24 | Nate
Nate
This situation we have gotten ourselves into is more messed up than usual.
It’s been a couple of days since the hunt.
The DNA results showed exactly what we expected.
And things are not well. In fact, things are very bad at the house right now.
Which says a lot, given how our lives have progressed over the years.
This time, though, it’s not as easy as driving a knife into someone’s throat and being done with it.
Emotions are involved. And when that happens, the chaos twins become useless.
Those men have the emotional range of a three-year-old whose favorite stuffed animal just went through surgery to save the fluff they have been pulling out of it themselves.
They create a mess, or the mess is created because of them.
Either way, they end up avoiding the mess, hoping it will solve itself.
And with their current mess, the situation is pretty simple.
One of them avoids the house completely, being God knows where, and the other one is currently pretending to be a living room ottoman.
Sitting on the floor in front of that ancient television, watching an old movie in black and white that is playing on one of the local channels.
He knows I hate it when he sits on the floor, as if we don’t have a perfectly good set of furniture in that living room.
I pay a lot of money to pick decent housing everywhere we go, despite the twins' objections, yet this man chooses to sit on the floor like a heathen.
And as if his immature coping skills are not enough, I am left responsible for maintaining the balance around here until they figure it out.
I hope it’s soon, because right now we are one more crisis away from a group mental breakdown and a prison sentence.
Liam is holding everything in as he usually does, refusing to talk to anyone.
I am holding my man by force so he doesn't break into pieces, because even if he is refusing to show any emotion, he is indeed a mess because of all of this.
And I am over here playing housewife, feeding everyone and keeping the woman in the basement comfortable enough until they end her misery.
Because until the chaos twins do something about her, it is my responsibility to care for her needs.
No one else will otherwise. And I refuse to let the woman die of starvation.
I am not a monster. I am a serial killer, yes.
But that doesn’t mean I want them to suffer.
Hunting them is fun. Killing them is always quick.
But having one starved in our basement is where I draw a line.
A very faint line, but a line nonetheless.
I am standing in the kitchen cooking, while Liam is somewhere—that no one knows, of course.
Because this idiot has apparently decided that he can go rogue and disappear while I am dealing with this fucking mess.
Leaving his brother completely on his own to deal with the emotional burden the memories of his dead family have brought.
And I am over here stirring the tomato sauce as if it will solve all our problems. I am not even sure if it will be edible, but here I am putting all my eggs in one pot.
In all honesty, I do prefer Mike sitting on his ass instead of causing us more trouble than we can afford at the moment.
Even if I hate the way he has chosen to cope with the situation.
It’s still better than going completely mad and killing a bunch of people in order to feel something.
Plus, his other way of coping includes my services, and I don’t think I have even a drop of semen left in me at this point.
The food is almost done. I will be the first to admit that I am not the best cook, but plain pasta with some cheese, and a questionable tomato-based sauce on it, will be the best this woman will get from us.
Still better than letting her starve like Liam proposed or killing her on the spot like Mike wanted.
Those two idiots would have raised alarms in the whole town with their bad decision-making right now.
Even Liam, the sensible one, who’s usually the reason we are not getting caught, might eventually bring policemen to our doorstep if this problem isn’t taken care of soon.
I have grown up with money, and that is not a secret.
So cooking was never a skill I needed to pick up.
We had people who did that. Christmas day was the only day my mother would enter the kitchen.
Even though I enjoyed sneaking in and keeping her company while she cooked...
I doubt I learned anything from it. Especially if we count that this pasta looks both uncooked and overcooked at the same time.
Which I am pretty sure should be impossible.
I had a good childhood, in comparison to the guys.
Loving parents, winters in snowy resorts, and summers in exotic destinations.
I have driven a nice car since I got my license.
I always had the luxury of being dressed in the finest clothes and having everything I ever wanted.
And that included the finest meals, and everything my heart desired. I had a good life.
My parents provided me with an education, kept me well-dressed and fed, and were always there to celebrate every accomplishment I ever achieved.
I had it easy in comparison to the twins.
This is why now I am the one to take care of their estranged mother, who is being held captive in our house.
Because I know these men would do the same, in a heartbeat, if things were different.
I know they would do anything in their power to help me improve my life if I were the one who had a rough childhood.
And I will always do the same. Because being fortunate enough doesn’t mean I deserved it.
They weren’t, but they deserved the good fortune I always took for granted instead.
I can’t explain the reason exactly. Even though she is responsible for a lot of the things they went through, I still feel like I owe this woman the decency of her last moments being half okay. I think as I head to the basement with a plate of pasta and a bottle of water.
I find the woman curled up on the basement couch.
And from what Liam and Mike have told me, this is the spot she has been in since Mike came down here to talk to her the first time.
He has come twice since, and each time he looks more troubled than the one before.
Liam has also attempted talking to her a couple of times, but he seems to either not be as affected or he is getting through to her more.
Because he doesn’t look as broken as his brother when he gets out of the basement.
She looks broken, and part of this is as much of my responsibility as theirs. Because living in these conditions can’t be any good for her mental health. Her eyes meet mine and then fall on the plate of pasta. She shakes her head.
“I am not hungry,” she tells me and turns her head to the other side, facing the wall. I take the plate and walk away. I know better than pushing it on her.
We will be your downfall, Mary, and for that, I am sorry.