Elliot

24

Michael's patience had worn thin. The past few weeks of laying low, keeping his distance from Elliot, had left him restless and irritable. The thrill he craved, the control he exerted over life and death, was slipping away, and he could feel the dark hunger rising within him, gnawing at his insides.

That night, after Elliot brushed him off again with talk of trying to rekindle things with Jamie, Michael snapped. He hung up the phone, eyes blazing with fury, and grabbed his hoodie and a knife from the drawer. There was no more waiting. The urge to kill had taken over, and nothing was going to stop him.

He started at a bar near the edge of town, a place where no one knew him and where people wouldn't ask too many questions. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of alcohol and desperation. He spotted his first target quickly: a young man sitting alone at the end of the bar, nursing a drink. Michael approached him with practiced ease, his charming smile disarming.

"Hey," Michael said, sliding onto the stool next to the guy. "Rough night?"

The guy looked up, his eyes bleary. "You could say that."

"Want some company? I could use a drink myself."

They talked for a while, Michael weaving a tale of being new in town, looking for a good time. The guy, too drunk to be cautious, soon agreed to leave the bar with him. As they walked down a dark alley, Michael's heart pounded, the anticipation almost too much to bear.

When they were far enough from prying eyes, Michael struck. He pulled the knife from his pocket and pressed it against the man's side, forcing him into the shadows. The guy tried to struggle, but Michael was stronger, fueled by a dark adrenaline that made him unstoppable. The knife flashed, and the man gasped as Michael slashed at him, the thrill of the act sending shivers down his spine. He watched as the light faded from the man's eyes, the rush of power intoxicating.

But it wasn't enough.

Michael moved on, seeking out more victims. A college student walking home late from a study session, a young man waiting for a bus alone, even a street hustler trying to make a quick buck. Each time, Michael lured them in with charm, playing the part of a friendly stranger or a potential client. And each time, he let the darkness take over, the knife doing the work while he reveled in the fear and pain of his victims.

He spoke to them as he killed, his voice low and soothing, like a predator toying with its prey. "You shouldn't have trusted me," he'd whisper, watching the terror bloom in their eyes. "But it's too late now, isn't it?"

Each kill was quick, calculated, and brutal, yet Michael found himself craving more with each one. The violence, the blood, the control—it consumed him, made him feel alive in a way nothing else could. But there was also a growing sense of emptiness, a void that even the deaths of these men couldn't fill.

By the time he finished with his last victim, a young man he had found walking alone in a park, the frenzy had started to wane, replaced by a hollow feeling in his chest. He wiped the blood from his knife, looking down at the body with a mixture of satisfaction and disgust. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

Michael knew then that this wouldn't stop. The darkness inside him had taken root, and it demanded more. But as he stood there, looking at the lifeless body at his feet, he realized something else. This was all meaningless without Elliot. The thrill of the kill was dulled without his partner by his side, without the twisted connection they shared.

He needed Elliot. Not just as an accomplice, but as something more. Without Elliot, the darkness was just a void, a never-ending hunger that he could never satisfy. And that realization scared him more than anything else.

As Michael left the park, his thoughts turned to Elliot once more. He would have to find a way to bring him back into the fold, to make him see that they were meant to do this together. And if that meant manipulating Elliot, pushing him to embrace the darkness fully, then so be it.

Michael wouldn't stop until Elliot was his again, in every way that mattered.