Best Served With A Hot Make Out Session

Rody is weak for Vince's pretty face and we all know it:

The freezer was, well, fucking freezing. How Rody had managed to muster up enough energy to even move that flour or saw those bones and shove them into the fan was a mystery to him too. But he had, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. some higher power had been looking over him today, and he had gotten more luck than he ever has in all his pitiful years of being on this Earth.

He cringed as the loudness of the crashing glass rang like nails on a chalkboard through his ears, and tried his best not to get any glass embedded in the plains of his shaking arm, but really any patience he had had previously to stay cautious was all but null after he moment he found himself tied up in rope, laid on the floor of the freezer to, well, freeze.

No, now he was going as fast as he could to get the fuck out of here and back to his small, but much /safer/ apartment. And maybe move to somewhere a bit further away from here too, just to be safe. It wouldn't have to be too big a place. Not like he was going to ever have anyone over anymore, since... Since Manon...

Fuck. No. He could think about Manon later. Right now, he had to continue evading her killer and prevent himself facing the same fate as she had.

He had to live for her; for his beloved Manon.

She wouldn't do the same for him, but... But she still cared. she had cared for him too. Maybe not shown it as much, or ever really talked about it much, but, she still... she still cared. He knew she did.

His fingers finally caught on the handle, and as he was about to twist it to open the door he stopped. Rody looked back at the trashcan. He walked back to it, stooping down. Vincent the /monster/ hadn't moved the locket. It still lay there, glittering like treasure under the humming glow of the freezer lights. Rody lent down a shaking hand, picking up the locket by its think golden chain. The loops ran along his cold-wrinkled skin, ice crystalised along the metal.

A wet drop fell on to the mangled picture of Manon. Its warmth melted off a layer of the frost layered over the image. Rody didn't even realise he had been crying this whole time.

Breathing in deeply, he steadied himself, locket still clasped tightly in his trembling hand. He needed to be brave. For Manon.

He walked briskly back to the freezer door, fiddling again with he lock on the other side before it clicked and the door creaked open. Rody tiptoed through, not making a single sound. The bistro was uncomfortably silent, like it had been a couple days ago when he had first stayed late. He remembered that picture he had found in Vincent's bin. The love letters, too. All signed 'M'.

He can't bare to think what Vincent must have done to seduce and trick his beloved Manon into doing those things.

And the sounds. Those odd...squelchy...sawing...

Oh. Fuck.

Fuck.

/Fuck/.

Rody gagged. All he could taste was bile. Those sounds... Those were...

"Manon-" he could barely squeak out, before he is forced to resume his dry hacking and retching. That had been Vincent, slicing and dicing and sawing his beloved girlfriend into little cuts of /meat/, for him to cook and serve like it was just a slab of spare ribs of some shit.