Oi, this chapter's graphic. Don't let your cat see it.

It took a moment for it to set in. It wasn't an unrealistic kind of pain; no, Desmond was all too familiar with that type of agony. So, mildly, he expected it.

What he didn't expect was for it to come on so suddenly. The snap of the bone itself was enough to shock him, but the actual feeling... it was indescribable. His arm lay limp at his side, unmoving. He convulsed sharply, seeming to gag, and then vomited all over the wall and ground. Seth, eyes widening at the man's quickly changing posture, leaped out of the way, the smell like bleach burning his sensitive nostrils. As he skidded to a stop a few feet back, he felt his own stomach roll uncomfortably, but willed himself to keep his composure.

"You little fucker," he cursed.

Desmond fell to his knees, gurgling noises quelching in the back of his throat. Under his form was slick, clear bile, and he had trouble keeping his balance with it coating his knees and good arm. He still could not think straight. He almost didn't want to if it met sustaining himself in consciousness.

"Desmond!" Madison shrilly called from wherever she had stationed herself in the house. As she came blundering over, she took in the sight before her. Her husband was simmering in his own filth with a virtually useless arm while a boy stood out in front of the house, his figurative hackles raised like pinpricks.

"Desmond," she said quietly, but something came to a head in Seth's mind. She was a witness.

And he knew what to do with witnesses.

Desmond Bly was a clean-cut and crisp worker bee, his desires the equivalent of his quotas. He didn't have much leniency in his meager existence. No one had ever pressured him to do anything; no one had ever influenced him in his life. It was sad, really, that he had no one. But all bad men, no matter their humble beginnings, deserved to die.

Dying wasn't on Desmond's mind that day as he stopped into the supermarket to pick up a few groceries. Harry, his younger companion, stood amiably by his side, looking handsome and unhindered. He had a smile on his face, one that made his dimples stand out and attract attention.

A bachelor. The word was foul on Desmond's tongue.

"Do you have to read every individual label, Des?" Harry demanded impatiently, crossing his arms over his semi-toned chest. Desmond looked nonplussed.

"I'm allergic to a copious amount of things, Harry," Desmond replied in his then-soft and somewhat desirable voice. "So I have to read every label. Besides, I'm sure it will do wonders for your gut there." His eyebrows dipped an inch at Harry's invisible body fat, but it was enough to get Harry started into a temperate fit. The boy just shrugged and muttered out of the side of his mouth, something very similar to the way his future son would.

But his muttering stopped, as his eyes got a lustful tint to them. Desmond looked up at his associate's unusual silence and could practically feel his own eyes darken at the sight of Susan Wilder, a little Christian girl Harry had his eyes on since middle school. But Desmond had also been seriously interested in the girl, even more so than Harry.

Love was a frivolous concept. Harry didn't understand it. Desmond didn't either. He couldn't fathom giving yourself wholly and equally to another person to intrust your deepest emotions in and expect them not to tromp all over them like a fucking elephant. No... Desmond didn't believe in love. There's a difference between love and attraction. Frankly, attraction was the only thing that existed. Meaningless emotions were weak, and he would not be coerced into caring for someone he did not give a damn about. Attraction... love...

He didn't know what it was for Susan. For her, everything was goddamn white noise.

"I've tried talking to her recently," Harry spoke out of the corner of his mouth, as if it was secretive. "She's... a little stand-offish, you know, since my brother had vandalized her house after he got toasted. But... she knows I'm not like that. At least, I hope she does." He took in a deep breath to compose himself. "I'm going to talk to her this once and see if I don't make a fool out of myself. You know how I am."

I know how you are all right, Desmond thought angrily, You're a motherfucking twat with no moral values.

Those would soon vanish for Desmond.

But he did not want to be outdone that day at the supermarket. Didn't want to seem like the tag along little brother he usually felt like when he was around Harry, even though it was ridiculous. A deep and driven in feeling of inadequacy pressured him to do what he did. A submerged, uncharacteristic emotion brought him to the breaking point.

He didn't look back. Instead, he dropped the item he was holding and marched over to Madison Lee, took her face into his hands roughly and forced his tongue into her mouth, not caring that she instinctively wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He didn't care.

And so he fell into a deep, dark abyss.

A shattering, ear-splitting crack reverberated in Seth's eardrums. His heart hammered in his chest as he yanked his hand away from Madison's flimsy neck. The woman in question began to asphyxiate, clawing with her hands in the open air as if God himself was going to come down and save her. There were no miracles for Madison Bly that day, and there never would be again.

She fell to the ground, spewing out nonsense as she tried to breathe properly. Seth tried to cover his ears to ignore the last gallops of Madison's heart, but he couldn't block it out. The thumping continued to slow and slow and slow and she kept trying to breathe and breathe and breathe -

"Stop it you fucking bitch!" he heard himself scream as he threw himself onto her writhing body. "Be quiet! Shut your fucking mouth or I'll do it for you!" He shoved his fist into her mouth roughly, pleading that she would stop, that she would die, that she would stop... And she did, but it was a slow process. Gradually, gradually, gradually, she died. Slowly, oh God, so slowly, Jesus Christ, she died so slowly...

Desmond had lost all control of his muscles and opted to just lay in his own vomit, deciding that dying was all he wanted to do now. In his peripheral vision, he saw Seth rock his overly large body like he was seizing, but he knew the boy was too healthy for that. Also in his peripherals, Madison lay motionless.

And he enjoyed the sight.

Is it coincidental that his last coherent thought was of his delight in the fact that his wife was dead?

Not really.

What was it like to go insane? Seth had never experienced it before in such a shockwave. Before, yes, he felt maniacal after what he had done in the courtroom. But this was so different; a complete one-eighty. Why in all that was good and holy did he enjoy this sensation? Why did he feel a slight twinge in his balls? Excitement? No... Yes... Maybe.

Insanity tasted like sugar.

He turned his head slightly and his eyes landed on Desmond's motionless body. His chest wasn't moving. Seth reached out and felt for the elder man's pulse. His skin was still warm, but the pulse had long since faded. A divine kind of satisfaction settled deep in Seth's chest, and he knew right then and there that he was going to Hell. Well, if there was a hell. He imagined that if God was so mighty, he would have stricken Seth down by now. It all seemed so fabricated. The lies, his lies, His lies, they were so tart to the tongue.

Everything had a unique flavor nowadays.

And through some sick, twisted strings of upheaval, Seth was vaguely hungry.

I warned you.

For Demi, my cousin. Hope your engagement to Amy goes smoothly and you know that you both are mah gays. (Awaits for your txt because I KNOW you read this!) And you, the other readers, are wondering, 'Why the FUCK would she dedicate this disgusting chapter to her cousin?!', it's because I like penises. Fuckin' duh. (Lololololol)

I just realized I'm a tad bit crazed. Initiate... DOOOOOOOM!