Hey guys! Me again :)
Here's another oneshot songfic. I hope you guys like this one.
For any one who doesn't recognise the song name or lyrics, it's 'A Little Piece of Heaven' by 'Avenged Sevenfold'.
Enjoy!
A Little Piece of Heaven
Matt jerked awake, his eyes snapping open. Heart still pounding, he looked to his right, relaxing at the sight of Val asleep beside him.
Oh yeah...
He smiled to himself, then, taking care not to disturb her, rolled over again and tried to go back to sleep.
He set the wine bottle down on the table, careful not to knock the candles, and stood facing the door, hands clasped behind his back. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of the front door closing, followed by that beloved voice calling out, "Honey, I'm home!"
He chuckled to himself, unable to keep a smile from his face as she stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight of the room lit by the glow from candles burning on every flat surface, and the two glasses filled with red wine sitting on the table. He saw her eyes shift to the oven.
"Did you...cook?" she asked, a slow smile crossing her face, making her eyes sparkle.
"I did indeed." He grinned proudly. "And it's not takeout, either."
"I love you," she exclaimed, laughing as she threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her in return, lifting her momentarily off the ground before setting her back on her feet and clapping his hands together. "If Madam would care to take a seat?" he said in his best (and not very good) English accent.
She laughed again. "Why, sir, you are too kind!" she responded likewise, her accent much more convincing than his.
He pulled her chair out and tucked it back in for her, then crossed to the oven. Donning her floral oven-mitts (which produced yet another giggle from the vicinity of the table) he reached in and extracted a tray of lasagne and garlic bread. He set them on the table, then smiled ruefully as the garlic baguette rolled over, displaying a wide line of black down its length. "Ah."
"Never mind, we'll cut that bit off." She smiled encouragingly, aware that this was the first time he'd cooked anything more complicated than store-bought macaroni cheese.
Dinner was served, and they talked while they ate; she enthused about the quality of his cooking while he deflected her compliments, putting it all down to her recipe, her ingredients, all the while with a small but proud smile on his face.
"Right, since you cooked, I assume I'm washing up?" she asked when they were finished, standing and picking up her plate with a smile.
"Wait." He held up a hand to stop her as she opened her mouth to speak, and reached into his pocket. Her eyes widened as he pulled out a small black box and knelt down beside her chair. As he uttered the words he'd practised so carefully in front of the mirror a hundred times, he opened the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring; she stood up, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Her expression changed.
Not surprise, or joy, or anything else he'd expected (and hoped) to see.
No. She laughed. She laughed.
He frowned, closing the box in his fist and joining her in standing. Why is she...
He didn't finish the sentence, all rational thought pushed aside as a wave of red-hot anger coursed through him. He went to all the trouble of making this evening as romantic as possible, spending all fucking day cooking her favourite Italian and forking out he-didn't-want-to-think-about-how-much for the God-damned ring, and this is her answer? His eyes narrowed; he placed the box on the table and walked slowly over to the counter where he'd prepared the food.
Where the knife still lay on the chopping board, its blade glittering in the candle-light.
She stopped laughing, shaking her head and wiping her eyes with her hand, and looked up at him. "Babe..." she started saying, but froze as he stepped forwards, holding the knife up so the blade reflected her own face.
"Yes, honey?" he growled, stepping forwards again.
She screamed, turning and throwing herself towards the door. In her haste she tripped and sprawled on the hall carpet, still crawling towards the door. "Come here, you fucking bitch!" he roared as he followed, unable to keep back a howl of laughter as he saw the fear in her eyes. She cringed away, still trying vainly to escape as he bore down on her, grabbing a handful of her hair and dragging her back into the kitchen, dumping her at his feet; too scared to move, she stared up at him, terrified whimpers escaping and tears streaming down her face.
"Please! Please don't kill me! I'm...I'm sorry! I didn't mean-"
"Yes. You did." His tone was dead, expressionless, but his eyes betrayed the true emotion behind his words; his excitement about what was to come.
The knife came down, once, twice, he lost count after thirty times. Blood splattered the floor, his arms, his face, her screams fading as her life poured forth in a dark river. Even as her eyes stared up at him, faint whimpers issuing from her throat, he dropped the knife and reached down, forcing his hand into one of the wounds in her chest, grasping her heart and ripping it out. Her eyes widened one last time, then darkened as the life finally left her broken and bleeding body.
He sat back on his heels for a few minutes, gazing at the scene before him, and his erstwhile lover's bloody heart in his fist, then shrugged and stood up, walking over to the table where he placed the heart on his plate.
