Chapter 2: Home, sweet hell.
Malcolm had made it home just before sunrise and he was beat. Chasing after that girl had taken it out of him. He debated on whether or not he should watch the daily light come from across the sky but thought better of it. It's not like he would burn up or anything, that was just in the movies, he was just a night owl.
He took off his clothes, which were stained with her blood, and hopped into the shower. In frustration over not bedding the girl he jerked off and aimed his penis toward the shower hole, taking his sperm down the pipes and out to God knows where. Once he was done with that he grabbed his loofa sponge and wiped himself off vigorously with Ax Body Wash. The shower head came to his chest and he had to duck to get his head into the water's line of fire. One of the downsides of being tall, he supposed.
He felt unclean and no matter how hot the water was or how hard he scrubbed he just couldn't get that damn female's scent off of him. He could smell the copper and iron of her plasma on his skin where it had spattered.
After nearly twenty minutes of this he turned the shower off and stepped out to dry himself off. He pulled the pink towel from the shower rod and wrapped it around his waist and walked out into the hallway and into his room, where he changed into his Power Ranger pajama bottoms. How he'd ever found them in his size was beyond him.
He walked barefoot and shirtless into the small kitchen that was adjoined to the living area. He wasn't hungry, probably wouldn't be for a while, but he was dying for some water. They had one of those Brita water filters that they advertised on TV and to be honest he couldn't taste the difference. He grabbed the container out of the refrigerator and placed it on the white wooden counter. He went to the top cabinet for a glass but could not find any. To his left was the dish sink, which had dirty dinnerware and cups piled to the tipping point. There was an ugly orange tint to the water and it stained the white dishes sticking up out of it. It was Harold's turn to do the dishes and he didn't even bother to do a damn one.
"I'm going to fucking kill that bastard when he gets home!" Malcolm said softly to himself. He felt like at that moment he would go through with his threat if Harold were to walk into the apartment at that particular point in time. He was lucky that he was on a business trip (at least Malcolm assumed that's where he was because he wasn’t home the night before) because he would of loved to tear his head off and suck on his spinal fluid at that very instant.
Malcolm stepped back and breathed in slowly, counting backwards from ten. He felt the need to kill something but he knew that he had already satisfied this craving earlier that day. It was time to relax. He would just wipe off the dishes and put them in the washer, keeping one to himself so he could get a drink.
A drink... Man that sounded good. He'd been good and sloshed last night until that flapping skin of a cunt had left him hooked to his bed posts, which by the way he had to replace soon because he had broken them in two. It was a shame because he liked that headboard. It came with the bed and he had paid good money for it. He supposed that getting back his computers and phones was worth the damage. He had taken those things from the people he had killed in the past few months. People he thought deserved what they got. He never took a life that he felt wasn't already wasted. Those people he'd pick up at the bars. What was their life going to be like ten years down the line? Those people desperately searching for themselves when they should know that what matters most was already there, but no, they had to want more.
The girl who's father wouldn't give her a new car for her birthday.
The boy who'd never come to terms with his sexuality.
The man that will still be chasing the rock star dream fifteen years down the road, not ever holding a serious job and just getting older, and more destitute, these were people who needed to be put out of their misery. They may not have known it at that moment, but Malcolm did.
He felt sorry for his roommate Harold. The man sucked up to a boss who would never give him the time of day. Four years of college to be under somebody who abuses him. Not only was his boss this person to him, everyone was. Malcolm could generally make him do what he wanted to if he asked the right way. Asking nice never worked, he had to make his point loud and clear. Sometimes by threats, other times by raising his voice, but always with animosity.
Malcolm looked at the dishes in the sink. His anger replaced by an emptiness, and emptiness he wanted so badly to fill. He thought all the time about how he was serving humanity by doing what he does in which he does to survive. But he would never admit to himself that he was on a quest himself. All these people, these sad machines, they were merely stepping stones in his own eternal struggle.
Eternal... If hell didn't freeze and the creek didn't rise, he was going to be around for a long time. Both a blessing and a curse, he, for better or worse, was who he was. He had never come to terms with his own self let alone anything that had happened that hot July night three hundred years ago. He never asked to become such a monster. Death was a luxury he didn't have, so he dealt it out to those deserving and in need of it.
Sweet release...
Sweet release from this horrible world that would just set them into an endless cycle of neediness and pain. He only got the most deserving. It was his gift. He was a good man for doing what he does.
Right?
Malcolm was sitting on the black futon watching the movie Sunshine with Cillian Murphy on Blu-Ray when he heard the front door's lock shift. After some fumbling and a curse, it opened and Harold spilled through, holding a big brown moving box with the words “Denver Liquors” printed on it in big green letters.
Malcolm liked how the short red headed boy looked. So professional looking and sharply dressed. If he was gay or bi he would have crossed the boundaries so very long ago.
He wondered if his asshole would stretch to accommodate him.
Another thought entered his mind at that moment as well, he was hoping that the box was full of hard spirits. Being drunk is legal for a reason, because it simply rocks.
