure on it the closer he got. It was fine. The bell sounded sounded as Joe entered, eyeing Ethan, "Ethan I'm so sorry- I had an awful night and I just, I must have slept in," he held up his phone, letting out a chuckle of disbelief, "I forgot to put my alarm on, what a ass," he let out, shaking his head, "I promise, I'll work the late tonight to make up for it," he smirked, patting Ethan's arm. God he hated being friendly.
