A/N: I got three paragraphs of this done during the Superbowl. Awesome. This is the end. No more.
Ding fucking dong, right on the clock. Five in the evening. Someone's going to die, and Jeff is determined to kill. Why does his goody two shoes brother have to be so damn punctual?
Maybe Matt does deserve this.
But if there was no Matt, then there would be no Jeff! It's because of the fact that Matt put his brother here. I don't know what I'd do if my Jeffy didn't exist. I'd be all alone and…
No one else would have died. I wouldn't be insane. Everyone would live tonight.
I'm in a tight spot, here. Instead of protecting Jeff and planning someone else's Jeff, I should be on my knees for Matt. I should be graveling to him, thanking him for everything he's ever done, even going as far as to kiss his fucking feet.
I keep finding myself switching sides. Maybe Jeff should have been the doctor all along. Maybe I'm the schitzo.
Jeff is dancing like a ballerina, complete with a tutu and bright pink hair to go alone with the outfit. If I didn't already know he was crazy, I'd definitely have to question his sanity. No grown man would wear a tutu over his cargo pants like that.
"Jeff? What are you doing?" I laughed, the impending demise of his brother being taken off of my mind for a moment.
"I paid off someone close to the front to let him in for me," he said, spinning into a graceful pirouette. "Wait a second!" he said, abruptly stopping. Anyone with less self control would have fallen right over. Jeff? Self control? "He is on his way! And what am I doing? I'm parading around like a little fairy princess! Ahooga!"
He ripped off the tutu, leaving him in his 'normal' clothes. I'll never understand him, and I was supposed to be the doctor. He is a case that not even the greatest of scientists will ever figure out, I'm sure of it.
It's time! Oh, it's really time this time and the time is right for some killing time!
Can you sense a theme here?
I skipped to the door of the cell, which was propped open, my trusty gun hidden behind the open door. That guy who is opening the door is dressed in a security outfit, so Matt won't know the difference as he's being escorted down to my cell by a certified psycho! Tee-hee! I paid the guy off, but he'll die just so I can get my money back. A foolproof plan, if I do say so, myself.
I'm an evil genius.
"Jeff? What did you do around here? I didn't think they would let you have all this. Nice digs, man."
I'd recognize that voice anywhere.
"Is that how you're going to treat me? Are you just going to talk to me like we aren't brothers and you didn't force me into this loony bin?" I growled, inching closer and closer to my gun.
"I thought this place was supposed to fix you, Jeff, not make you even more of a crazy asshole."
"I'm about to fix you."
I was done with the subtlety, not that I was ever exactly the most subtle gent.
Brothers shouldn't fight like this. Or kill each other.
I stood off to the side of them, one on each side of me. Jeff was on my left and Matt was on the right in the middle of the room.
Big mistake, Matt. Big fucking mistake.
In one swift movement, Jeff kicked the door so it was closed, revealing the gun that was propped against the wall. He grabbed it his closest hand and aimed it at his brother. If I wasn't so scared, I'd have fallen over. I was scared stiff for real.
And to think, I was in Matt's position before. I sat there with a gun held to my head thinking it was loaded. But it wasn't.
But this one is.
He's going to kill his brother. I know he's killed people before, but what makes this one so different? Is it because they are blood related? Is it because he plays a part in Jeff's life? He's part of the grander scheme of things?
Matt slowly backed up, barely moving even inches at a time. He knew it was coming.
"You shouldn't have come here, Matt," I whispered.
He looked at me in fear. It wasn't like I was going to pounce on him and rip his throat out. I was genuinely scared for the elder Hardy brother.
"SHUT UP YOU WENCH!" Jeff yelled. His green eyes had turned to red, I was almost sure of it. He's never looked at me like that before. Every angry glare he had given me always had some sense of immaturity and joking to it. This one was serious. Dead serious.
The gun clicked as it was pointed at Matt's head.
I jumped to the floor as Jeff pulled the trigger.
"Oh my god," Matt gasped. It should be him lying dead on the floor. Him! Not my sweet, sweet Courtney!
"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" I hollered, swinging the gun in Matt's direction. "YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE COME HERE!"
"I DIDN'T SHOOT HER!"
And here we are, fighting like we did when we were younger, especially after mom died. Who is he to tell me what did or did not happen? I was aiming for him.
Oh my god. He was right. I shoot her. She jumped in front of him. She saved him.
I started shaking, and I couldn't stop. I wish this was a bayonet so I could stab my brother instead. There was only one bullet in here, and I was saving it for him.
But he doesn't know that.
"GET OUT!" I screamed, chasing him with the gun until he left.
And that was the last I ever saw of my brother.
I went back to my fallen queen and whipped the gun aside. It ricocheted off the wall and fell to the ground with a large dent in it.
The blood covered her shirt. I had…hit her…in the stomach. I fell to my knees at her side and cradled her head, rocking her body back and forth.
"Wake up…It was just a joke."