"Well, waste not, want not," he said, picking up his fork.
Matt turned over, his fist clenching on the bedcovers as he tried vainly to escape from the nightmare. To his horror, there was more to come. Images unfolded in his mind, like a montage of scenes from American Psycho.
He sat up and took a drag of his cigarette, his back leaning against the backboard of the bed, sighing with contentment. That...was...amazing. She's never been that good before.
Propping her up beside him, he smiled across at her and reached over to stroke her cheek. "Baby, you're cold... I'll put the heating on."
Naturally, she didn't reply, but sat stiffly where he'd put her, limbs at unnatural angles.
"Well, I don't know about you, honey, but I'm hungry." He got up, taking her with him to the kitchen and sitting her on a chair while he made a sandwich. "Mmm. Not as good as you used to make," he commented, shrugging.
Again, no response, but he would've worried if she had. He finished his food and walked over to the Hi-Fi, slotting in a CD. "Shall we dance?"
Anyone watching through the window would have seen nothing unusual; a couple, slow-dancing to what sounded like George Michael's 'Careless Whisper'.
Well, nothing unusual until the woman's head tilted sideways and separated from her body.
"Fuck." He grabbed it and set it on the table, sitting her back in the chair. "Better fix you up."
He looked her over; she looked a little worse for wear, her beautiful white skin torn and bloody.
Half an hour, a needle and a lot of thread later, she looked a lot better. Her head was once again attached and where there had been gaping wounds, there were now neat rows of stitches. It was like he'd created her, this exquisite being God would never have designed himself.
"You're beautiful." He grinned, setting the needle and thread on the table and grabbing the camera. "Say cheese!"
The images kept coming; Matt frowned, his eyes moving beneath their lids as a light sheen of sweat covered his skin.
"Right, time for some R and R, I think." He switched on the TV and, casting a loving look over to where she stood in her coffin against the opposite wall, settled down to watch whatever was on. He'd really been pushing himself recently; it'd be nice to relax and put his feet up for an hour or two. Afterall, he thought with a small smile, it's not like she's going anywhere. Fully absorbed by the show he was watching, he failed to notice the tiniest of movements from her corner as she opened her eyes.
It was only when the coffin began to shake, its loud rattling filling the room, that he looked up.
What the...Holy...
The colour drained from his face and he threw himself backwards, the chair tipping over. This...this can't be happening!
He flew out of the door, slammed into the wall opposite, then made a dash for the door, pausing to look back for a split second before he quickly yanked it shut. Several knives and a cleaver made their presence known by a series of loud thunks on the other side of the door, but he didn't pause to listen. By this time, he was already halfway down the street, running as fast as he could. What do I do? He'd never considered this might happen; that her soul, furious with the way he'd behaved, would come back from beyond the grave to ...kill him? Is that what she wants? he thought desperately, a tiny part of his mind noticing that he was passing the churchyard.
Maniacal laughter pierced the silence that had been broken only by the pounding of his feet and his laboured breathing; he pushed his legs to move faster, to carry him away from the monster that wanted him to atone for what he'd done.
Too late.
He stopped with a jolt, at first aware of nothing but pain as a hand forced its way through the flesh of his chest and gripped his rapidly-beating heart, ripping it out as easily as laughing. Which, in fact, she still was; or smiling at least, her face split by a terrifying smile from ear to ear. She held up his heart, somehow still beating, in her clawed hand and stared unfeelingly at him as he sank to the ground, lying motionless in a growing pool of his own blood. He had no idea how, but still he was conscious; still he could see the nightmarish form of the woman he loved, standing above him, his blood dripping from her fingers and running down her arm.
"And I thought you had my heart..." she whispered, her voice the only sound in his mind as his eyes slid closed. He was vaguely aware of her gripping him under the arms and dragging him somewhere, then a faint murmur in his ear: "Baby, don't cry. Everybody's gotta die sometime."
Suddenly he was falling, tumbling over and over, mocking laughter filling his ears as grotesque faces leered at him; enormous unblinking eyes watched his descent as he fell from the realm of the living to what could only be Hell.
Moving images were superimposed over the terrifying semblances of demons: His love laughs and shakes her head; a diamond ring falls from his hand; she screams in terror; blood splatters the knife, his hands, his face; he pulls the needle through and looks at his work with a proud smile.
With a muffled thump, Matt landed heavily on the carpeted floor, taking his bedcover with him in a tangle of limbs and blanket. Despite his head making contact with the wooden bed frame, he still didn't wake up, immersed in the throes of the weirdest dream he had ever had.
