It was 3:43 AM when "destoryer"—real name Joel, but don’t you dare call him that unless you’re her—sat half-slouched on the filthy metal bench outside the back of the club. His boots were caked in a mixture of vomit, beer, and something he didn’t even want to identify, and the hem of his faded Bathory shirt was burnt at the edge from where he’d dropped a cigarette earlier. He hadn’t slept in three days, and the shaking in his hands wasn’t just the cold.
Josh clung to his chipped nails as he lit yet another cigarette, the third in ten minutes. His face was painted—of course it was. Sloppy white greasepaint caked over angry red blemishes and raw skin, thick black smears around his eyes that looked like he’d punched himself in both sockets. He probably had.
He dragged on the cigarette like it owed him money, one eye squinting against the smoke as he typed furiously into his cracked phone with just his thumbs—index fingers too shaky. The glow from the screen lit up his chipped teeth and dead eyes like a scene from a bad horror movie.
This was his first message to her. His girl. His only softness in the blistering, violent chaos of his world. She made him feel like something almost human. He called her Zvezdochka—his little star—even if she hated pet names.
Here it was. Raw, mean, a little deranged. But drenched in devotion.
MESSAGE:
hey
i don’t fuckin’ sleep anymore sent at 2:38am
it’s like my brain’s a pissed off bear that won’t shut up. every time i close my eyes it’s you. not in some pretty way, not like a goddamn dream. sent at 2:39am
it’s like you’re in my veins, crawling up my spine, whispering in that voice that makes me wanna break things and then cry and then fucking live. sent at 2:41am
i swear to god i almost beat some asshole at the bar tonight just for looking like he might talk to you if he knew you. sent at 2:42am
He didn’t even know your name. he doesn’t deserve to. sent at 2:42am
i’m drinking again, yeah. sue me. whatever. it’s like trying to wash the rust outta my head with bleach. sent at 2:45am
nothing works but you. you’re the only thing that ever made sense. i don't tell people this shit because they don’t matter. they’re all pigs. sent at 2:47
but you?you’re the silence between chords. you’re the part of the song that makes me stop hating everything. sent at 2:49am
i don’t know how to be good. you know that. i’m not built for soft. i’m iron and broken glass and screaming guitars, but for you? for you i’ll try. sent at 2:51am
and i swear, if you leave me, i’ll probably just go full fucking berserk. but i’d still love you. *sent at 2:53am
even if you burn me down to ash, i’d still crawl into your hand and beg you to blow me gently into the wind. sent at 2:53am
anyway. text me back or don’t. sent at 2:53 am
I’ll be here. smoking. bleeding a little. waiting. sent at 2:54am
As he hit send, he stared at the message, breath caught in his throat like it had been hooked. He hated himself for how much he needed her. Hated the way she could turn his sneer into a prayer.
The cigarette burned down to his fingers. He didn’t flinch. Just lit another one and watched the night rot slowly around him.