#i'm gonna kill this man to death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theherosvillain · 5 days ago

Text

Just sleep

(Try Not To) Kill All Your Friends masterpost

CWs: nightmares, gun violence, death

I’m standing in a long white room with a row of people lined up against the wall ahead of me. I can only see a few of them clearly—Ariel, Danika, Mom—but somehow I know that everyone I care about is here, all in one neat row.

Standing in front of them is Vale. He’s holding a gun.

I scream, but the noise comes out muffled, as if I’m underwater. None of them react as Vale raises his gun, and I try to reach out with my powers to knock it out of his hands. But I can’t feel it—I can’t feel anything. My powers aren’t working.

The gun fires with silent flares. One by one, each person I love falls to the ground. My legs are paralyzed. All I can do is watch helplessly, the pool of blood around each of them growing bigger and bigger and bigger.

I can’t hear it, but I know I’m screaming.

The last one falls, and only then does Vale lower the gun. He turns to look at me, his eyes as expressionless as those of the people he just killed, specks of blood staining his otherwise pristine suit. He glances impassively at the bodies, and then back at me. His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him. I’m still screaming.

****

My hand flew up to my mouth as I bolted upright—drenched in sweat, panting, staring into the dark like I might find myself back in that stark white room. It took a moment to process the pinpricks of city lights from behind the curtains, the shape of the oversized bed surrounding me, the almost-familiar nightstand. My exhale came out as a sob. I tentatively felt around with my powers, and everything was exactly as I’d left it. No blood on the floor, no dead bodies. It was just a nightmare.

The thought wasn’t as much of a relief as I wanted it to be. My erratic breathing quickly turned into sobs. I hugged my knees to my chest and squeezed my eyes shut, but I could still see all the blood, the empty eyes. I felt nauseous as I recalled the image of my mom lying on the ground, staring up at the ceiling with a bullet hole through her forehead. It wasn’t real, but that didn’t make it any less horrifying. I wanted her here. I wanted to feel her touch and smell her citrus shampoo and hear her tell me that it was just a dream, that she was okay, that everyone was okay. Because alone, in the dark, I couldn’t convince myself that was true. The nightmare was too visceral to scrub out of my mind.

There was a tap on my door. I stiffened, going quiet. “Phantom?” It was Vale’s voice. There was no one else it could be, but the sound of it filled me with dread. I didn’t want him here, not with the vivid image of him splattered with blood still stuck in my brain. “Are you … okay?”

The question caught me off-guard. I felt a sudden jolt of anger. What, like you actually fucking care? The only thing keeping me from saying it aloud was the knowledge that my voice would crack. I cleared my throat and called out, as steadily as I could, “I’m fine.”

My voice broke anyway.

I wasn’t surprised when the door opened, light from the hallway spilling in around Vale’s silhouette. I wiped my eyes on my sleeves, as if that would hide the fact that I’d been crying. “What happened?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting in … confusion? Concern? I couldn’t tell.

My voice was thick with tears as I said, “Nothing.”

He took a single step forward, his hand resting on the doorframe. “You know I don’t like being lied to.”

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying not to look at him, trying not to picture the blood. He wasn’t going to leave until I gave him an explanation. “I just… had a nightmare. That’s all.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Does this happen often?”

Since I got here? Yes. “No. Sir.” I turned my face away, wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. “Won’t happen again.” I’d be quieter next time.

His silence weighed heavily on the room. Please leave. Jesus fuck, please leave. I sensed him shifting on his feet, leaning ever so slightly forward. Then he straightened up. “Fine. Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered, flooded with relief as he left and shut the door behind him.

As soon as he was out of my sensing range, I let out a choked sob.

****

I’m in a long white room, facing down a line of dead bodies, the former husks of my loved ones. Vale lowers his gun and turns to me, expressionless. I don’t know how I can see so clearly with tears streaming from my eyes.

Suddenly, the texture of my surroundings floods back to me—my powers are working again. Wasting no time, I wrench the gun from Vale’s hand. He looks only mildly surprised as it hovers in midair, just out of his reach. If he took a step forward, he could grab it. But his hand remains at his side, and he just stares at the gun, almost expectant.

I spin it around and aim it straight between his eyes. He doesn’t move. His blank gaze shifts from the gun to me, and the ghost of a smile appears on his lips.

I pull the trigger.

****

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

I sat up straight at the kitchen table, rubbing my eyes, as Vale strode into the room. “Yeah,” I muttered, “that’s because I haven’t.”

I busied myself with stirring sugar into my coffee so I wouldn’t have to look at him. I never used to drink coffee at home, and I still couldn’t stand the taste, but I figured I could use the extra help staying awake. I was beginning to dread falling asleep at night. That fucking nightmare—I thought it was bad enough, the way it was initially, but that new ending … I’d woken up sick to my stomach and didn’t sleep another wink.

