[Fic] It Gets Easier
Title: It Gets Easier
Genre: Drama/ Character Study
Pairing: None
Rating: R
Summary: Erik kills his first Nazi, messily. Erik-centric character study
Warnings: Violence, gore, disturbing imagery, torture
There is so much blood.
It's everywhere- Erik feels like he's wading in it, knee deep, soaking into the knees of his jeans and squelching in his socks when he walks. He had thought stabbing would be easy.
It wasn't.
The man had been fat, unwieldy, and he'd smiled broadly and patted at Erik's knee when he brought him the slightly foggy glass of beer. He hadn't suspected that the tall, awkward boy with the too-broad shoulders and the sunken eyes could have slipped something into his drink. All he had seen was what Erik wanted him to see: Low-slung trousers, a tight t-shirt, tousled hair and sculpted cheekbones.
Erik had been following him for nearly a month now. He had watched from dark corners as the fat man paid boys half his age to get on their knees and open wide, had felt bile rise in his throat as he saw his face contort in pleasure. It was a face that he recognized, even out of his Gestapo uniform. In the corpulent heft of this man, Erik could still see the death's head of the SS floating above him. He had been there.
He wouldn't die. Erik plunges the stolen kitchen knife into the fat man's throat again, terrified, jerking away from his plump, grasping hands. Blood sprays out, soaking the front of his shirt. The fat man gurgles obscenely, his body shuddering under Erik. The knife goes in again. Again. Widening the first neat slit into a gash, a hole, and gaping maw. Erik feels the metal of the knife vibrate in his grip as he stabs it into the fat man's face, snapping his glasses and splattering blood across the ceiling.
Erik scrambles off the fat man, breathing heavily. The body keeps quivering, spasming in the last throes of death as his life blood soaked out onto the dull cream carpet. Dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind, Erik registers that he's hyperventilating. The hotel room seems to spin at a slow, sickly pace, tilting and gliding so that his feet stumble drunkenly as he fumbles his way to the bathroom.
He doesn't make it, falling to his knees and vomiting on the floor by the bed. The rusty springs squeak in protest as he unconsciously bends them up, up, up, until they burst through the mattress, stuffing drooping off the spiked coils and falling onto the ground. Erik curls into a ball, shivering and eyes wide as he stares at the fat man's body, waiting until it stills.
Late at night for months afterwards, Erik will awake to see the fat man's body, blood-sodden and twitching in the corner of his room. It doesn't matter that he fled through a window as soon as he was sure the man was dead, doesn't matter that he's in a different city, a different country, hiding under assumed names and false identities. It doesn't matter that it disappears as soon as he blinks his eyes. The fact that it's there, haunting him, is enough to scare Erik shitless.
He is seventeen. It is his first kill.
It will not be his last.
Genre: Drama/ Character Study
Pairing: None
Rating: R
Summary: Erik kills his first Nazi, messily. Erik-centric character study
Warnings: Violence, gore, disturbing imagery, torture
There is so much blood.
It's everywhere- Erik feels like he's wading in it, knee deep, soaking into the knees of his jeans and squelching in his socks when he walks. He had thought stabbing would be easy.
It wasn't.
The man had been fat, unwieldy, and he'd smiled broadly and patted at Erik's knee when he brought him the slightly foggy glass of beer. He hadn't suspected that the tall, awkward boy with the too-broad shoulders and the sunken eyes could have slipped something into his drink. All he had seen was what Erik wanted him to see: Low-slung trousers, a tight t-shirt, tousled hair and sculpted cheekbones.
Erik had been following him for nearly a month now. He had watched from dark corners as the fat man paid boys half his age to get on their knees and open wide, had felt bile rise in his throat as he saw his face contort in pleasure. It was a face that he recognized, even out of his Gestapo uniform. In the corpulent heft of this man, Erik could still see the death's head of the SS floating above him. He had been there.
He wouldn't die. Erik plunges the stolen kitchen knife into the fat man's throat again, terrified, jerking away from his plump, grasping hands. Blood sprays out, soaking the front of his shirt. The fat man gurgles obscenely, his body shuddering under Erik. The knife goes in again. Again. Widening the first neat slit into a gash, a hole, and gaping maw. Erik feels the metal of the knife vibrate in his grip as he stabs it into the fat man's face, snapping his glasses and splattering blood across the ceiling.
Erik scrambles off the fat man, breathing heavily. The body keeps quivering, spasming in the last throes of death as his life blood soaked out onto the dull cream carpet. Dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind, Erik registers that he's hyperventilating. The hotel room seems to spin at a slow, sickly pace, tilting and gliding so that his feet stumble drunkenly as he fumbles his way to the bathroom.
He doesn't make it, falling to his knees and vomiting on the floor by the bed. The rusty springs squeak in protest as he unconsciously bends them up, up, up, until they burst through the mattress, stuffing drooping off the spiked coils and falling onto the ground. Erik curls into a ball, shivering and eyes wide as he stares at the fat man's body, waiting until it stills.
Late at night for months afterwards, Erik will awake to see the fat man's body, blood-sodden and twitching in the corner of his room. It doesn't matter that he fled through a window as soon as he was sure the man was dead, doesn't matter that he's in a different city, a different country, hiding under assumed names and false identities. It doesn't matter that it disappears as soon as he blinks his eyes. The fact that it's there, haunting him, is enough to scare Erik shitless.
He is seventeen. It is his first kill.
It will not be his last.