stripper killer [matty healy]

twenty seven - detest

detest:(noun) dislike intently.

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india

it's been almost a week matty stabbed me. i was recovering, slowly. i'm still in pain due to not having genuine medical attention but i was just glad to be alive.

at first, when he picked up that knife i thought he was going to kill me. part of me thinks maybe he thought so too, but the moment he saw red seeping through my shirt, he went white.

everything after that was a blur, i was in too much pain... it messed with my train of thought. the last thing i remember before blacking out was him running to the bathroom to be sick. which i find completely bizarre considering blood doesn't faze him. if anything, he loves it.

i sit up slowly in my bed, or rather, the bed. it was a different to the one where i had found the body. he had moved me while i was unconscious into a small windowless box room, where he fixed my wound, cleaned me up, and changed me. or so i'm presuming because i woke up in a tshirt and shorts that definitely weren't mine.

he'd been looking after me since then. feeding me, letting me watch television and even talking to me depending on his mood.
yet, he never once apologised. it was all so strange. i was locked in a house with a violent blood thirsty murderer who stabbed me but i feel content... safe almost. he was going about a normal routine and acting as though everything that had happened was non existent.

at first, obviously, i repeatedly pleaded to be released. i vowed not too tell another soul about what i had encountered here, but he point blank refused each time. i stopped asking after a few days. he only went cold when it was brought up so i decided to drop it. i knew i wasn't getting out of here.

not alive anyway.

"come in." i announce after several knocks at the door. there's a clicking noise, then matty shifts and clears his throat.

"um, i've made food."

"i'm not hungry." i mumble, tucking my knees up to my chest in hopes he'd leave.
he doesn't. instead, he comes in and i feel the bed dip slightly as he takes a seat on the opposite side to me. i flick my eyes to him, he's running his hands through his hair like he's having a hard time putting together what he's trying to say.

he opens his mouth to speak and i quickly look away, not wanting him to know i was staring. only, i think did catch me because he didn't end up speaking. which only made things more awkward.

"what is it matty?" i sigh, fed up of the silence. i tilt my head so my knee is pressed against the side of my face as i look to him. he's looking at me too, a concerned look on his face.

"do you hate me india?" he finally speaks. his voice is low, like he didn't want to be saying what he was. "like, really hate me?"
i look at him and for second, i felt the slightest bit sympathy for him... but i wasn't letting his sad face and sensitive aura drive me away from what he really was. a monster.

"can we go eat.. i want something now." i announce, desperately trying to change the subject. his lips fold into a tight line and his eyes close briefly in frustration, but he nods.

i follow him into the kitchen slowly and take a seat at the table. after a few minutes of dishing the food out, matty brings over a plate of roast dinner and places it infront of me, before setting himself down opposite with his own.

this is the first time we've actually eaten together. usually he would just force me to eat alone in front of him because I'd lost my appetite for a while, and he didn't like it.

"wow, you made this.." i whisper, looking at the full plate infront of me. i hadn't seen a roast dinner like this since living at home. he nods, picking up his cutlery and i give a small smile. "it looks lovely."

"thank you." he grins, before starting to eat.

"where did you learn to cook like this?" i ask, genuinely interested. to me, matty seemed completely isolated. he didn't even have the internet. it felt unlikely he learnt by myself.

"my mum." he chews another forkful. "she's a great cook. taught me everything i know." the mention of his mum spurred so many questions in my head. where was she? did she know about him? what was their relationship like? was she the woman in that photograph? so many things i wanted to ask, but, i just smile and nod. because that's the easiest thing to do.

he smiles back, before looking down to my plate. "do you need help cutting anything?"

"i'm not five. i can cut up some chicken." i smirk. "saying that, you'd probably be better at it. you know, being professional with a knife and all." i joke, which i probably shouldn't have because it's not exactly a funny subject.

"for fucks sakes india!" he slams his fork on the table. "i just wanted a nice meal together and you had to go and ruin it!"

"me?!" i yell back, flushed. "you kill people..." i tell him, as though he was stupid. "you... you stabbed me! how is this my fault?! how are we ever supposed to be normal?!"

"oh fuck off!." he roars, sliding his hand under his plate and flinging it off the table into the wall.

i cringe at the smash and stand up to scatter to my room before he could see the tears building up, but he only follows... and he's quicker than me.

"india!" he growls, grabbing my wrist and pushing me back against the wall so i had no choice but to look at him. the moment he see's i'm crying his face softens for a few seconds, before he's frowning again. "just tell me please..." he takes a deep breath. "do you hate me?"

"what do you think?!" i cry, stepping away from him. "you've held me here, locked me up, took everything away from me of course i fucki-"

i'm cut off by sudden contact from matty. but, it's not his hands around my throat, or his fists on my face like i would have expected... it's something much, much worse.

it's his lips on mine.

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{authors note}

pls pls pls go check out my new zayn story, ily x