Hands gripped his shoulders, forcing him upright. He stood face-to-face with her, unable to look away from her beautiful and terrible face.
I swear I'll make it up to you, he thought, too weak to speak out loud. I'll do anything...whatever you want me to do...
But what if that's not enough? she countered, her eyes blazing with the fury of the tormented dead.
He raised his head, hearing a familiar note in her voice; a note that suggested forgiveness. Then I'll try again. And again. Over and over, if that's what it takes.
She regarded him for a moment, then her expression softened a little; Well then, I'll grant you one chance.
"If anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace." The priest looked around expectantly at the silent congregation.
The groom looked at his beautiful bride with a smile, but his expression froze as he glanced down. Was that...?
The next thing he knew, there was an ear-splittingly loud buzzing sound from just behind him. The very last thing the couple were aware of was the sight of a bloody chainsaw, before the man holding it stepped forwards and the bride and groom were killed in one fell swoop, quickly followed by the rest of the congregation.
The priest swallowed painfully, looking fearfully at the sight before him; the man and woman, hand in hand, standing against a backdrop of blood-smeared stone floor and pews strewn with corpses. It would have been an extreme understatement to say he was terrified, but he held it together enough to say shakily, "I assume a wedding is in order?"
The two of them smiled; if anything, that scared him further, but he kept up a mantra of Do what they want, and they might not kill you. Thinking fast, he improvised on the traditional words, inwardly grateful that they'd devised their own vows. He ended with saying to the woman:
"Do you take this man in death, for the rest of your unnatural life?"
She turned to her fiancé with a loving smile on her nightmarish face. "Yes, I do," she said softly.
"And do you take this woman in death, for the rest of your unnatural life?"
The man grinned evilly, putting an arm around the woman's shoulders. "I do," he growled, in a voice the priest would have expected from Satan himself.
He clasped his hands together and spoke the final words. "I now pronounce you..."
Moments later, the couple leave the church hand-in-hand, the man's other hand holding the priest's ripped-out heart, ready to spend the rest of their 'unnatural lives' together, leaving a trail of blood and viscera in their wake.
Opening his eyes, Matt looked around wildly; he expected hands to start sprouting from the floor at any moment. Maniacal laughter echoing in his ears, he sat up.
Why am I on the floor? was his first thought, followed closely by Ouch... as he felt the back of his head where he'd collided with the bed-frame.
"Honey?" Val leaned over and spotted him on the floor, blinking sleepily. "Why...why are you down there?"
He chuckled. Just a dream, he told himself firmly. Just a stupid dream. "No reason," he said out-loud. "Breakfast?" he added, looking at the clock on the nightstand– 9:25.
"Five more minutes..." she muttered, snuggling back under the covers. He smiled and went down without her, closing the door quietly behind him.
In the kitchen, he found Brian sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a plate of toast. "You're up early," he commented.
"Hey, bro. Yeah, couldn't sleep." Brian pointed to the coffee-pot on the table. "You want some?"
"Nah, I'm okay thanks." Matt sat down opposite him and rested his elbows on the table. "Had the weirdest fuckin' dream last night, man..." he said, glancing up. "Um... What are you doing?"
"Aha!" Brian pulled something out of the pocket he'd been searching. "Almost forgot, I wanted to show you this before the women get up." He held out the small black box and opened it. "So? What d'you think?"
Matt stared at the object in the box for a few seconds, then said in a serious voice, "Much as I'd love to say yes, I don't think Val and Michelle would approve."
"Fuck off." Brian swiped at him playfully and closed the box. "Even if I did swing that way, you are so not my type."
Matt gasped, feigning shock. "I'm hurt, Gates..."
"Shut up." Brian put the box back in his pocket. "Anyway, I wanted to tell someone, and you know how good the others are at keeping secrets."
Matt winced. Yep, he knew exactly how much he could trust the likes of Zacky, Johnny and Jimmy with secrets.
"So, I've got a plan."
"Uh oh."
"No, it's a good one." Matt could hear the pride and excitement in his friend's voice and smiled as Brian went on. "She's going out today, won't be back till tonight, so I was thinking I'd cook her dinner for when she gets back. I was thinking Italian, you know she likes that? Then, if all goes to plan..." He paused for effect.
"...I'm gonna ask Michelle to marry me."
So how many of you guessed who it was? (And don't lie!) :P
Please leave a review if you enjoyed reading this. I appreciate both compliments and criticism - as long as it's constructive - so please feel free to let me know what was good/bad so I can improve in the future.
Thanks for reading!