No, Mathew thinks, this isn't me!
A drop of blood rolls down his chin and splatters on Alfred's chest, and Mathew jolts at the sight. His precious brother, bloodied and injured beneath him. He draws back, terrified at his own actions.
"Alfred, I-"
"I know. It's fine, Mattie." Alfred sits up, brushing off Mathew's concerns, like the blood spilling from the deep gouges in the shape of Mathew's teeth mean nothing. "I know you didn't mean it."
Mathew's shaking. This isn't who he is, this isn't him. He would never hurt Alfred, he loved his brother, he didn't want to see him in pain! He didn't want to enjoy it! Mathew sinks back on his heels, choking from some suppressed emotion deep inside. This isn't me! It wasn't fine, it wasn't okay, why couldn't Alfred see that! This should never have happened, Mathew shouldn't be here! Alfred should never have brought him back.
"I'm sorry!" Mathew wants to sob but the tears don't come, and the words come out a strangled mess. "Im sorry! I didn't mean to, I didn't want-"
But he did want it. He wanted to eat Alfred alive, to tear out his flesh and drink his brother's blood. Like a monster. It's not me! I'm not like this! He's not supposed to be a monster, he's not supposed to want to hurt his brother. He shouldn't crave it.
But Alfred can't understand what he's done.
"Oh, Mattie!" Alfred pulls him close, a tight embrace so tight it feels like Mathew's bones might crack. " Don't be sorry! I don't mind!"
You should! Mathew wants to protest. This isn't right! But the smell of blood is alluring to him, his throat feels dry and parched. He's already opening his mouth to lap at the stream of blood dripping from Alfred's shoulders before he catches himself, jerking back so violently that it not only breaks him free from Alfred's grasp, but sends Alfred flying backwards too. "The first aid kit! We need to treat this!"
He has to force himself to leave Alfred, to ignore the tantalizing flesh and blood. His brother needs him. Alfred waits patiently, like he has all the time in the world, like he isnt bleeding all over the living room floor, until Mathew stumbles back in with the kit. Each action is a challenge, a test of willpower for Mathew. He's starving, but not for food. But Alfred is his brother. Mathew finishes bandaging Alfred up and leaps to his feet, dizzy with want.
"I'm going to shower."
He runs to the bathroom and locks himself in, running the water. He needs to get the smell off, the taste of flesh and blood out of his mouth. He grabs the mouthwash, dumping an indiscriminate amount into his mouth, gargle, spit, rinse, repeat. He still tastes the blood. The third time, he swallows the mouthwash, and the wave of nausea it brings it a welcome relief. He feels sick in his stomach, but he also feels more like himself. A quick shower - cold water only, Alfred says he should never use Hot water to shower- the bloodthirsty is almost gone. Almost.
Alfred is in the kitchen when Mathew finally releases himself from the bathroom he'd hidden in, and Alfred smells strongly of axe deodorant. Its heavy enough to make Mathew feel dizzy and choke on the air. "Good." It's heavy enough to cover Alfred's scent. If only it was actually that easy.
"Drink this!" Alfred shoves something that is definitely not a drink Mathew knows into Mathew's hands. "It'll make you feel better!"
Mathew doubts that, none of the mysterious concoctions help. He takes it anyways and gulps it down.
"Listen, Mattie," Alfred fixes Mathew with his earnest gaze, bright and hopeful, "I know it's a bit scary but I'll fix it! Everything will work out, so don't worry, okay?"
Mathew's known Alfred long enough to feel a chill of apprehension down his spine whenever Alfred says 'don't worry'. He just nods anyways and avoids Alfred's gaze by staring out the window.
"I'm tired."
"Right!" Alfred shows a tinge of concern for the first time, but quickly masks it. "Go rest in your room for a bit! I won't bother you until you feel better."
That's not where I want to rest. Mathew thinks wearily, keeping his eyes locked longingly out the kitchen window. But Alfred gives him a push so Mathew listens, wearily trifling up the stairs, trying to forget. Trying to pretend he's alright. But I'm not all right. He still feels it, deep down. An unwarranted agression he's trying to keep tanked down. Anger and malice towards the undeserving Alfred. Alfred had already sacrificed so much for Mathew's sake. He didn't deserve this anger.
Mathew pauses, halfway up the stairs. "Hey, Al?"
"Yuh?"
"When are you going to tell Arthur?"
Silence, thick with tension. A second passes. Alfred's a bit-too-casual reply.
"Soon, I promise! Just have to figure a few thingrs out first."
Liar.
Mathew knows Alfred's guilty tone much too well from years of excuses. He's too tired to argue. He doesn't sleep, he can't. Instead he gazes out the window into the backyard, the new tombstone at the edge of the property, and the pile of fresh dug up dirt next to what had once been a grave. His grave. He feels a sudden irrational anger at Alfred, for bringing him back into the world, but tries to calm himself. He didn't want to die, when it happened. He wanted to live. He knows Alfred wanted him to live too, that's why his brother brought him back. And he's grateful. He should be. So why is he so angry?
I want to go back.
If only his brother could understand that.