Work Text:
Sometimes I wonder what keeps you chained here with me. I know you hate being here. You’re too much of a neat freak. On the other hand, I couldn’t care less.
You don’t exactly try to mask your disgust, sweetie. Whenever you come home to find another puddle of blood and gore on the carpet, you scream and throw a fit. You keep on threatening that you’ll report this to the police. But then you see the kicked puppy look I already learned to perfect and you end up giving in.
The night is spent erasing the evidence.
The basement is filled with rotting bodies and red-eyed rats. They’re stored in here for a week before Saturday comes. Every Friday night, you come home early from work and help lug out the bodies through a secret little entrance near the back. We look like a couple of deranged serial killers. You shuffle through their belongings, ridding them of any way of identification. IDs, licenses, the works. You even go the extra way when you’re feeling nice, and use acid to disfigure their faces.
I keep watch of this, all the while digging their graves. A warm, bubbly feeling rises in my stomach.
Our Friday nights aren’t exactly normal. But I always find a way to have some fun with you before they end.
We wash away the blood and grime until we look somehow presentable again. You sigh happily as soon as the dirt is gone. I only smirk.
You end up dirty again when the clock strikes twelve. It’s Saturday morning.
Weekends are boring, surprisingly. You’re always asleep, worn out from cleaning up my dirty work all week. I sit by your bedside like a neglected child, nothing to do but fiddle with my knife and think of more victims for next week.
It’s Sunday night and you finally wake up. I’ve already taken off to find my latest victim. Monday morning finds me with a new puddle of gore on the floor. You scream like you’re not already used to this.
And so begins another eventful week.
It’s fun, but sometimes I wonder if you ever get bored. I know you’re happy, in some sick demented way. Being with me is all you need to keep a smile on that pretty face.
I also know you’re angry. You hate to come home to an endlessly dirtied carpet and a permanently rotting basement. You keep complaining about the stench and the stains. Plus, the rats aren’t helping either.
I smile, amused. I wonder which rats are you talking about? The ones with little fangs and beady red eyes who feast on the flesh of the bodies downstairs? Or the ones with little fangs and beady red eyes who feast on your shame and live next door?
You’re sad too. That’s a given. Your life’s a mess; a cycle of troubles and unfortunate events. And you live with a husband who seems intent on breaking a world record of how many bodies he can pile up in the backyard.
I’m sorry, honey bunny. But that’s life for ya. Nobody asked you to fall in love with me.
Hey baby, there’s blood on the floor again. Try not to slip and fall, okay? I left the carcass in the basement, just like you asked. And don’t worry, I already killed all the rats.
There'll be times
When my crimes
Will seem almost unforgivable
I give in to sin
Because you have to make this life liveable
Strangelove
Strange highs and strange lows
Strangelove
That's how my love goes
There'll be days
When I'll stray
I may appear to be
Constantly out of reach
I give in to sin
Because I like to practice what I preach
Pain will you return it
I'll say it again -- pain
Pain will you return it
I'll say it again – pain