And it was ridiculous that it made me feel that way. It should have felt cathartic, killing Vale, even in a dream. It should have felt like justice. Instead it made me want to claw my own skin off, and I couldn’t explain why.

To my dismay, Vale pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. He hadn’t even gotten his coffee yet, which meant that this was a serious conversation. “You screamed again last night,” he said.

The spoon clattered against the edge of the mug. I picked it up and took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness. I’d spaced out too long; the coffee was getting cold, and the sugar had barely dissolved. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered.

Vale’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “You haven’t been sleeping. If it hasn’t affected your performance yet, it’s going to soon.” He paused, as if he wanted me to say something. I sipped my coffee in silence. His next sentence came out carefully, as if he were doing heart surgery instead of asking a simple question. “Is something, in particular, bothering you?”

Was something bothering me? Well, I was living in the house of the man who’d kidnapped me, forced to conform to whatever grand plan he had in store for me lest I disobey him and he decide to kill my family. “No,” I said, without making eye contact. “I’m fine.”

He sighed, and my stomach jolted as I recognized that subtle hint of frustration. “Don’t lie to me, Phantom.”

My grip tightened on the handle of my mug. “I don’t know what you want me to say. So what if I’m not fine? You don’t actually want to hear about it, do you?” I winced. Cons of being sleep deprived: it further impaired my already-defective filter, which Vale had never had much patience for.

“Phantom.” I hated how that tone of voice was all it took to shut me up. I kept my eyes on the table and waited out the several seconds he gave me to rethink my attitude. “If this is going to continue affecting you, something should be done about it.”

Like what? As far as I could see it, the only cure would be an end to this whole ordeal, and that wasn’t exactly on the table—not from his perspective, anyway. “Do you have any ideas?” I asked, trying not to sound sarcastic. It was hard for me.

He released a slow breath, pausing. “I’ll think about it. You should, too.” Then he stood and crossed over to the coffee pot, signaling the end of our talk.

I let myself relax. He wasn’t going to do anything about it, and that was fine by me. I’d learn how to deal. I’d drink more coffee. I would, as he’d promised me before, adjust to this dismal new world of mine, without his help.

****

I try to lunge at Vale, but it’s like running against the current of a raging river. I can’t make any headway. The muzzle of the gun presses to Loren’s forehead like a kiss. Loren doesn’t react; nobody in that long line ever does. I have the faintest sense that I’ve seen this happen before, but there’s no stopping it. There’s a flash of light, a splatter of blood, and I scream soundlessly, unable to reach them, as the bodies drop.

****

“Hello, Phantom.” The woman stood from the conference table, smoothing her blouse, as I came in. I recognized her from around the headquarters. She was one of the few henchmen who had earned the right to show her face, instead of hiding it behind one of those eerie blank-faced masks. She had long black hair tied in a ponytail, and she was dressed kind of business casual, which struck me as odd attire for a henchman. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” she continued. “I’m Michelle Yang. Please, have a seat.”

I sat in the chair across from her as she retook her position. She studied me for a moment with sharp eyes. I’d gotten used to being scrutinized; I just leveled my gaze at her, and she tilted her head. “Did Vale tell you why he sent you here?” she asked.

Since when did Vale ever explain anything to me? “No,” I said. “He tells me to do things; I just do them.”

A wry smile quirked the corners of Yang’s mouth. “Typical of him. Alright, I guess I’ll explain.” She sat up straighter, making a show of being businesslike, hands folded on the table. “I may be a hitwoman now, but in a former life, I wasa licensed psychologist.” She paused for a moment, letting me digest that curveball of a sentence. Then she went on. “He says you haven’t been sleeping, and that you won’t talk to him about it. He thought that I might be able to help.”

All I could do was stare at her. It had been weeks since he’d commented on my lack of sleep. Nothing had changed on my end, so I assumed that I was performing well enough for him to let it slide. Vale had never struck me as the type of man who believed in psychologists. He kept amber bottles of liquor in the corner of his office, and I’d never seen him touch them during business hours. When he stayed in there some nights, alone, I figured that was his version of therapy.

It took me a moment to unscramble my thoughts. “I do sleep,” I muttered. “Most nights, anyway.”

Yang hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward on her elbows. “I think he’d prefer if you slept every night. That’s probably healthier.” She paused, head tilted again, like a bird staking out its prey. “Do you find yourself avoiding it?”

Yes. “No.”

By the way she sighed, it felt like she’d heard the answer I gave in my head. “Listen,” she said, “I won’t pretend doctor-patient confidentiality rules apply here—especially since I’m not actually licensed anymore,” she added under her breath. “But, I get the sense that Vale isn’t interested in what goes on in this room. Whatever you say to me, it’s not going to make its way back to him.”

“And I’m just supposed to trust you on that?” Vale didn’t have any desire to micromanage me; that part I believed. But if I told Yang what was really on my mind, what I really thought of Vale, there was no way in hell he wouldn’t hear about it.

