after-hours.

Yusuf staggered into his house and slammed the door shut behind him. He breathed heavily as he fell to the floor and slumped up against the door. The corridor leading from the entrance of his house to the inner rooms was pitch black, the night lay heavy over the island. The rain had stopped not two hours ago and so had the wind, leaving behind a putrid weather that had instilled a sort of stillness on the island. Inside the house however, there was anything but calm. Yusuf pulled at his tie and when his fumbling hands were unable to remove it, he yanked at it so hard that the knot simply broke, but in the process left behind a burning red friction scar that looked quite similar to a collar on his neck. He threw the tie across the corridor and buried his head in his hands and let out a scream that turned into a dry laugh. He slowly dragged his fingers down his face, his unusually long nails leaving red lines that almost looked like tears of blood. He still heaved back and forth with laughter and his head banged against the door repeatedly, creating a sick, almost rhythmic thumping sound each time. Dizzily, he got to his feet and stumbled into the hall and fumbled to switch on the lights. The interior of the room with the sofa with the cashmere shawl draped on it as well as the matching set of armchairs and the coffee table in the middle, resembled too closely another living room he’d been in not too long ago. He stared at it with dread that slowly turned into rage and he overturned the sofa and picked up the baseball bat lying near the door and used it to smash up the coffee table, shattering the glass, screaming all the while. Soon the rage was gone too and dread returned, bringing fear along with it. His breathing heavy, Yusuf removed the shirt he was wearing and slowly dropped to the floor. He wailed as he lay on the broken glass, the shards sticking onto his back, drawing blood. He turned onto his side when he couldn’t take the pain anymore and curled into a ball, lying there for what seemed like an eternity, the glass now burrowing its way into his shoulders and side

.

He didn't realise when or why he got up, all he knew was that he was now standing in the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror and at the first glance of his reflection, he smashed the mirror with his fist and blood trickled down his hand. He watched it trickle, almost unaware of the pain, entranced by the sight of it. He opened his hand and as the blood gathered in his palm the events of the night came rushing back to him along with the pain. He immediately turned on the faucet and began washing his hands, his eyes focused on the now red water going down the drain. Images flashed through his head. Images of a man he’d known butchered like just another piece of meat as he cowered in the corner, not wanting to stop what was happening but not strong enough to take part in it either. He’d heard the sickening thump of the now dying man fall to the floor, he’d covered his face with his hands as the blood pooled on the floor. He should’ve closed his eyes but he couldn’t. There was a horrifying beauty to it all, he’d known it once. He had pleaded and begged when he was approached to take part in the ordeal yet he’d craved the touch of the hand that now held his as it guided his fingers gently and lovingly over the slashes that leaked blood. He’d wanted to pull away, to say no, but he couldn’t. Instead he watched as the blood soaked hands now caressed his face, his eyes transfixed on their counterparts. He almost didn’t notice the hand pull away from him but when he did he nearly whimpered. He wanted their touch again, he needed it and he said as much. In the next moment he was the one holding the knife , mutilating the dead body at the encouragement of the other. His hands worked precisely, not because of his own mental fortitude or will but because they worked to impress, to obtain the reward they longed for. A reward long overdue.

The cold water snapped him out of his reverie as he stared at his now clean hands. He walked past his medicine cabinet on the way to his bedroom. He made no effort to bandage his hands or try and get some respite from the stinging wounds on his back and side, instead he just slowly creeped into his bed. It was almost as if he was no longer in control of his own body and was instead watching himself do everything. Try as he might he could not sleep on his bed for one reason or another. Eventually, he got up and opened his cupboard and dragged out the large oval shaped dog bed that Bruno used to sleep on. He dragged it with him down the stairs and placed it right in front of the door, and there he curled up on it and went to sleep, eagerly awaiting his visitor who’d promised that they would come soon. When he heard the knock on the door he nearly jumped with happiness, he quickly checked his reflection in a shard of glass that he’d pocketed from the broken mirror in the bathroom. His brown eyes were bloodshot and looked unnaturally large, his hair was all over the place. The friction burn on his neck from when he’d tried to remove the tie was a sickly mixture of blue and red and his back was covered in cuts, glistening as red droplets still fell from a few. He quickly ran a hand through his hair and smiled at himself after he’d managed to arrange it perfectly. He opened the door and fell to his knees, hugging her waist, tears of joy falling down his face as she ran a hand through his hair.

05.03.18, at 02:18 am.