stripper killer [matty healy]

thirteen - misunderstood

misunderstood: (verb) fail to interpret or understand the words or actions of someone correctly.

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3rd person

looking at him, you'd think he was harmless. just another everyday drunk idiot. you'd never presume the man that was unable to hold himself upright as he left the strip joint was capable of such bone chilling crimes or that the list of people he had killed was probably longer than your weekly shopping list. he didn't seem able to differentiate between left and right never mind cover up murder.

india was leaving via the back entrance when she saw him, sat on the floor leaning against the wall with his head cocked to the side - eyes closed. for a spilt second she thought he was dead, but the moment he noticed her presence he quickly collected himself and staggered to his feet. the smell of alcohol on him was prominent and the redness is his eyes was undeniable. he was shitfaced.

"matty?" she takes a step back from him, shock audible in her voice. "what are you doing here?"

his lips part, but no words follow. he wants to answer her, to explain why he's here-but he can't... he doesn't know himself, he just was.

he knew he wasn't here to kill her. he'd already come to terms with the fact he wasn't able too, yet. and he wasn't here to sleep with her, because he was scared that he would actually cave and kill her, which he didn't want either.

the feelings he had were so confusing. it was something that had never happened before. the only time he'd ever struggled to kill a woman is when they were fighting back - yet this time he was fighting himself. the initial urge too was there, but he couldn't do anything about it.

"i'm drunk." he finally slurs, dropping his head in shame.

her brows knit together. she knew that, it didn't take a genius to figure it out. why else would he be sprawled out in an alleyway to a club? she was actually pretty shocked that he was here, i mean, he was on her mind due to what had happened during her performance but she wasn't expecting him to be outside. she was quite embarrassed really, that he'd caught her so off guard, with no makeup and sweats on, but it's not like he was in a decent enough state to care anyway.

"and..." he continues, taking a step towards her. "i wanted to-"

he cuts himself off by falling to the floor. the amount of alcohol in his system was far too much more anyone to handle. he may be a cold blooded stripes killer but he's still human after all.

"fuck sakes matty." india huffs as she kneels to his side shaking him. "how much did you drink?!"

she only gains a series of groans from him in response. it's obvious he's unable to get himself home tonight. moments later the taxi she had booked home pulls up outside the alley.

she can't leave him here, can she? he's old enough and man enough to look after himse - ah fuck it. she can't leave him.

"little help please?!" she calls to the driver as she attempts to lift him from the ground. he then quickly jumps out and helps lift matty into the back, who is now drifting in and out of sleep.

"eastward flats please, south side." she tells the driver, who nods and begins driving. she looks down to matty, whose head is resting across her lap to see him struggling for words.

"aaron..." he whispers after a few moments.

india raises a brow in confusion. "what?"

she gets nothing in response, matty is completely comatose. nothing he says is making sense, and she's not surprised.

"just here." she informs the taxi driver, who was now outside her building. she pays the correct change and opens the door and using all her strength, drags matty out with her, wobbling over to the door with her arm wrapped around him to stop him falling.

once inside she heads straight for the elevator, pressing the button numerous times in rushing manner before readjusting matty on her hip - who was still well and truly out for the count.

after what feels like hours the doors finally slide open, revealing the one person she probably could have done best not seeing.

"12c?" his voice comes out hoarse and dry, as though he had a sore throat. his face was scarily pale in contrast of his bloodshot eyes that had bags drooping beneath them that were darker than a coffee with no milk. the sweater he had on was grubby with numerous different stains and he didn't smell of his usual expensive cologne that had previously lured her in. the hair that was normally perfectly pushed back by some form of scarf was now just falling into his face, looking like it hadn't been washed in at least a week.

he just didn't look like the usual charming mysterious harry that she found herself so darn attracted too. he looked distant, lost, stressed, tired and sad...

"harry." is all she can seem to manage. her voice barely above a whisper as she drags herself and matty into the lift past him, who then left the small space and then the building without a second look.

she would have liked to ask him where he was going considering it was a pretty strange time to be wandering the streets. the urge to ask him why he looked so under the weather was there too. but she didn't. she knew better. it was none of her business.

after actually managing to carry matty from the elevator, to her door, to her bedroom she plonks him on the bed. despite being pissed that she has to share her bed after such a long tiring shift she can't help but feel a little accomplished with her ability to carry him as far as she did.

laughing to herself she tugs at his boots, pulling them off and setting them down nearly next to the bed, followed by his jeans and shirt. the many tattoos he has spread across his body quickly grab her attention and she traces her fingers across the central chest piece she had been admiring earlier.

annie, true love

lots of tiny little thoughts entered her head about what the ink meant as she strokes it gently, the heat of his skin radiating against her fingers. maybe a past lover? current lover? sibling? friend? she made a mental note to ask him at some point - not for any other reason other than the fact she was incredibly my nosy and everything out him intrigued her.

standing up from the bed where she was perched, she moves towards the door - looking back to him for a couple of seconds to admire him in his dreamy, vulnerable state. his hair was spread out crazily and his lips were parted slightly. (she did have this deep urge to go back and kiss them, but he's drunk and she's sober and that would totally be taking advantage)

she couldn't help but wonder what he meant by those three words. "i want you" as she watched his chest rise and fall with every shaky sleepy breath he took. she wondered a lot about matty, everything from his favourite colour to his guilty pleasure. she wondered if she'd ever get to find out those things. but despite all the wondering she did do, there was one thing she thought she was pretty certain on...

maybe he wasn't so dangerous after all... maybe he was just misunderstood.