“That’s a good point,” she said, and I blinked in surprise. “You don’t know me yet, and I don’t know you. But I’m interested in building that trust—not just because Vale is paying me a pretty hefty bonus to talk to you, but because I like to think I was a damn good psychologist. Whatever you’re going through, I want to help you cope with it.”

I leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “If you were such a good psychologist, then why are you a hitwoman now?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Pays better. More exciting. Also, I’m pretty decent at it.”

I stared. After a long pause, I said, “That’s deranged.”

But she didn’t look deranged. She looked perfectly reasonable, in her business-casual khakis with her lightly made-up face, the picture of a respectable psychologist. “Maybe so,” she said. “I kill people as a day job, but every night, I go home to my husband and kids, and they’re none the wiser. I’m very good at compartmentalizing, Phantom. That’s a skill that you’ll need here.”

I’d never seen a therapist before. Even after my mom got arrested, when I probably could have been diagnosed with depression, I didn’t seek help. I was a Super, and I didn’t think doctor-patient confidentiality extended to that. It was a huge secret, and the root of most of my issues, and I couldn’t risk any law-abiding professional finding out about it. Therapy wouldn’t be useful if I couldn’t be honest.

That wasn’t something I had to worry about here; all of Vale’s henchmen knew I was a Super. No, that wasn’t the most glaring issue. “No offense,” I said, rising to my feet, “but I don’t really want to take advice from a contract killer.”

“Fair enough,” Yang said, shrugging. “But Vale does expect you and I to be in this room for an hour twice a week, and I don’t think he’ll be happy if he finds out you’ve been blowing it off.” I paused, dread sinking into my stomach; this was just as mandatory as the rest of my training. Yang spread her hands placatingly. “Listen, I can’t make you talk to me. But I will say that I’m interested in helping you.”

I shook my head. “You can’t help me.” There was nothing anyone on Vale’s payroll could or would do to help me.

She shrugged. “I can’t make your problems go away; no psychologist does that. But I can help you cope. I can teach you how to compartmentalize.”

I didn’t need a psychologist right now. What I really needed was Vale dead in the ground, and then a really, really long nap. After that, I might need a psychologist. But evidently, that wasn’t realistic.

I sank back into the chair, and Yang smiled sympathetically. “Alright,” she said. “So what’s keeping you up at night?”

****

The most bearable evenings were the ones where Vale was off having dinner with some business associate, or locked in his office for so long that he forgot to eat, so I was excused from having to eat dinner with him. It took a weight off my chest to eat in the dining room alone, to walk around the penthouse like a human being instead of a skittish cat.

Unfortunately, against my best wishes, tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Vale and I sat across from each other at the long dining table, and I kept my head down and hoped for silence.

“How did things go with Yang?” he asked.

I winced, wondering if Yang had spoken to him after I met with her. So far, I hadn’t told her much more than I’d told him—just that I was having nightmares. Unlike Vale, Yang had asked me what the nightmares were actually about, but I hadn’t told her. I’d only known the woman for an hour; she would have to do a lot of work if she wanted me to trust her, although I’d already made up my mind that I never would. Trusting someone who could rat me out to Vale at any point just seemed like a bad idea.

I swallowed my food and tapped my fork against the plate. “It went fine,” I said.

There was a pause. I didn’t look up to check Vale’s reaction—not that I could ever read his expression, anyway. “Did it help?”

“We met for an hour. I think it takes longer than that for therapy to work.” There was another pause, in which Vale tried to parse out whether I was being sarcastic or sincere. He must have given up, because he didn’t reprimand me. I decided to ask a question of my own. “Why are you having me talk to Yang?”

“Didn’t she tell you?” he asked.

“I wanted to hear it from you.”

He was quiet for a long moment, long enough that it occurred to me that maybe he didn’t know why he had me do it, either; maybe he’d just been reaching for some semblance of a solution. “I thought it would help for you to have someone to talk to,” he said finally, and then took a long sip of wine that prevented him from adding anything else.

It had always seemed to me like the moves Vale made were perfectly calculated. But in that moment, it dawned on me quite suddenly that outside of training me as a weapon, he didn’t know what to do with me. He hadn’t expected me to struggle—not this much, anyway. He’d completely neglected to take into account my human emotions. The revelation was so fucking stupid that I didn’t even know what to do with it: Vale was just fumbling his way through dealing with me as a person instead of a solider.

Maybe I’d tell that to Yang, the next time I saw her. And if Vale gave me that withering, warning look afterwards, at least I’d know that Yang’s word wasn’t any good.

Title credits: Sleep - My Chemical Romance

Tag list: @toyybox

#nightmares tw #guns tw #death tw #original writing #original fiction #fiction #(try not to) kill all your friends #oc: the phantom prince #oc: axton vale #oc: michelle yang #man idk what to do with this one anymore i'm just gonna post it #bon appetit

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