"Hey man!" The ginger said, placing the box on the kitchen floor. Malcolm put his beer down on the carpet. He stood up and stretched, touching the manila stucco ceiling as he did.
"What's up bra?" Malcolm said as he walked over to pat his roommate on the shoulders. Harold took off his black rimmed glasses and smiled, fully showing off his coffee stained teeth.
"Guess what I've got?" He said with a smirk.
"I can only guess." Malcolm walked back over to the futon where his beer sat and picked it up. He took a long sip of his Coors and waited impatiently for an answer.
This had better be good.
That was when he heard it. A tiny squeak of a meow. Malcolm's heart sank. "Man!" He shouted. "We can't keep cats in this place! Are you crazy!?" He walked over toward his friend and roommate and was honestly about to punch him straight in the face until Harold went the box and pulled out a pure grey kitten. Malcolm looked at it with an empty feeling inside his bones. Harold extended the kitten forward for him to take and he held it in mid air for the longest time before Malcolm took the bait.
“Well?” Harold laughed as he shoved the kitten toward Malcolm’s face. He handed it to Malcolm and he was momentarily speechless. The little guy was already purring in his hands.
"I..." He was at a loss for words. "He is kind of cute.” Malcolm began cradling it in his arms. “I have to admit that." The kitten began licking his hand, tickling him as it did so.
"See, I told you!" Harold said with satisfaction. He reached down and picked up a grey and white kitten and held it like a new born baby. "I'm calling this one Fred."
Malcolm looked down at the creature in his arms. "We can't keep these man, you know it's a two hundred and fifty dollar deposit to have these things here."
"It's all cool man! I've already paid for mine. You just have to pay for yours." He looked down at his kitten and back up toward Malcolm again. "That is unless of course you don't want to keep yours?"
; "Man..." Malcolm protested. "This is not fair!" The kitten had already fallen asleep in his arms when he was just about to put it back in the box. He couldn't for the life of him put it down. It was a part of him now. He was his and his was he. This made Malcolm feel like he had been cornered. It was like he was suffering a sort of Stockholm Syndrome of fluff.
"Well I think you like him!" Harold laughed. "What are you going to call yours?"
Malcolm gave him a look of disgust, but it quickly dissipated when he looked down at the tiny creature sleeping and purring on his elongated arms. A wave of peace fell over him and he said softly "Fido." He looked up and for the first time in a long while he had a sparkle in his bright green eyes. "His name is Fido." He smiled and looked back down at the kitten laying on his two appendages.
"I thought you'd see it my way!" Harold lightly punched Malcolm's right arm in jest. "I knew you'd fall in love right away!"
"This doesn't mean that the situation isn't any less irritating." He said as he gently placed the kitten back into the box on the kitchen floor. When he looked inside he saw three other ones writhing around aimlessly. "What the hell is this?" He asked, his anger making a comeback.
"Well..." Harold had to think for a second for the right words. He knew when Malcolm was about to explode and this was certainly one of those times. "They were sort of a package deal."
"What the fuck man!?" Malcolm shouted.
"Hey man! Don't yell at me!" Harold shielded his face with his hands, expecting another blow like the last time. "The guy said he was going to bring them to a shelter! You know what happens when they can't find homes for animals in a shelter? They kill them!"
"I could kill you right this minute!" Malcolm raised his fist but thought better of it. He instead put his hands to his side and counted backwards from ten, breathing in slowly and heavily as he did so.
"Please don't be mad man." Harold pleaded, but the relaxation exercise wasn't working for Malcolm.
Malcolm immediately brought up an old wound. "Do you know when you left last you left an entire sink of dirty dishes?" He motioned toward the sink, which was by now clear of debris and had been scrubbed clean.
"Yeah man, I'm sorry! I got called away for work on short notice!"
The excuse only made Malcolm more infuriated. "Do you know that it was YOUR job to do those damn things?" He grabbed Harold's scrawny arm and led him to the dishwasher. He opened the dishwasher door and pointed toward the sparkling white porcelain dishes. "I did the fucking dishes! Your job! I did these goddamn fucking dishes!" He pulled Harold's arm hard and brought his roommate to his knees. His anger was so red hot at the moment that even Malcolm honestly did not know what he was going to do next.
"Please man! You're hurting me!" Harold pleaded.
"Fuck you!" Malcolm shouted in his face, spitting as he did so. Harold saw that Malcolm's eyes had gone from a light green to a dark, pitch black maroon. He had never been more scared in his life.
"Please! Don't hurt me Malcolm! I'm sorry!" Harold’s arm was being twisted to the breaking point at his elbow.
"Do you know that you are wasting away your life as well?" Malcolm's canines began to grow. "Do you know that you will always be stuck in the same old cycle of being the subservient fool!?
"Please Malcolm!" Harold’s eyes were tearing up fast and what little color he had had had melted away from his already pale face. Malcolm let go of Harold’s right arm and grabbed a hold of Harold's neck with both of his massive hands, and lunged for his jugular, taking sick pleasure in his roommate's sudden and intense pain.
His blood tasted sweet.
He must have eaten some fruit that morning.